Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!

I've been waiting so long / to be where I'm going...

I think I've found the solution to my tortured mind:

Guitar Hero.

Seriously - have you seen this thing? I've seen commercials, and heard the fuss about it, and have even seen people playing it - but last night, for the first time, I played it. And I didn't want to stop.

It's like playing, only not. It's the fun and wank-ness of guitar, with no skill required outside of hand-eye. But what I realized on the way home, shocking as it were, was one important thing - it reigned supreme over all else, over the echoes of "Sunshine of Your Love", over the maddening dirt-rock band lead singer guy and Japanimation girl alongside him...

I had fun.

A lot of fun.

And I saw in a snapshot how freaking stiff I am, how jammed up I am, how I forget to have fun and how everything is so freaking serious all the time. I was laughing my ass off and I was good at it and Frank (Kristen's husband) was cheering me on and... I forgot. About everything. I forgot to worry, to be anxious, to wonder what was happening with my life... I forgot about everything I wasn't and everything I thought I needed. All that mattered was making it through the song without being kicked off stage.

You (imaginary you I am prone to address whilst blogging) may think I'm actually more crazy than I've been in prior entries, or that in my bliss that I am taking the effects of this game too seriously, thereby creating an entire other batch of issues in and of itself - but I swear, I'm not. When I was going to tons of shows and constantly taking pictures and stuff, the band part wasn't my doing, but I wasn't glomming on to someone else's glory - I did my own thing. I captured moments, microphone stands in the stagelight glow, faraway stares and necks of guitars. And I was (still am) good at it. And I was immersed in everything, and I loved talking about current favorite sounds with strangers in the audience, and I knew things, and I was good at it.

Somewhere along the line, there was a fadeout. I couldn't listen to KEXP all day, and I ran out of money to be jaunting to New York twice a week. But the fire didn't go out... All of my mental energy turned to my Mom, and to taking care of myself, and I thought the fire went out, but it just (literally) got turned down and put on the back burner. Now, there are moments of awareness of the adjustment, fleeting glimpses of acceptance, and singular seconds of having that quiet mind back that hand come so far. Jim C. always says, "I have a quiet mind, and I'm comfortable in my own skin." And I started to get there, and then there was a ripping away of sorts, and now, all the chaos ceases to work, and fighting with Raf doesn't work, and hating people doesn't work, and defiance doesn't work, and crawling under the bed doesn't work, and slowly - slowly - I settle back into my skin.

I suppose that means there's a fade-in taking / about to take place, seeing as there was a fadeout before.

Donna spoke on Friday, and really set a lot of things straight in my mind, without even intending to - she talked about how she was always reacting and how she couldn't even cook dinner without fighting and how she just had to work and go to meetings and be immersed in doing that - sober. With a couple of years sober. And I was just amazed, because part of me, even knowing I have a lot of growing left in front of me to do - was like, I understand elements of this, and sometimes I am okay. And it's not that that's not true, I mean, it's not that I'm not okay anymore, but I was just struck, like, I do that. I am that way. That happens to me. We can't get through a Saturday without some kind of trivial insanity, and I react - inside and outside of my relationship with Raf - to everything. I'm all thin skinned and analytical all the time. Everyone with five seconds sober talks about how good they are doing, and everyone with tons of time talks about how it takes a long, long time to begin to get well. As I stay sober, and realize how sick I still am (which is progress from completely insane), this gives me great amounts of comfort.

I had The Most Insane Dreams Ever last night. A cartoony coy fish following me around, because all of its water had evaporated out of the tank where it lived, and I had forgotten, and as I remembered it got all excited and fluttered everywhere, all pretty and fluttering everywhere, and I couldn't find the water drops that you put in the tap water to make it okay for the fish to be in - that one was at the end, before I woke up. Before that I was talking to Abbey, in front of what looked like my aunt's house, talking about vocal cords and some kind of strings, piano strings or violin strings or something, some kind of instrument - harp - whatever - and talking about how when you have dreams about stuff like that, vocal cords turned into something you can understand, or teeth falling out of your mouth, that it has to do with watching what you say, talking about how it related to my aunt, and realizing this morning when I woke up that it was about me. And the first part, before that and the fish, that I can't even repeat, something about gay men and all kinds of chaotic vivid imagery. It's a little embarrassing, so I won't go into detail, but it was weird. I usually don't have any kind of sexual dreams, once or twice a year maybe, but when I do, they are so freaking vivid. I'm kind of uncomfortable just even thinking about writing about it.

I can't get online, and I don't know if I'm going to be working today. It's Denise's birthday, and I didn't see any new orders yet - it's a struggle, trying to ride this out, but I've made the commitment to it and I'm going to see it out. Another day, another pair of jeans to try on, right? Right. I brought my gym bag though, surprisingly enough, so if there's not anything to do, I can work out, shower, and see if I'm going to have to pick up a part-time job.

I got an email from my brother-in-law yesterday. He said that my aunt had "declined to do my mother's taxes", whatever the fuck that means. She is such a fucking asshole. If she wasn't living in my grandmother's old house, I would have figured out how to burn her fucking house down by now.

I don't have a book, and I'm nearing the end of my journalistic span this morning... I'll give it to 8:30 and call about work today. Wish me luck.


panera, schmanera