This week, I’m making my very first solo roadtrip. I head south Wednesday for a music festival with my pals in central Florida. I find myself completely giddy to get out of this godforsaken town for a few days, to hang out with people other than the friends I’ve come to loathe and resent. The music festival will be full of color, sound, new scents, and fresh faces. I’m frickin’ ecstatic.
So ecstatic, I’ve begun to daydream for these little pockets of time. I’ll slip into the daydream with something as simple as thinking about the clothes I plan I packing. Then I start to imagine the types of shows and occassions I’ll be dressing for. Do I have anything remotely weird and hip enough for some of this stuff? Hmm…there’s that vintage cloth bathing suit I found at Goodwill and few weeks ago. It’s so funky and flattering. It reminds me of a sexy Raggedy Ann costume. Where the hell would I wear that? Maybe there will be a sexy Raggedy Ann costume contest. I’d wear the suit, with a red wig, and doll makeup. I’d get on stage, because of course I’ve won in my fabulous find, and I’ll dance for the crowd. I’ll be happy. I’ll feel free from judgement, because who the hell are these people? I don’t know these people. The crowd cheers at my quirky dance moves, and the man with the mic tell me to twerk. I can honestly say I don’t even know what that looks like, but all the kids are talking about it these days. I look at the man with the mic, and say “Fool, Raggedy Ann wouldn’t even know how to twerk.” And then I start doing the Twist and the Charleston, and the guy just shrugs.
Snap. End of fantastic daydream. I hope my trip lives up to these expectations, because shit.