Burned...
...not burnt, not out, not down, just burned.
Everyone else has said so so far, but, yeah, I'm not ready to be back. I can't even say 'home,' just 'back.' I'm trying, though not very hard, to decompress and wrap my head around the fact that I'll be nine-to-fiving it in a matter of days. By decompress, I mean that I'm waking up at noon and drinking beer by two. I think my biggest concession to being back in the real world so far has been chain-smoking and not ashing in an Altoids can. Oh, fuck that, I'm still ashing in the Altoids can when I forget I don't have to.
I promised myself no life-changing experiences out there. Well, that big glowing fucker got me; he just stood there and watched while my mind blew and my heart turned. I got my revenge, of course, when he fucking burned. But that's not the end of it, because after him, it's the temple, and with all the antagonism burned out when the Man goes down, there's nothing left to do but cry and grin. Simultaneously. And then the temple burns, and we watch in silence, and maybe we cry, maybe we dance, but in the end, we all go... not home, but back.
So here I am, and every couple of hours, I can't deal anymore and I have to bite my tongue or stamp my feet or open another beer to keep myself from reloading my framepack and getting the fuck out of here. Beer helps, talking to friends helps, but I just can't shake the feeling that whatever else I was supposed to do, I wasn't supposed to come back. But I'll give it a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks, and see what happens.
I just can't believe that I left a huge chunk of myself in a city that doesn't exist anymore. I feel spread thin, dispersed. And I miss you, both of you.
P.S.: Even though none of the rest of you bitches so much as mentioned me, you're all right: Camp Mad Flava fucking rocked. Next year, grease?
Everyone else has said so so far, but, yeah, I'm not ready to be back. I can't even say 'home,' just 'back.' I'm trying, though not very hard, to decompress and wrap my head around the fact that I'll be nine-to-fiving it in a matter of days. By decompress, I mean that I'm waking up at noon and drinking beer by two. I think my biggest concession to being back in the real world so far has been chain-smoking and not ashing in an Altoids can. Oh, fuck that, I'm still ashing in the Altoids can when I forget I don't have to.
I promised myself no life-changing experiences out there. Well, that big glowing fucker got me; he just stood there and watched while my mind blew and my heart turned. I got my revenge, of course, when he fucking burned. But that's not the end of it, because after him, it's the temple, and with all the antagonism burned out when the Man goes down, there's nothing left to do but cry and grin. Simultaneously. And then the temple burns, and we watch in silence, and maybe we cry, maybe we dance, but in the end, we all go... not home, but back.
So here I am, and every couple of hours, I can't deal anymore and I have to bite my tongue or stamp my feet or open another beer to keep myself from reloading my framepack and getting the fuck out of here. Beer helps, talking to friends helps, but I just can't shake the feeling that whatever else I was supposed to do, I wasn't supposed to come back. But I'll give it a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks, and see what happens.
I just can't believe that I left a huge chunk of myself in a city that doesn't exist anymore. I feel spread thin, dispersed. And I miss you, both of you.
P.S.: Even though none of the rest of you bitches so much as mentioned me, you're all right: Camp Mad Flava fucking rocked. Next year, grease?