I’ve returned from my ninth desert sojourn with more minor injuries than ever before. I went out early, ahead of Ted, and did some volunteer work and some stone cold chilling. As soon as I got to the playa, all my dreams took place at Burning Man. I was confused by who I’d really seen and who was in my dreams.

This being Burning Man, my camera stopped working immediately upon arrival. Ted talked dirty to the camera and it began to work sporadically. As usual, despite the best intentions, we have a handful of photos. Of course we can’t currently find the mostly broken camera, so photos will have to wait. I have accepted that this is the way things must be. The playa giveth, the playa taketh away.

I made a saloon girl costume, which was fun to wear and kept me warm. There was a bit of clowning, a few golf cart races and lots of bike riding. I took the southern gothic belle dress for a solo sunset stroll and had a few blowouts in the hoop skirt along the way. One night I did a fantastic job applying professional-grade silver body paint to my face and neck, only to fall asleep 30 minutes later. When I awoke the next morning, the makeup was perfectly intact.

There was a big dust storm. There were moments of kismet. There were friends I ran into in the middle of nowhere and friends I never found. It was Burning Man. After all this time it means a lot, but it means something different than it once did.

Some memorable playa gifts: a wasabi martini, bandages, one spectacular white patent pleather belt with large blinking orange lights, tequila shots, an avocado, air conditioning, grilled cheese sandwiches and many cans of beer. Thanks, y’all.