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I took myself off the Burning Man early arrival board.

A. I have a ride.

B. I have better things to do with my time than pursue the odd configurations of how people get their stuff from where they live to where they will live for a few weeks.

It is good reading.

However, I get exhausted when I see an inbox full of e-mail.

I want that inbox spic and span.

Tidy like.

And I have a ticket.

Yup.

Got handed over the official “Cargo Cult” ticket today and my early arrival pass.

“Don’t lose that,” my employer said to me as I folded the two together and stuck them in a secret stash part of my wallet where I keep schedules on paper for places that can administer first aid to my aching head and all its attendant crazy.

“Also,” she said, half serious, half in jest, “please, don’t sell it.”

No way.

“What burn is this for you,” she asked me tonight as we headed from the Women’s Building on 17th and Valencia to the BART station on 16th and Mission.

Lucky number seven.

I still cannot believe that this will be seven.

Seven is spelled with style, yo.

I am going to be staying an Airstream.

I have food, water, transportation, ticket, early arrival.

“BANANA SEAT!”

The text read today.

What?

OH!

My new saddle showed up at the shop.

“Honey, you have to see this thing, it’s huge,” my friend from the shop said.

“Brian 3 did not even know what a banana seat was, he’d never heard of one, fuck me I am old.”

Me too.

“It really is huge,” he added.

Good, I am a size queen.

I can’t wait to get my paws on it.

I figure that will happen Friday.

I have a dinner date with John Ater then a speaking engagement at Our Lady of SafeWay.

Yes that reads correctly.

No, I don’t care to explain.

I meet with John at 6:30 p.m.

Plenty of time to come into the city, go to my friend’s place on 19th, scoop up my bike, and bring it over to the shop to have them install my huge saddle.

My great, big, triple thick, banana seat, I’m going to be riding a lot at Burning Man.

I do, actually believe that I will be riding my bike more than I have in years past.

I won’t be fluffing or working for folks who are doing the golf-cart thing.

I will have access to some sort of vehicle to take my charge to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or whatever meals I end up working with him, I am sure I won’t be pedaling across the playa with him in my bicycle basket.

Although that would be really cute.

My schedule is also a little nebulous at the moment, but it will all work out.

The one thing that I do believe I will do, aside from jump up and down and clap my hands when that seat goes on my cruiser bike (did I mention it is white and it has glitter?) is stop thinking that I have an idea of what money I am going to make at the event.

I have a number in my head, but I don’t know for certain how much I am going to work.

I will be there three weeks.

In my head that equals, five days on, two days off, three weeks in a row–15 shifts.

But it’s not the normal world.

There may be days when I work longer or shorter hours.

It’s the playa, and weird, wonderful, wacky shit happens out there.

So for me to sit, miniature accountant in my head and try to figure out how much I am going to make, is nuts.

Plain, old crazy making.

I am going to work and I am sure I shall work plenty.

But I cannot count my eggs this early in.

Suffice to say, I will be going, it will be splendid (and awful, and dusty, and there will be tears, there always are, and I will wonder, what the fuck am I doing and why is this important?  And then the magic will happen and I will fall in love with it all again, and this will happen over and over and over until I come home and collapse in a dusty heap to get all excited for the experience months later) and I will be taken care of.

The rest of this week I have nanny gigs, one tomorrow, one Thursday.

Then that’s it until Tuesday, one charge only, in Cole Valley.

Then nothing, until the following Tuesday, two charges, one day, Cole Valley.

Again, however, holding out for the miraculous.

The something awesome that is going to happen that I cannot predict or see or plan for, I can just show up for.

I am practising by saying yes.

In fact, I just made a commitment to show up somewhere late next Wednesday in Oakland.

It’ll be one of the few times I can.

I don’t really want to, but that’s besides the point, I get to, and I get to say yes.

I subscribe to the belief that I have to move forward open arms to this experience, rather than saying, I am going to freak because I don’t have work.

I have plenty of work, it just doesn’t always pay back the kind of dividends that can be found in a checking and savings account.

Sometimes the payoff is a fat ride and early arrival to Burning Man.

That is some heady coin.

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