So I have this little hobby called Dickens Fair. It is about (at least) twice as much fun as Renaissance faires. Maybe ten times as fun. And it is far more concentrated. Instead of taking several months to have nine or eleven fair days - it only takes a month. So there is this period where for about six weeks, I don't see my house in full daylight.
So the pool gets leafy ('cause it's Fall) and essentially nothing but work ($) and fair get done. Somehow I have to slot in some Christmas shopping. There are no projects done. It takes all of my will to get enough sleep that I don't get a full blown cold (I'm writing this with a sore throat) and I feel like I've been hit by a full logging truck.
The weeks flow into one continuous series of mornings that start with an alarm clock and a routine that is all planned out in advance. No sleeping in, or impromptu anything. It's relentless. It's exhausting. My feet hurt. Blah blah blah blah.
But lemme tell you, I wouldn't miss it for anything.
Every day is Christmas Eve. It is an all-day party with several hundred friends. It has its own smells and sounds. There are countless rituals. There's flirting and compliments. (There's even outright nudity!) There's pretending and dress up. There is delight in the eyes of hundreds of strangers when you pointedly "Happy Christmas" them. There is dancing and laughter. There are drinks and jokes. There are several hundred new people to meet. There is an opportunity to see so many things that you can't see them all. There is a continuous web of new friendships and experience that is unlike anything else I've experienced.
Our show (the whole incredible thing) is beloved by thousands, praised all around, and better than anything like it by all accounts. There is an assortment of talent and commitment that always amazes me. It is much the same but totally fresh each time.
When it ends, I count the days until it starts again. It never lasts long enough or comes too soon.
I love it. You should come and enjoy it.