Sometime in January of this year I lost my mind. I haven no other explanation for the fact that I took more than half of one paycheck and bought a ticket to Burning Man after barely a few days of learning it existed. I sort of skimmed over the Wikipedia entry on the event and, gripped with the reverent belief that I shall become a journalist, I jumped feet first into an event I'm discovering I am woefully unprepared for even now. Initially, my dear friend and cohort Rose was going to go on the trip with me and it would be some madcap adventure out in the desert. Well, things changed. Rose quit her internship, moved to California and is currently gearing up to spend six months in Antarctica (no, I'm not at all kidding). Rose is sort of a badass on epic Joan Jett-level proportions. All that aside, I did manage to talk two friends into coming with me so no matter what played out it wouldn't be all bad. Also, there was less of a chance of me dying in the desert alone.

Have I mentioned to you how much I loathe the desert? It's a deep-seeded hatred that stems back to just after I graduated from undergrad and left home to journey west to my first after college job. In Utah. Back then everyone pretty much thought I was crazy. If they weren't complaining about the heat then it was the Mormons, but I insisted I had never had a problem with either of those things. And thinking back on my experiences that isn't what makes me want to vomit every single time I see the craggy red landscape of the southern Utah desert pop up on some Discovery channel special or another. Part of it stems from the vast emotional desert I experienced there and part of it, well, part of it is because it just seemed to have it in for me. More than once I thought I was going to die. Now, I'm not talking about the sudden adrenaline rush you get from a so-called 'close call' that probably didn't have any real likelihood of killing you. I'm talking about the life-flashes-before-your-eyes-make-peace-with-your-Maker kind of run-ins. So, it's fair to say that the desert and I are not friends in any capacity.

That said, the fact that I am starting my journey the day after tomorrow has me more terrified than I have ever been in my life.

Granted, I have tried to make up for this fear (something which feels not unlike a small animal slowly devouring me from the inside out beginning with my stomach) by being as informed as possible. I have signed up for the Jack Rabbit Speaks which, for those of you in the know, is a newsletter sent out to all Burners past and present to help get people prepared for the adventure. I've read the website a thousand times and nearly committed the newbie survival guide to heart. I've googled past Burners and looked up their packing lists: things they brought, things they used, things they wished they had. Apparently each year hundreds of whole, unused watermelons are left behind. Because when I'm getting ready to spend a week in the desert the first thing I want to go to Kroger to get is a watermelon as big as my head...I mean...really?

But maybe I'm over-thinking things, as I am sometimes known to do. I've tried my best to step back and just let it go. I've volunteered to run the sound board for several shifts and I am bringing my digital voice recorder along with my trusty blue spiral bound notebook and various writing utensils. Maybe something interesting will come out of this yet. We'll see. At the very least you should expect a run-down when I return on Sept 9th or 10th.

Until then, later days!