I had a ridiculous and rambunctious weekend at OATS, despite the fact that people kept disappearing to work the festival for a few hours at a time, which wore everyone out. There were a bunch of new folks and a bunch of not-so-new-but-new-to-me folks, so there was always someone to strike up conversation with. I rented a car for the weekend and wound up with a Taurus, and let me tell ya, it was a lot roomier than the Hotel Honda Prelude.
Bluegrass festivals with the Grilbillies are impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it. The weekend exceeds the amount of fun you’d think anyone could possibly have in two or three days, but by Sunday afternoon, you’re ready to head home just so that you can get some sleep and a shower. And that night, you experience such overwhelming withdrawal that you wonder if it would be easier to never see them again than to feel that morning-after pain the next time around.
Thanks to the holiday, I had an extra two days to recover from the weekend before going back to work. The Monday after Abbipalooza was the longest of my life, and I’m glad I don’t have to go through that again. The toughest part is knowing that I probably won’t be able to make it to any more festivals this summer - I’m poor, I don’t have a car, and I can’t keep taking Friday’s off, so trouncing off to Pennsylvania every weekend isn’t really an option. It’s unbelievably hard to leave those weekends behind and go back to “real life,” knowing that it may be another six months before I can see them again.
I should just retire and buy an RV.