Of course there were responsibilities and activities that were required of me to keep myself in check, remaining social and contributing even when my mental capacities were burned to the wick's end, but it was without a doubt a small price to pay forward just to be in the presence of some great, passionate minds and talented craftspeople. No stranger am I to communal living, or the customs of island life, though there is something rather interesting about this amalgam that brings out the pathos and the types. And when you think things can't get any more surreal or out-of-touch with reality, particularly when you find yourself laying on your back with a pristine sky full of stars and the lapping cadence of waves unique to only those hollowed out cliffs and breakwater jetties, you become captive to your own ambitions, your own questioning heart, listening a little more closely to those things that truly make you tick.
Now that I am home, I have to confront those thoughts, my fears of inadequacy, and this drive inside to do something hard, and visionary, and sometimes obnoxiously grandiose. I recoil to this verismilitude that's supposed to be more grounded, more absolute in my actions, more surefooted and deliberate. But man does drunken bliss hold hands with inspiration, especially when navigating these tricky, unforgiving terrains.