I used to make things and then write about it. Last week, things changed. Now I do this: Potomac Celtic Festival. The rest of the PCF staff and I have fewer than 90 days to make sure a quarter of a million dollar festival goes as planned. My task list:
* Update webpage every 17 minutes, despite the fact that I am not in my house 24 hours a day
* Track down the rest of the staff and drag the appropriate info for the website out of their brains
* Finish the cat-herding that is building, arranging, and promoting the workshop schedule
* Round up hundreds of volunteers and treat them very very nicely so that I can eventually ensnare them and make them take some of my PCF jobs away
* Tend our crafters and vendors staff
* Wander local college campuses and beg students to apply for our scholarship
* Jury applicant crafters and vendors
* Attend local St. Paddy’s Day events and gleefully promote the festival that is eating my brain
* Deliver brochures and posters unto the masses
* Meetings, cubed
* Not commit homicide, suicide, celticide, or any other ‘icide
* Hide from people who think Celtic=(Enya+Riverdance+knotwork+RenFest)-(history+culture+literature+geography+language+music), so as to avoid said ‘icides
* Manage the Living History staff and make room for a new LH group
* Create an on-line ticketing system and sell at least 10,000 tickets
* Apply for an NEA grant (haaaahahahahha–that’s not going to happen)
* Answer approximately 19 million emails and phone messages without cussing anyone out, even if they deserve it
* And, most importantly, try to prevent some zzzhhhackassss from finding me in the middle of the night on Saturday, after I’ve been on site slaving away for many many hours, to pick a fight with me. I apparently have a zzzhhhackassss magnet buried deep inside me, and it is most attractive when I really want to relax with some pals and a beer. Is it so wrong to want to play a little bit of javelin bocce and sing a few songs without sharing that experience with some freak who really thinks he’s in the IRA circa 1920 and wants to pick a fight with me because I have an English last name or something?

Please, I beg you, if you care for your Crazy Lanea at all, either buy tickets to the festival or volunteer at the festival. Or maybe just check in a while and see if my hands have fused to my keyboard and my head to the phone, and if perhaps my husband and pets are starving to death. Above all, forgive me for being unable to even look sideways at other topics or events during the next few months. If possible, I will put a clone in my normal place so that my blooming insanity will make fewer of you uncomfortable.

And, uh, a felted bag of original design is almost done, a quilt made out of these linen blocks is planned, Squarehead almost has new socks, Anubh’s hat is waiting for her head for the final blocking and subsequent felt-art, Dark Mary is waiting (patiently?) for some Tuatha stuff, and the second hat mafia project is through the design phase and close to the needles. And I have been neglecting my Auntly duties and have made no bunnies. I would feel shame if I weren’t so tired. I think I may have forgotten how to read, too, but that’s too much to consider at this point.

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