...because there has been a baseline shift, ladies and gentlemen. (And yes, I did just go there - don't tell me you can't see one, if not several, Huey Lewis images in your mind.) (Whatever happened to them, anyway?)
Bonus points, and a guest post, for the best HL&tN update, to victoria (at) hot avocados (dot) com. I dare you.
So, today was all out of perspective. A lot of stuff was. Every time I type alot, I see this cartoon that was up in a junior high school classroom I sat in, I think it was Mrs. Perrelli, Ramona Perrelli, with the orange lipstick. Puke-toilet was the nickname we gave to the color. Jon Vail and Steve Tirozzi wrote a song about it. Or Jon Vail and somebody. Anyway - it was this cartoon where a caveman was breaking "alot" into "a" and "lot" and throwing them into separate bins. So there was a big bin of "a"s, all piled up, and the same for "lot", all overflowing out of the bins in piles all around. And anyway again, yeah - I was all cracked out. I know very few things about myself that I don't flip-flop on depending on circumstance, and one of them is that if I have too much time on my hands for an extended period, I go nuts. Not unable to sit still and love myself stuff, or not sitting consciously stuff - I mean weeks and weeks without a job, or last time being at a job with nothing to do and not being able to do much about it (mortgage time) - all of a sudden I got way too self-focused, way ungrateful, and way just out of whack. Totally. So that kind of happened over the last few weeks, too much time past the point of relaxing, major changes and upheavals, plus not enough meetings = crazy Victoria time.
So, in all of that, moving here and finding a job and "settling in" started to become something on the list to do, to make happen, to get over, to tolerate. No way, right? Way. It wasn't about the bravery of leaving everything behind and finding out what I'm made of. It wasn't about super amazing goodness needle and twelve shows any given night of the week time. It was about getting over something, crossing something off a list - until tonight. Oh yeah, and in the meantime, I'm all strung out on Connecticut, where everything is the same, and where I wish I could convince every single person to get out of their comfort zone so that they could see what happens - it's scary and hard and amazing and freeing and everything.
Several things happened tonight. One, an extended convo with Becca, during which perspective came in several forms. That my mere existence and self-imposed circumstance is a gift. That I am lacking in gratitude. And that ending a relationship does not suddenly give the person I ended the relationship with a new set of skills with which to relate to me... so why am I (a) expecting that and (b) looking for it, actively seeking it? See what happens when we let people in? They can help us with these qualitative statements (please tell me who I am) and say obvious, mind altering things. Permanent rearrangements. So that was that, and it didn't hit me until a little later in the night.
So, okay, not several things happened, like, it's only two major categories, which are both the same heading, but still. The other thing was getting in the car with Janet and realizing the pre-fall tour scope of our week, and she's like Kristin where she's been here for 4 or 5 years and is still at a resting state of psyched, still loves everything, still gets excited to see the needle, and still is all yes and now and bookshelves filled up with awesome things and tiny little lights. I started off telling her my perspective problem. And then we said, well, tonight is Hazelwood Motel and the Purrs. Tomorrow I can hit a meeting and do some home-stuff, and she's going to Radiohead. Thursday is the volunteer appreciation party at Chop Suey. Friday is Pela, for free, at the mural. Saturday is Slackfest. And Sunday, eight pound six ounce day, is the day of Rest, and will be treated as such. And then next weekend is Bumbershoot. And fall tour is soon to follow.
And then, all at the Tractor, all taking beautiful stills in the wash of the red light, all interacting with everyone else that took the time to come down off The Hill in the rain on a Tuesday to see some good music - it all fell together. Seriously. This is not a thing to be tolerated, or gotten over, or pushed past. This is my life. Cut to me, in Seattle, doing amazing things, closer to what matters. This is me with a job two weeks out, with a spot on a guest list, with an in-studio under my belt already.
This, my friends, is Totally Amazing.
Then, all the extras, like Kristin making good dinners because I'm living on snacks and just loving the shit out of me because I can't love myself all the time. Like tipping the bartender an extra buck for that night's poster off the wall. And maybe, just maybe, a real artist project with black and white pictures of a Boy in a band that's too shy to show up and wants to do it anyway.
And it's been three weeks. Well, three and a half, this Thursday is four weeks already then? Shit. I mean, I'm all hurting and processing and cracked out, but life is inherently good. When I take the time to lay it out as such, and just stop, and pay attention to the undercurrent.
Photo essay of last night to follow, but I've got to hit the hay.
What does that mean, hit the hay? More bonus points if anyone feels like answering that one.
xx
V.
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