I woke up this morning, dazed and confused.
There was a dog staring at me.
My entire body yearned for more rest.
I was laying on a comfortable bed, my head upon thick pillows.
There was a ceiling fan turning above me.
I was in a room with a lot more stuff than seen here.
I dragged myself out of bed to let the dog out, and the fog still did not lift.
Everything was quiet.
I staggered into the kitchen and did not find multiple buffets of steaming plant-rich food, waiting for me.
There was no wood-fired pizza.
No jam-packed salad bars.
No buffet of crafted raw foods.
I opened the fridge and only found almond milk and wilted greens.
(I wasn't hungry, anyway.)
Instead of rushing off from one lecture hall to another to listen to inspirational and talented activists and authors and chefs, I went to work. And I did not laugh until tears were streaming down my face, nor did work motivate or inspire me. It was just...work.
I'm definitely not at Summerfest anymore.