It's been pretty slow and disappointing for a bunch of us, but I met some very lovely artists and have had quite a nice time getting to know them. Maybe spending much more time chatting than any of us would have liked, but pleasant nonetheless. And studying the clouds over the Edmonds skies - constantly moving, marching ever onward, first dark and threatening and then light, fluffy and luminous, always changing, always blowing.
I've caught up on my magazine reading. Made lots of lists for what to pack for our trip on Monday. Contemplated the universe. And enjoyed the live music in the evenings at the Wine Bistro behind me. Enjoyable. But not profitable. Oh well. Who cares. I'm headed off for some R&R in just another couple sleeps. I can't be bothered.
A glass of wine. Hauling out the suitcase. Laundry tumbling in the other room. The anticipatory searching for travel bits and pieces that need to be gathered from drawers and corners where they were shoveled upon arrival home after the last journey. Jotting out kitty care instructions. Loading up the snacks.
Tomorrow evening will be a whirlwind of tearing down the tent, loading up the car, unloading the mess . . . completing the weekend's sale - the moments for calmly organizing myself lost forever. So this evening, with the hour or so I have left with a little gas in the tank, I'm wrapping up as much as I can. - the anticipation almost as important as the actual trip itself. The very act of finishing tasks, completing details, preparing for time away, and making an actual space that CANNOT be interrupted by daily trivialities, but is focused only on enjoyment and relaxation is paramount to mental health. Or so it seems right now.