Sigh.

So, basically, the way life works is that everything is great while one is at a folk festival and then everything kind of disintegrates once one has gone home.

Hillside was pretty much great for the following reasons:

1. Really marvelous music. I highly reccomend all of these bands and these guys.

2. Really marvelous people.

3. Pretty great food (except for that terrifyingly bad gazpacho that I accidentally stole).

4. Tanya and I getting tattooed (well, hennaed) with matching Elvises because we just decided, before even seeing or hearing him, that Elvis Perkins was going to be great (how can you argue with that parentage?) and we were going to be his number one fans. And we were. We even led a troupe of dancing ladies in his honour. Also, his supreme awesomeness has been confirmed by the fact that today, when he was interviewed on CBC he basically said to Jian Ghomeshi “you like hearing the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” but in an incredibly non-chalant manner that is strictly the domain of the beautifully insane.

5. Starting the day with an energy drink/vodka buzz. No, wait, that was actually a terrible idea.

6. Very important (but kind of obvious) information courtesy of the orgasm workshop, something that should have been attended by all boys who ever plan to sleep with girls.

7. Shout Out Out Out Out hosting a rave in a tent, making us feel very electrical indeed.

8. The usual suspects saying perplexing things. “Are the skunk’s friends skunks, too?”

9. On the whole, just not worrying about pressing issues like how I’m moving agonizingly far away and instead just sitting around in the sun eating ice cream.

Since Hillside, however, things have gotten tragic.

Last night was my last Taco Tuesday, which, in and of itself was really wonderful because Amy came all the way from Hamilton to taco with me and a super-fabulous time was had by all, but now I’m irrationally afraid that I will never get to have another taco ever again. This is, of course, ridiculous, because I am moving to a place that is kind of close to, oh, I don’t know, Mexico, maybe, and possibly this means that I will in fact be able to find tacos (maybe even good tacos) once I’m there. I will not, however, be able to find large T Tacos, four for two dollars, served in a very surly manner, with a side of overpriced guacamole and some priceless company, at Ethel’s, where the margaritas are shaken, not blended, and burn all the way down. In addition, the following things have combined to make today into a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (but were mediated considerably by a pretty funny picnic in the park with Tanya and some tenacious waterfowl):

1. Being up until four last night because of not being able to sleep for no reason.

2. When I did fall alseep, having a terrible dream about zombies. Like, the scary kind, not the campy kind.

3. This afternoon’s shouting match with a certain ex-boyfriend/ex-housemate.

4. The increasingly plugged status of the kitchen sink.

5. Finding the blog of a certain questionable individual with whom I may or may not have gone on a painfully unsuccesful date with last summer (because I am a glutton for punishment and apparently decided that I wasn’t miserable enough and should google his name – on the bright side, he appears to be stuck in Asia with no sense of direction).

So, basically, let’s just have music festivals instead of real lives. Please.