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Sunburns, Pinot, and Closure

My Face is actually melted into this expression. My mother warned me....

It was a long weekend, an amazing weekend, but a long weekend. I am sunburned, sore, and exhausted. My face and neck are burnt to crisps, but I’m pretty used to that. These

My Face is actually melted into this expression. My mother warned me....

things are common when your arch-nemesis is the Sun. Even the worn muscles and mental fog that accompanies fatigue are familiar to me, I generally feel this way after an event, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

This past weekend was long, tiring, and awesome. Every October has a significance to it, it is pretty much the last time we can go camping without freezing to death, and thus is usually the last major Eldaraenth event of the year, almost always made up of a Tournament, games, a feast, and then a giant party. This year was only exceptional in that it was October, and yet Missouri had decided that it really wanted the weather to be more like June, 80°F, sunny and dry enough that each step you took would send dust clouds prancing around your feet.

Sadly, I did not get to strike #4 off of my 30 Before 30 List this year, so that is really going to put some pressure on me to perform next year at the absolute best I’ve ever done. I’m beginning to think this one particular goal may be out of my reach.

It wasn’t the fighting and feasting that really caught up with me this weekend, though. It was one little, pinot-inspired, conversation. A conversation that should have taken place a long time ago. I spent some time talking to my ex-wife. We talked about many different things, but we just cleared out some air and let some things out that needed to be said. It was a good conversation, and at one point we looked up to realize just about everyone at the campfire was listening to us.

I guess when you have a group as close-knit as that one, they all have an emotional investment in closure, too. So I might not be any closer to one my goals, I’m getting much closer to a couple of others thanks to this weekend.

Now, if my brain would only recover and let the fog out so I can get to work for next year.

 

Published by M.A. Brotherton

M.A. Brotherton is a writer, blogger, artist, and fat-kid from the suburbs of Kansas City, Missouri. He’s tasted a little bit of everything the Midwest has to offer, ranging from meth-tweaking rednecks in massive underground cave complexes to those legendary amber waves of grain. When he’s not writing, he spends most of his time screwing around on the internet.