Nun surfaces. No torpedoes fired.

I'm kind of poo about posting lately, but again, that's mainly because I haven't had much to say. I have:

• Dried seven pounds of fruit - net weight at time of purchase.
• Done a gazillion other little things on my Burning Man prep list.
• Gone out to my shortest night at the Mercury ever - an hour - because of fruit drying and my son's unexpected presence at home.
• Gone to Macabre Market at the Mercury on Sunday afternoon and spent too much money, but at least I got something from effusively grateful and astute local vendors Bawdy Love Clothing that'll be perfect for the Burn.
• Watched Dr. Marston and the Wonder Women. Boy howdy, is that relevant to my interests. Also tragic.
• Sent text messages for the Beto O'Rourke campaign down in Texas. Yeah, I'm messing with Texas from the mighty & awesome Evergreen State, baybee.
• Eetz with R & J, which is one of my favorite things.

Have I mentioned that I'm in a weird head space for this Burn? I know I'm not alone. I run the risk of expecting too much from it because I hunger for redemption: for Burning Man itself, for my goddamn country, and for the direction (or lack thereof) that I've taken in life. I think I need to zen out, and a long-ass drive is just the way to do it.

ETA: Oh yeah, Mom didn't talk to me for the second weekend in a row. I'm not surprised, but I'm still sad.

postscript: Maybe I'm OK with not talking to my mom.

Good Sister emailed to tell me about a conversation with Mom. We knew that Mom can hold it together for about fifteen minutes before she jumps on a fast train to Crazytown, but it was poor GS's turn to exceed that threshold, get called a monster, and hear the novel information that Mom has never had a heart attack. Beeyotch, you've got two stents in your heart, and nobody gets those for recreational purposes.

What's the comparative of "bonkers"? More bonkers? Bonkerser?