I have been really, truly, near hospitalization sick only once in my life.

It’s a place I never want to go again.

That’s why I keep an iron grip on my health.

My routines.

My medication.

It is with great sadness that I report that Burning Man disturbs those routines and puts me at risk for getting sick again.

Now that I’m back home, my family and friends ask me what it’s like reentering the Default World.

Well, the truth is I never left it.

I took it with me and lived solidly in it for as long as I could during this burn.

But then, I started getting sick.

After that, all I wanted was to get back home to my boys, my family, and my routines.

Don’t feel bad for me.

I’ve had a good run of it.

And I can say that Burning Man is not for me not because I had a ruined burn like I did in 2015, but because I had a great burn and STILL couldn’t stay healthy.

At least I made up for last year’s ATROCIOUS burn.

It’s been an amazing, life changing journey:

• I’ve seen a tuba player blow fire.
• I finally experienced the reverence of a Temple burn.
• I’ve had my naked body washed by 4 people at the same time.
• I’ve had outrageously wonderful sex on the playa.
• I’ve seen the sunrise.
• I’ve made out with dodgy men.
• I’ve gotten tipsy and danced my heart out.
• I’ve been lost in a dust storm. Several, actually.
• I’ve ridden the back of a snail.

And I’ve fallen in love with Black Rock City and its citizens.

Nevertheless, when I bid the playa farewell this year, I had the feeling I was saying my permanent goodbye.

Tears.