I ended up walking down to the music fest. I did wander by P’s place but of course she wasn’t home.

I felt terrible for never calling her back this week — she called on Sunday to invite me to see an arts movie (only an hour before it started) + on Tuesday eve to invite me to Mannechor but that was the night I was horribly depressed and just didn’t want to see anyone… I’ll have to call her tomorrow and touch base. That is the sucky thing about being depressed… you don’t feel like doing anything with anyone and feel alone, but if you do not respond to people, then they’ll start leaving you alone because they’ll figure you don’t care… which only reaffirms the loneliness thing.

I walked all over the Music Fest, listening to whatever sounds good. I sat for a bit with the sitar player who was rocking the kasbah… but when I wandered down to the Battle of the Bands at the far stage… man, the band wasn’t bad but the lead singer just sucked. I know that modern heavy punk/rock music doesn’t expect the singer to be on tune, but this guy was just terrible, it wasn’t a stylistic thing, he just didn’t have the chops or musical ability to hit anything close to correct.

At least I was prepared for the feelings of being alone, so… not  as big a deal. The wind sucked again tonight and I was eating hair, so I walked across the street to a bank wall with a series of reflective windows (I know all the helpful places in town like this, lol) and pulled most of it back without look too severe.

Decided to get a pit beef sandwich tonight, a much better choice than funnel cake. “Seven dollars, honey,” said the lady running it when I told her what I wanted. I was psyched also because they had a little table with onions, horseradish sauce, and BBQ sauce. I didn’t know how it would turn out, but it ended up being pretty tasty.

I got some shaved ice later, and when I went up to look at the overwhelming row of flavors, the teen taking my order spoke with a British accent. That threw me a second, and I thought of talking in one back to him… except  then his parents also in the booth spoke… and they had british accents! I’m glad I kept my mouth shut, apparently he wasn’t kidding around with me and just trying to sweep me off my feet. I mean, come on — there are a ton of Muslims in Harrisburg, and a ton of Indians, and a ton of African-Americans, and a ton of Chinese moving in… and so I’m used to lots of different accents, but I swear to god that I have NEVER heard a British accent before in this city, isn’t that weird! Where did these people come from?? First ones I’ve heard here.

I would do my sitting and eating on the bank looking out over the water. Finally I decided to walk back to the apartment, because the fireworks were not supposed to start until the ballgame was over, and it was only 7:30pm, and the sky was blue with rain. I had no idea if it would be rained out. The air felt moist on my face.

On the half an hour walk back, I swear I passed T.C., who goes to my old church and is married to the realtor who took my in-laws around Harrisburg looking for a home out here. Small world. Of course he didn’t say anything, he was too busy talking to a friend.

Right before I got back to the house, this old black guy — tough as jerky, skinny as a rail — was riding his bike by again. I tried to avoid him because he tries to chat me up every chance he gets recently, I even hurried across the street to miss intersecting him, and darnit if he didn’t try to start a conversation, and then turned and eyed me up as he went passed. He had been forced to turn left to catch up with me, then turned right at the next corner to get back on his route. He was harmless, I just could feel the vibe and didn’t want to have to deal with it.

I spent a half-hour back, then grabbed my hoodie to walk back down to the bridge. The sunset was absolutely gorgeous tonight. Normally it is beautiful, but tonight the whole river was literally orange-magenta, like sherbert. Amazing. Lots more people out tonight. I finally planted myself along the bank near two other families, down near the bridge, to wait.

A guy in a neighborhood across the river (we couldn’t see the houses, but we knew there was a neighborhood there) must have bought mortared fireworks and started shooting them up. He had quite a number of decent ones, exploding into the standard color flower shapes and often a few at once. I’m not sure if he realized most of the city was sitting on the far bank applauding and ogling over his work. Right before me, down on the steps next to the river, some guys started sending off roman candles in chains from some handheld firer. Everyone was so bored that they would applaud and clap at these dinky little rockets splashing into the river.

It got colder and colder and darker and darker. I was just like, “Uggh, when is this going to start??” 9:30. Then 9:40. I started texting up my friend Morgan on the cell and we chatted back and forth comparing stories. The family next to me called up the game on their cell phone connecti0n — only the 8th inning???

The family next to me finally gave up and left. I could see people leaving all over the place. It was just too darn cold, some had kids, and it was getting close to 10pm with no clear start in sight.

Suddenly the eight-year-old girl in the hispanic family near me went into hysterics. They had been joking about a daddy-long-legs that had crawled over one of the women, the girl had already said to keep it away from her, and her dorky uncle or cousin or something had either thrown in on her or threatened to… and she utterly lost it. Honestly, she was having a psychotic breakdown — she was screaming and sobbing and choking and just completely out of control. In response, the parents told her to stop and that if she didn’t, they’d take everyone home. (Real nice — punish the kid for someone doing else something they knew she was already creeped out about. Her reaction was extreme, but the guy who did it didn’t even get a reprimand, and it was pretty obvious that, like it or not, it REALLY was upsetting to her and telling her to stop wasn’t going to do much.)

They were preparing to leave… and finally things started.

I had chosen to sit on my side of the bridge because at Kipona last year the fireworks had shot high above it and were visible. This year, I guess either they’re saving for tomorrow night, because only four — count them, FOUR — fireworks went up high into the sky. The rest were down on the waterfront and the lower parts of them were blocked by the bridge. Doh. The ones fired into the air still cleared the bridge, visibility wise, but the sprays and fountains only had the top half visible. I wish I had walked down further. The display only lasted 10-15 minutes max. Very colorful, nice, but nothing like it was last year. I really am hoping they were saving for the Grand Finale tomorrow.

So not a bad evening. Just weird. I’ve spent the whole weekend alone so far. July 4th. I hope things get better than this.