My husband just left to shoot pictures at a music festival. He’ll be gone until who-knows-when tomorrow morning, and I’m feeling a bit wistful.
Our summer together is nearly over.
I seriously considered going with him. In fact, until yesterday, I planned on it. But the more I thought about it, the less the idea appealed to me. And, in the end, I just couldn’t make myself go.
I’d much rather read and write
play with the pooch
hydrate the hibiscus
deadhead the daylilies
hang with the hummingbirds
hike with the heron…
(Well, you get the idea.)
than spend 15 or so hours with 150 acquaintances.
Don’t get me wrong. Most of them seem like genuinely nice people, and I do enjoy their company a few hours at a time (or when the event is at my house, and I can escape if needed). But at the longer shows, when the only two people I know well and feel completely comfortable with are off taking pictures and making music, too often I end up feeling kind of lost. Even with live music.
So, even though I feel like the ultimate party-pooper, I am almost giddy at the prospect of this beautiful, sunny day with hours to indulge in all my favorite things.
I know Insideout will totally enjoy his day, and I will certainly enjoy mine, but every once in a while I can’t help but wish I didn’t find socializing so…painful.