Season's Edge

I don't know what I've gotten myself into, for the third time. Yeah, it's that time of year again, the point at which summer ends, and the drum corps season begins. In a sense I don't know why I'm writing this entry, for as my friend Mr. Ryan Gaumont knows, the activity sounds pretty damn harsh and pointless to the uninitiated. Yeah, I'm going to be out in the AZ sun from 9 in the morning to 10 at night. Yeah, I'm going to be sleeping on high school gym floors for weeks at a time. And yes, dear reader, after tour starts I won't be showering alone until mid-August. It's easy to get pessimistic when you look at it that way. Believe me, I do it each year. So why did I come back? What is it that draws me back onto a field where I've snapped at people, sworn at the staff under my breath (and over it, periodically), sweated out gallons of water and more often than not felt miserable?

For this year, I don't know yet. But I will. Maybe the correct term is "morbid anticipation."