  It's been a seemingly long day, and I didn't get everything done that I had planned. I'll spend tonight getting a bunch of reading done, and that should relieve some of my stress. I'm going to finish Elsa Morante, Benevolent Assimilation and Under a Cruel Star tonight (extremely over-zealous of me), and then I'll read all of Primo Levi tomorrow morning at the library.
Jerm and I are having angst about ren faire and reenacting again. What makes me reticent about the whole affair is how embarrassed I am to talk about it. I rarely even mention that I do it, and when I do, I'm very vague and go on about how dorky I am. I think if something I do embarrasses me that much, maybe then it isn't the right hobby for me. Besides, it's expensive, and I really want a break. There is so much oddness and sleaziness at faire. Although I must admit that the people I hang with are a fairly wholesome and cool bunch, comparative to your average boothie.
It was really fun when I was younger, but it's beginning to lose a lot of it's appeal for me, even though Jerm and I met at faire, and probably wouldn't have met ever if not for the easy social atmosphere of after hours at faire. This weekend is the RMS winter encampment, and I'm conflicted about whether or not to go. It isn't a faire, so should be more fun in some regards, but last encampment I went to was extremely clique-y.
There was apparently some drama between some parties (about which I attempt to remain oblivious), and the camp was divided into 3 groups: the hardworkers, the harpies and the borderers. The hardworkers are those that do all of the cooking, get the gear out, and generally organize the event. These are often oldtimers as well, but not always. The Harpies are the funny, catty and somewhat bitchy women who have always been kind to me, and generally give me little to complain about. But they tend toward drama, and are a self-declared clique (disclaimer: if somehow, for some random reason, a harpy happens upon this, I love you all, and appreciate the ferocity you display in sticking up for each other). At the bottom of the hill is the camp of the borderers, who dislike the confines and structures of the traditional RMS encampments, and tend to do their own thing. I call them borderers not because they are in the middle of anything, but because the majority of the group portrays Scots-English Border Rievers, a hardy bunch, from which those of Appalachia, Oklahoma and good old California descend (This is the ethnic group with whom I most identify.
I have to admit to my Okie roots.). Then there were those of us who moved between groups, some more easily than others. I have to admit that I often find it difficult to insert myself into social groups, and find it quite uncomfortable. More often than not, I'd rather be in my own group, and be a loner. I hate to be a joiner. It doesn't feel right to me.
And it is because of this complex and disorderly social situation that I think I need to take some time out from faire and RMS, until I feel more comfortable about myself and what I have to say. The blog is kind of nice for that. Hmm. 
