Rest from My Labors

I burned after all! I never felt so much like I was at Burning Man at home. Dalai-Mama named her house “Camp Letting Go” and, um, we did! Wonderful, wicked, warm, happy moments. I love my life sometimes. Then I sober up, ha!

It was, in fact, truly lovely. Also, wild. And all weekend!

“You’ll know I’m dead when the noise stops.”

On Labor Day, I walked over to my neighbor Mila’s place. He had a BBQ last year too, and to my great surprise and delight, Yerka had returned after five-and-a-half months in Thailand! With Tomash and me there, we were precisely the same four who reveled together last year. So it seems a new, deliciously perverse tradition is born: Labor Day with the Czechs! This year I threw corn-on-the-cob on the barby, but found out that’s an American thing. (Fun factoid, yeah?) I alone slathered it in butter. Yum!

I need a nap.

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