Today I said that being at Whartscape this weekend — in the heat, engulfed by a swarm of carefree, dancing and sweaty bodies who didn’t really mind that there was no air conditioning — made me feel old. Ian called me out on my use of the word, though, and I guess what I meant to say was that it made me feel encumbered. I feel like there’s a limit to how many hours I can go without feeling overwhelmingly sad, and then I have to go home, quiet down, watch some TV, take a shower.
When we first got up to Baltimore, we delayed going to the festival because it was so hot, and our hosts had champagne and a nice spread of dips. The next day, after the storm caused the festival to shut down for a while and there was a change in venue, I just thought, you know what, I’d rather be eating heirloom tomatoes from the farmer’s market in my underwear and watching 30 Rock with my best friend. And while maybe during another time in my life you couldn’t have paid me to miss the lineup from last night, no matter how late it went with the delays, that’s not how it is right now. I just have to learn to be cool with it.