I've just returned from a day at Glastonbury, showing my cousin around and meeting a friend of her family's. Sedona isn't really a cousin, rather one of the many 'children of best friends' I have dotted around all over the world, but we consider her family. I always find it weird when these assorted 'cousins' don't know each other- and very exciting when I actually find a cousin by blood. But I digress. I love Glastonbury. I love it in the way I love all deeply beautiful, historic spiritual sites, by which I mean that I hate having to acknowledge that other people go there, and god help you if you try to talk to me. I wrote a poem on the Tor, but somehow managed to remember paper and not pen, which was daft. I shall have to run away somewhere quiet and try again later. It was weird going back. I put on a super-Sidmouth hippy dress in anticipation of seeing crowds of wizards again, and then felt very out of place when I ended up walking through crowds of tourists in very boring, sensible clothes. Weird looks are well and good, but to stand out that much I'd rather be in my own town. And then we went down a back alley and found a 'Reader,' and dear god I thought Josh was going to explode. Being confronted with that level of spiritualism- well, it made me realise the flaws I have in my own faith (I read tarot, but believe that it's influenced a lot more by projection and generic counselling than anything else), and why I get so defensive when people ask me what I believe in. Like I said, I love Glastonbury. But I think I love the idea of it. I have never, ever, had someone completely blank me from the moment I said that I was a lawyer- and I have never before felt the overwhelming urge to pick apart someone else's beliefs at the seams. It was an interesting day.
Last week was spent at Sidmouth, Folk Festivaling. I had an amazing time, not least because it meant I once again got to be with friends. And sure, I was annoying myself by midway through the week, but we worked through it. I am now an expert at parking cars (minus the dramatic pointing, alas), have a flying pig henna'd on my forearm, and am still hearing the 'diddly-diddlies' wherever I go. And I fear we may have traumatised the lovely Phil, who is a FS associated member, so to speak, and who was silly enough to not make for the nearest exit when three of us first started singing "Oh! Darling." Phil, we are truly sorry, and would really like you to talk to us next year.
Aside from that ... I don't know. My life is kind of falling apart. I never seem to get anything done while I'm at home. I have a list- nay, a timetable- of all the important things which I need to get sorted, but every time I try to enact it something else happens: Sedona, Sidmouth, 'can you tie up the broken down barrel?', etc. Dona does start a week (read flat out 7 days) of vocal training at Dartington tomorrow, which may help. I've volunteered to take her in every day, which means decent o'clock rises, and then long, empty days. The list includes my parents' accounts (to pay for trains and contacts!), FS stuff (ARGH ICBINI ARGH), and emptying and repainting my room. I can't help but feel it would be much easier to do this if I was actually allowed to get rid of half the random crap I have in my room.
TL;DR version: I am bad at Doing Things and Projects. Money isn't behaving itself either, and there are other things happening, but they do not make for interesting whinges.
Oh, and I have awesome hair (red! and blonde! and dark brown! multi-tones!), and am excited because in just over a week I get to go up to London and then to finally visit the 'E' house of my friend Iain. I can't help feeling that, having invited myself, I am more excited than he. I may take a good book. And Joshua is back, which is amazing, because now I Have A Brother, and this is wonderful.
And one of my best friends has just announced her engagement, and this is terrifying and yet so exciting, and she's the same age as me, and dear god relationships are weird.
I need to phone a caterer. And I talk too much. Until next time.
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