I hate the outdoors. I just want to be inside... all the time.
Having said that, it was ok. I got a little stir crazy, not having a 'plan' every day: I hate it when a day just... passes you by. I'm all for doing nothing all day if you need to relax, but plan for that! Spontaneity and 'just seeing what happens' don't work for me.
But once I got into the swing of it, I enjoyed it. It was a little heavy being with Boyfriend's parents and brother every day, but I had a little hissy fit on Thursday and he and I went out to dinner. Besides that I was impeccably behaved, especially considering we were in a tent and everything was dirty. Oh, also? There were March Flies around. 'Oh, yes, I believe I've been stung by one before, when I was about 12. They sting!' I told his mother. Who proceeded to then tell me I must be thinking of a different insect, and shared hideous stories about the mark being so big, and so itchy, that you have to scratch until it scabs to get pain relief. Et cetera. Then she acted all, 'mellow out!' When I ran inside the car/caravan/tent whenever one was near. She was all, 'just wait for them to land, and then slap it' I was all, 'I'd rather run indoors and stay there than squash a fly with my bare hands, an activity I'll save for when I'm BURNING IN HELL.'
I did a lot of swimming and reading, and some writing. We went to the movies one night (Seven Pounds. Heavy. Ok, but the reveal's a little too slow. Satisfying ending. Will Smith is a great actor nowadays, but FFS, stop making movies that devastate me!) I didn't brush my hair for 8 days, though I washed it every day. On the way home I detected a clean, fuzzy dreadlock forming. Baffling! I didn't know my fine hair was capable of that! Anyway, the only people who had to deal with my Crazy Lady Hair were Boyfriend, his family and Persues (who I barged in on and hassled drunkenly and soberly, stopping him doing his work in favour of listening to me bark like a pony about stuff), so that was ok.
After seven days with not even a hint of colour, I got mildly sunburnt on the shoulders while packing on the last day. And my lovely porcelain décolletage tanned, ew. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be of a background that granted me inches and inches of brown skin, but if you're not lucky enough to be born with it, odds are it looks gross on you when you try and fake it by cooking yourself. Thanks to my half-wogness, I battle with my Mediterranean skin's desire to be two shades darker than the luminous white I'd like. Sigh.
So, yes. I'd go again, just because it's so nice to see Boyfriend happy. Even for a week, just because it's nice being with him every day.
Anyway. I have so much to do, yet so many blogs to catch up on. God I missed the webs.
1 hour ago