Missed the Munch

It's been an exciting time here in Flagstaff.

I got some new hose for the bidet; the first stuff got kinky. I found Stories and Poems for Extremely Intelligent Children of All Ages by Harold Bloom ("What're you gonna do with that?" you ask),

and Sacred Sexuality by A. T. Mann & Jane Lyle.

I got the food and water restocked/resupplied...and couldn't do the munch. Below is what I posted to my blog on Fetlife.

Title: Missed the Munch

Well, I just couldn't do it.

After driving all the way around the Grand Staircase-Escalante National monument -- instead of going back the way I came which was up through the middle from Big Water to Escalante and was what I had intended to do, but didn't FULLY trust Phoebe's repair -- to attend the Flagstaff Kinkster's Munch yesterday evening, when I saw all those people, none of whom was wearing a mask, and although there was a nice-looking group settling into a sortof separate area (it might be them!), everyone was seated shoulder-to-shoulder and I had to face the fact that I live the way I do because I prefer one-on-one interactions (and elbow room) and actually have an aversion to places like Taverna. (How's THAT for a Proustian sentence?)

But, of course, never having SEEN the place I had no way of knowing. As it was, when I got back to camp, the moon was out and the temperature was just right for enjoying some beer while making dinner and then a bit more WITH dinner. And in spite of missing out on making some new acquaintances and possibly a friend or two, it was a beautiful evening. But if you're out there...please don't hesitate.

Pathetique, eh? Ah, well. "One is what one is. The essential doesn't change." (From Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett)