I can has Christmas lights. The ones up top are lavender, the ones on the bottom are blue (I couldn't decide, Kristin's input made the final call on which color went where). Sometimes I get into those decision comas, where I can't pick out pasta even. It gets bad. It used to be like, all the time. But it's getting better now. I mostly only notice it when I have bad pms - I can barely get dressed. And if all my clothes are clean - forget about it. I am frequently overwhelmed into a state of paralysis.
Continually eats cheese.
I am really starting to get a solid view of life from the Other Side. The non-insane, mostly calm a lot of times, "do you want to call me back because it seems like you are having a conversation with someone else" side. I talked to a couple of people back East, back home I guess is what I'm supposed to say there, and I just - I didn't realize how much voluntary insanity I had allowed to pervade my life until I backed away from it. And it wasn't so much a backing as a tearing away, a ripping apart - Kristin asked me the other day about why I came here, or when I knew, or how I decided - and the part I forgot to tell her about was the part about how the boards starting appearing under my feet, through no will of my own. All signs point to Seattle. Like in the Gatorade(tm) commercial, where the guy is like, going down the street with his basketball or whatever, and the floor just kept popping up under his feet wherever he stepped. It was something I had thought about and knew for so long, and just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger on. I knew it feeling like I was driving in circles around the state, and I knew it was real the night Kier asked me about Raf and I managed to choke out how it wasn't working, and how I started to cry. It was a Thursday. I had looked at maps and plans and wondered for so long, searching distances and then clearing the history off the computer, like trying on a fitted dress after you lose weight and then hanging it back up in the closet because you're terrified to leave the house looking good, because you don't know what it means or what it will require of you or if you're ready to commit to not clinging to all of your old bullshit yet. I'd do it and it felt like stealing, only I knew I wasn't doing anything wrong. But that night, at Cold Spring Street, talking to Kier... cripes. The words just fell out of my mouth. And the next night was the night with the baking, talking to Kristin on the phone, and it had all been happening already, and I knew. I can look back in my writing now, and my lack of - and it's clear as day.
Now, I sit here, under these lavender lights, telling a story, thinking about those mornings in Starbucks where I wrote for hours about how everything was fine and talking about all those ways everything was great and convincing myself - trying to convince myself - of so much, and... leaving, and feeling partially cleansed from the routine of it and feeling good for having written, but also on some level feeling like I had gone into the bathroom to shit and sat there for two hours with nothing happening, and eventually giving up and leaving for work. I hate to make that analogy, but it's true.
Today, I got out of bed, totally excited. I had not a single thing planned, because it's Sunday, and I knew that I've been holding back the beginnings of this cold, and I knew I'd probably do my ironing, and get to the store - but that was it. No show. No massive undertaking. Ironing. In the living room. In Seattle. Today I did iron, and organized some stuff (because it's like, impossible not to get my shit together on some level living with Kristin - I mean, it would be like living with Martha Stewart and not making your bed, only good, and more than just making the bed I mean) and we like, went to Goodwill and Fred Meyer, and toasted coffeecups in the car, and cracked up about everything, and then Kristin broke her toe (almost) from dropping a giant glass bottle of olive oil on it, and then there was some reheated spaghetti and a few episodes of MSCL. My point is, long story short (I know, I know - too late) that (and I will use it until it is used up) there wasn't anything epic happening today. And I woke up, too late, stretching, and grinning that I was in Seattle and about to get up, on a Sunday. To iron, and Have Coffee. Oh, and I had to make sure I balanced out the last few days of purchases in my checkbook. And make a list.
Right.
My boss asked me Friday what I had planned, and I talked to her about resting up after that night's show because October was right around the corner, and there would be like, so many good bands to go see, that I'd be wiped out - you know, so I was taking advantage of a weekend with nothing on the docket. As it turns out, this week I have to chair tomorrow, Elliott Brood at the Tractor on Tuesday, chair (just a one-time "lead" they call it here) on Wednesday (after my tattoo consultation) and then Gloria and I are going to Phantom of the Opera on Thursday. So I could give a shit if anything good was even happening this weekend - but there is! The Rockabilly Ball is Thursday - Friday - Saturday, and I think the vintage car goodness is Saturday during the day - much photo opportunities and rockabilly boys will abound. And then next Friday is John In The Morning At Night, with Two Gallants and Head Like a Kite and Harvey Danger. Phew.
I will take a moment here to discuss, or at least devote a sentence to, being bit loudly and completely by the Rockabilly Boy Bug. It started the weekend I got here, at the market, with the guy pushing the trash cans, and last week the other guy going by in the old school car - Jesus Fucking Christ. Sorry. But there are no other words. All like, hot young Elvis, only with full sleeves, and Doc Martens, like, James Dean all turned up and modernized. It's stupid. They stop me in my tracks. And I've never like, talked to one of them, or anything - but they're all just gorgeous. I love people who have found their something. Besides rockabilly, too, but I'll fucking take it any day of the week with these guys.
So, yeah. So I might like, go to the car show or something. And just like, be, where they might be, because, you know, it's like, cool to go look at old cars in the rain on a Saturday. Truly.
I think I'm going to end it there, and take these snapshots with me to bed. Under the Christmas lights. In the fort. In Seattle. Psyched, on a Sunday, over nothing much at all.
XX
vvb
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