Gods-freaks and parking lots…

Leaving to New York in 7 hours. I may manage to get a 3-hour nap in before actually parting, but sleep before traveling is rare anyway, yeah?

Presentation’s done, mostly edited. Practiced on a friend a bit, who helped remind me there’s a difference between speaking and writing. I spend so much time writing that I forget this.  Will probably wax prosaic while speaking anyway, assuming I’ve had enough tea.

Also, the person who had the reservation for the hotel room just canceled, and the person it got transferred to won’t be there until 11pm, so I’ll have about 7 hours to kill in between arriving and getting a chance to put my bags down. Feels a bit like Europe, though without the European stuff of it.  Fewer holy wells.  More parking lots.

But ah, in general, feeling rather confident.  I hiked up old druid mountains with a 50 lb rucksack in France, right?  I strapped most of my life on a bike and walked along a stream to get to a train to get to Seattle.  I’m couch-surfing (in a warm and welcoming place).  I’ve barely any idea precisely what I’m doing next.  This is generally the story of my life lately, and I’ve gotten awfully good at this sort of thing.

It will all make finally having a place to live eventually, with a somewhat “stable” life, seem that much more exciting.

If all goes well, there’ll be A Sense of Place post on Friday (there’s internet in New York, right?).  And I’m gonna get to see hoardes of wonderful, lovely, freakish gods-folks. And I’m bringing tea. And bees.

Be well, all of ye’. : )

 

Also, post script and all that.  In case you’ve ever wondered what an anarcho-punk-bard-writer looks like stressed and tired and under-tea’d, this photo’s a good approximation:stress

 

 

About Rhyd Wildermuth

An intractable tea-swilling punk, queer hooligan, and dream-soaked leftist bard, Rhyd Wildermuth has left bits of his heart(h) everywhere—in a satyr’s den in Berlin, hanging from an elder tree over a holy well in Bretagne, scattered in back alleys of Seattle, and lost somewhere in the bottom of his rucksack. He’s devoted to Welsh gods, breathes words, makes candles, plays recorder, fumbles with tech, and refuses ever to learn to drive. His main blog is: paganarch.com. View all posts by Rhyd Wildermuth

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