No Fate But What We Make

There has been a seismic shift somewhere. A pebble has become dislodged, throwing huge rock faces into freefall. Tectonic plates are grinding, groaning as they move towards new destinies. The way the dice will fall is completely uncertain.

After lots of talk, most of it typed and hurriedly read between getting on with our real lives, we have been told that the leaving date still stands. 'Proceed' is the message from the top. Get out. So this leaves us in a bit of a jam. We have a factory full of stuff, a gleaming factory i might add, and 9 people with no where to go. And that's just our place. Including the other warehouses there is a total of 23 people being displaced. All with mountains of stuff strewn across the massive spaces we have gotten so used to calling home.

We have 15 days until that date. And in between now and then we have a small matter of Glastonbury festival to contend with. Some of us are building and running venues. Others are project managing areas. All of us are going. And working on many other projects in between. It's masochistic in its ridiculousness. No one is making steps to move just yet - as we have nowhere to go. It's almost hilarious. Except that it's not.

I am frozen by the immensity of all we have to do. I should set to and start packing, except that I can't. The urgency still isn't there. Why? Maybe it will take a gang of shadowy, suited figures to be looming. There remains a small part of me that suspects it will come to nothing. Will it even seem real when we are lifting boxes? Will it take glimpsing another security firm wandering around the yard, sitting on our decks-chairs, to fully absorb the loss of our home of three years?