Guilt

I'm feeling sort of bad that I'm at Sundance while my husband toils away on the farm like a slave. (I don't mean that in a racist way, I mean like the dictionary definition as in someone who works really hard and isn't paid) Here I am complaining about sitting on my ass watching movies all day while he is lifting giant cinder blocks with his dad and two guys that don't speak any English. (Not that there is anything wrong with not speaking English except that it complicates the art of conversation.) I also miss Zelda. I want to come home and lift cinder blocks. I wonder if I can change my flight. Nope. Stuck here for six more glorious days of sleeplessness and wading through drunk teenage girls in mini skirts and Uggs on Main Street.