My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Today I  leave for Burning Man. I have an alarming amount of stuff piled up in my living room and it's all supposed to fit into my wee car plus a passenger with her meager (she tells me) belongings. Plus tying the bike to the new bike rack. Plus a 13+ hour drive to the effing desert where it will be a) very hot b) dry and dusty and c) inhospitable to most all life. Plus Felix decided to get diarrhea yesterday twice, poor guy, so I made him a giant container of rice and ground chicken which he LOVES, to take to Randy's house.

My animals know when I'm going on a trip. Felix gets morose and wants to be near me. Lola disappears. They always get good care while I'm away. Otherwise I couldn't feel released.

The garden is watered. The house swept and dusted, a thankless task. My Burning Man hat is complete with twinkly lights.

Anxiety is better. I asked a friend why I've been feeling so anxious about this trip-I prevaricated about everything; the long drive, my stranger passenger, the heat, food, stuff to bring, finding my daughter among 70,000 dusty participants, getting there after dark, etc, etc. He said, "Cuz you're old."

Oh. 

He said we get more anxious as we age. Is that true? I certainly don't trust my knees like I used to. I worry about money (well, that's not new). 

I'm leaving my computer at home. My phone will probably die while I'm there because there is no way to recharge it. Besides signals are spotty on the playa. I hope to get some photos. I will be able to charge it up on the ride home. 

For now, I'm gonna meditate, have some breakfast and continue to contemplate the tight packing situation. Then off I go to Portland to pick up Lisa, my passenger, who will help with gas and driving. And we're stopping about half-way there to spend the night at the Shady Inn Motel-no not the Bates Motel!, a cheap-o place just off I-5. Then on until morning....

Burning Man, here we come.