Big Oops
I think I made a $414 mistake.
Part of adult life is pissing money away, but it’s still uncomfortable. Particularly when one doesn’t have enough income to calculate when that debt will be erased. I regretted my choice so quickly, argh, stupid mania.
How will I get to the site of the event? “I’ll ask this person who used to enjoy that event long ago to take a day off and drive me, and maybe I can convince her to stay just long enough to say hi to old friends.”
Where will I stay before and after? “I still have local friends! At least 3 that have couches/spare rooms and want to spend time with me!”
Manic me is dumb. And it’s one of my patterns: have fun at yearly shindig, keep going back year after year, even if the fun is waning. First Classical H.S. shows, then Culture Shock, then the Fetish Fleamarket. I have no sense of when my welcome is worn totally out. I really might submit my entry fee only to have one of the runners of this event ask me not to come, because I was an awful friend to perhaps too many, in that horrible Capital-S Summer, the Summer of 2019. At least one friend from this last event is not a friend any longer, and won’t ever be one again.
I can’t make enough money in time to make all these logistics make sense. $414 is a very bitter pill to swallow, but I’m trying to make peace with it, and train my eyes on the Halloween visit I’ve been wanting for a long time. Sigh. Some days I just wish I was a normal working shlub. Or a sensible one, doing crazy things to go to a Dark Odyssey or Kinkfest. New horizons, new fun.