It’s less than nine days till the 37th Moose Pass Solstice Festival, and I am in charge of the food booth which will serve at least a thousand people over two days. And I’ll be damned if it doesn't feel like I am treading water in soup while I am at it.
It happens slowly, even somewhat gently at first. The gradual and inexorable drain, going almost unnoticed midst the heady pace of a life being lived... but I feel it all the same. It’s a sneaky pull by events out of my control at my heatedly disputed reserve energy tank. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s how you always managed to be tanked up and ready to rock when you were 19 in case of impromptu partying or a road trip, or something shiny... And it didn’t matter if you had only slept twenty-seven minutes in the back seat of an Impala and you smelled like cheap vodka and burned hair… Then suddenly the snap is out of your rubber band. Suddenly, you forgot why you have the rubber band in the first place.
Time passes so quickly when raising kids and being really truly alive. Madness helps to defray real consciousness of time passage too. And I have that in buckets.
It’s been one of those months man. My oomph went missing entirely sometime earlier and I have yet to discover the whereabouts of that oft touted altruistic spring-fed rejuvenation indicative of this time of year. Instead I have this preternatural tired tinged with a foggy detachment that refuses to dissipate. It’s ridiculous really.
I have to be honest with myself though. There are wars being raged. All around me is a constant hum of social posturing, aggressive merging and divorcing. And it is in all layers of my social strata... wars, and rumors of wars... (Hey, wait...) My opinion, war is tiresome. It’s expensive and it never ends well. Though we make every attempt to war over shrewd and virtuous and significant things, I fear it is more often than not that we war with toddleresque ethics in play. Wars over power, money, influence, position… All with “gimme gimme” and “me first” and “mine!” as the foreground motivations.
No wonder I am tired.
Cuz then there are the internal wars I wage between my perception of intellectual and spiritual honor, physically applied ethics, up-cycled values, and the gorram psychotic seven year old that is currently naked, covered in peanut butter, dancing inside of my head and screaming something about how q-tips lit on fire poking out from my ears would look awesome! And her ideas sound pretty damn interesting in the original sense of the word more often than I care to admit.
I am the last one who should cast stony dispersion's on other’s lack of motivation when I can't even remember to brush my hair some days unless I'm going out in public. And even then it's a sure fire bet that I might just institute the "fuck it" policy and carry on without bothering. No time to be pretty has always been my excuse. Of course, it would help if that was the only point of being clean with brushed hair…
Armed with all this potent energy I enter this final week of Solstice preparation with the news that HGTV is coming to film part of our festival. And there is even talk of a potential interview if there is time of yours truly. Of course my brother Joshua’s first comment was to encourage me NOT to launch into a diatribe about The Establishment or my conspiracy theories. Probably a bad idea to talk about cessation from MJ prohibition or gun rights too…
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