So, the trip to MD was actually much better than expected. I had dinner (with the business folk of course) at this lovely, if pricey, restaurant across from the naval academy with great views of all the chi-chi boats and some of the really gorgeous buildings in Annapolis. On my free night, I hitched a cab down and wandered around the historic district and the Academy, and wowzers. Very nice stuff. Stepped into this sort of divey joint not far from the water - can't remember the name (oh, the liquor was a-flowing, 'cause hell yeah I'll drink alone) but I think it was vaguely Irish. Food was good, service was nice, and I think I knocked back a bottle of some chardonnay or other, possibly two. I wasn't paying attention.
It was a good time, though. Remember that much.
The flight back from BWI was less than stellar - due to some mechanical problem, they'd cancelled an earlier flight, and so my getting ot the airport six hours early meant I spent six hours twiddling my thumbs instead of getting to the top of the standby list and going home early. I did, however, discover a little shop in the airport that did chair massages...and so I felt pretty good by the time I got on the plane. Though the masseur did suggest I quit lugging around a briefcase and laptop on the same shoulder and I told him if he could miraculously make my balance better, I'd be happy to.
The weekend was not too bad. I stumbled across some information that shook me up a little on the emotional front, reminding me yet again that people are liars and assholes and most of them suck and I shouldn't take it personally.
But you know, I can't help but take it personally when people personally treat me like shit. I mean, I just really don't understand why people feel so compelled to lie about everything. I don't lie. I may not volunteer the truth, but if I tell you something, it's the truth. If I don't feel comfortable sharing the truth, I say so and keep it to myself. And I think this is the best way to operate - people always know where they stand with me. They don't have to wonder. And this means that any relationship with me is based on reality, on real emotion and sentiment and regard and affection.
And then there's the rest of the fucked up planet, that seems to thrive on creating bullshit, on putting together a fictional account of themselves for the purpose of what....protection? Deception? Malice? Ignorance? Fear? I dont' even know and can't begin to understand. For all my issues, for all my difficulty in trusting people and in acknowledging my own emotions (I have reffrered to myself as a cold bitch on more than one occasion, and I believe it to be a description only so far from the truth)...I have never felt it necessary or advisable or helpful to lie about that kind of thing. Lies never benefit anyone. Never.
But people do it anyway. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. And then people like me feel betrayed and humiliated and sad, because we believed the lies. We bought the bullshit. We played the fool, and I don't care if everybody does sometimes, that doesn't make it right.
Okay, now that I've worked myself up into a bitter froth...there's the rest of the weekend.
I signed up for a Tarot class, which I'm very excited about. I played the coffeehouse Saturday, which was a great deal of fun. I met a really wonderful guy, a fellow musican who has about ten or fifteen years in the biz on me...who was kind enough to listen to me gripe for hours on end, which I appreciated. I wrote a couple songs. I got a manicure and pedicure, because I'm girlie like that.
All told, not a bad weekend.
Then, today at lunch, I got caught in the rain, which sounds like more fun thatn it actually was. The hair got all frizzed and wavy and defied my meticulously straightened and curled under styling...stupid rain. Mondays suck.
Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.