Feeling: Retreat-ed. Good. Worn. Smelly.
Listening to: Moulin Rouge- El Tango de Roxanne
Reading/Watching: nothing

So tired. Muscle-tired. The choir retreat involved much swimming, running around, etc. My good friend Sleep and I have some catching up to do.

The directions to get there were horribly off, and since we were out in the boonies, cel-phones were patchy at best. The two freshmen I was giving a ride to were relatively cheerful and understanding when we stopped to ask directions about five times (three times no one was home... it was rather creepy), and we finally arrived two hours later than planned. I think they were partially complacent because I had half the food in my trunk, and let them dig into the chips and gallons of water while we cruised the hill country listening to music and laughing about our poor sense of direction.

I must say, it's something of a drag to be the one who pays the fees and does the paperwork while everyone else starts lunch, and to be the one who cleans and sweeps the floor while everyone else is dozing on sleeping bags and such. I wasn't the only one doing these things, but I remember when I used to get to just enjoy being with people, and sit and talk instead of being the one answering everyone's questions, to sleep in instead of getting up to fix the breakfast, and going for one last walk around the campfire instead of asking people to please get off the floor so we can mop it before we go.

End bitterness. It was fun. We went swimming in some fantastically disgusting creek water (complete with the odd drifting green muck that is warmer than the rest of the water), built a campfire, roasted marshmallows, talked until 2 a.m., etc. We bought food for thirty people, and wound up with thirteen. Mrph.

Though I have to wonder, would we have been as close and able to do things as a group if there'd been thirty people? Too many, and we'd split off into factions and basically stick with the same small group the whole time.

I also got a chance to know Surfer Boy better, and I'm very secure in my decision that he doesn't belong on a pedestal. He seems like a nice guy, fun to be friends with, but he's just a kid. And we would never click, although it's good to know he doesn't think poorly of me. He caught me "sweeping" the floor of the main hall, essentially dancing with the broom in wide circles to "Come What May," and just laughed and said something funny so I wouldn't feel awkward.

Got home feeling settled, happy, glad things went so well overall, and desperately in need of a shower.

And now that I'm here, with no more I-need-to-do-this? We meet again, Monsieur Pillow. Zzzz.

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