Surrealism

What. A. Weekend.

I'm surprisingly alert and attentive and enthusiastic considering the hours and hours of dancing, drinking and debauchery of the past fews, coupled with the decided lack of rejuvenating sleep. Somewhere in my very near future is a blazing crash and burn into dreamlessness oblivion, I'm sure. The sleep debt may take days to repay, but by gawd was it worth it.

Looking back on the past 72 hours is like an exercise in recreating that fleeting dream envisioned in the blurry comfort of the gap between waking and sleeping -- unbelievably clear and etched in some places, opaque and smudged in others. But even the smudged places proffer an essence of contentment and you can't help but want to be back in the dream instead of your current reality. Alas, the moment slips effortlessly away and all we can do is take comfort in the memories. At least real life has some photos. :)

There are some definite highlights. Some of which like A.T.'s lighter saving the wedding ceremony are public, openly shared knowledge. Or walking with A.T. and his sisters down the road and up the banks of a wooded waterfall, cascading clear and crisp. There was one very trippy irish dance cross-handed spin on saturday night. And a seemingly very confused police officer looking for a Zack Schaeffer at a merry and mellow wedding party, and when out of earshot was summarily mocked by the delighted party-goers taking a smoke break ("I'm Zack Schaeffer!" "No, I'm Zack Schaeffer!" "Who the hell is Zack Schaeffer?!") And others are my private joys from the weekend, shared with a few at my own discretion. All seem to be on ceaseless rotation, bubbling slowly and randomly to the surface of my consciousness and making me smile.

It doesn't seem real. That it should have happened to me. And yet, within its boundaries and even in the emergence from its sometimes psycadelic haze... I find myself more confident and alive and optimistic.