steve's Journal

how to fuck beltane
[Maybe if I write this here, I'll be able to keep the versions appearing elsewhere as the "good bits" version....]

Everything went very well in the run-up to Beltane, if I but knew it. This didn't stop alternate waves of stress and elation from knocking me all over the place, but the mixture led to me being even less good than usual at resisting the pub.

Either Thursday or Friday night on its own (if Friday had been marginally more sensible) would have been okay, I reckon, but being out so late both nights, on top of a week with not a lot of sleep anyway, was just plain stupid.

So not only was Saturday massively more rushed than it should've been 'cos I started later, but I was just plain tired and stressy into the bargain.

The procession mostly went well until the Stage and the Bower, when I seem to have had slightly more than my fair share of idiots - not all of whom were punters, unfortunately, but my mood crashed from about the time we discovered that it was almost 1am and we'd have to clear the Hill soon (second year running I never made it to the fire).

I should maybe have gone home then, but didn't really feel up to it - I thought that if I went on to the club and the after-after-party I could cheer myself up by main force.

It didn't really work, and I could feel myself not quite avoiding people, but not exactly going out of my way to catch and thank all the people I'd meant to.

I was feeling better enough by the end of the club to think that the after-after-party was a good idea, but again there was that detachment, not really feeling a part of things, and when what I think was the last of the torchies left, I did likewise.

Current Mood: drained