I'm listening to Sarah McLachlan right now. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, I don't want to talk about it. It's just happening, and I'm strangely comfortable with being massaged by her nasally tone and pop-infused lounge-ness.

Today is a good day. I shed the shit of tired, angry Sean from the weekend and went to the gym, albeit on a somewhat unpredictable achilles tendon. I tore my achilles back in January doing Capoeira, and after three months of healing, I thought all was well. Then I was back at Capoeira last week, and I felt something make a weird sensation there. It doesn't hurt like it did before, but now I simply don't trust the fucking thing. It's a scary feeling not trusting a tendon that's strung so tight it could easily snap and wind up in my calf, where doctors would have to surgically restretch it back into place after slicing my whole fucking leg open. I sure as fuck don't want to be in a walking boot for burning man, which is only three weeks away.

My tentative plans have solidified, melted into a puddle of amorphic goo, hardened, calcified, shattered, and been reconstructed using uncooked spaghetti and glue. You'd be amazed at how much weight a bridge made from spaghetti and glue can hold, though. It looks like I'm camping with Fringe (address: 4:00 and B), my San Francisco friend Kelly's camp, that is this year bringing the Janky Barge. It looks like Jabba the Hut's airship, but with wheels. And DJ's.

Another new burning man thing for me, I'm bringing Havilah with me this year. After Flipside and PEX, I'm not worried anymore about the whole "bringing a significant other" thing with burn events. The open dynamic of our relationship makes us work seamlessly at burn events, and it's nice having someone to share stuff like that with who's okay with you sharing those things with other people as well. She'll probably be joining me on Thursday, so I'll have four days to figure out where all the good trouble is before she gets there to steal it all.

-Sean