I
had a dream about Grace last night, but now I don't remember what it
was about. No matter, I had a pretty decent gig last night too, after
the pits of doom that spewed from my mind in the minutes after waking
up late-afternoon (See: yesterday's post). I don't know why I was so
foul at the world, but there seems to be something to it. Anyway,
today's another day, and I already feel like it's been a win in more
ways than one. The plan today is to read some more Mark Twain, and
type a few pages of On The Road, which has lain dormant on the
left-hand side of my table for a few weeks.
Yesterday felt like the first day of Spring – it wasn't, it's still winter for another three days. The weather was fine all day, and it would have been pretty easy to rock no jacket, just a t-shirt, from lunchtime til around sunset. Definitely what you want.
Also last night I made a shitty sandwich, borne of laziness: ham, picnic bacon, cheese, onion, garlic, sweet chilli sauce, mayo, hot sauce – it wasn't even a disappointment, because honestly, who ever expected that sandwich to go well? Well, me actually, in some crazed optimism-coma. Three kinds of sauce, no salad, not even red onion, that shit was white as the KKK and burnt my eyes when I bit into it. Eugh, welcome to the future.
So I've been thinking of moving out of Baker St. That's an interesting thing for me to think; for as long as I've been of legal age and allowed to go out and party, I've wanted to live in a house where the agenda is non-stop action. Drinking, drugs, music, party. Now that I've been here for a year though, I don't know, I mean I always intellectually knew that I didn't actually want this kind of lifestyle, but I have still enjoyed every second of it for the past year, it's only been in the last few weeks that it's suddenly begun to seem tired. But look at me, making it seem as if I've been living some high-octane amphetamine-circus for the last twelve months – I really haven't. I'm sure there are just as many examples of me packing it in early or sleeping through a kick-on since I've been living at this place, as there are of me taking the drugs all night and drinking the drinks into the next afternoon. I guess I just feel like it's the right thing to do now after a year
So now I'm looking, I guess, for a new place, although there's no huge rush... The Workers is an option, as long as the rent doesn't go up too far above $130 a week like Richie said it might do once something happens with management that I didn't quite understand/want to know about... eh.
Finally, I don't have a gig tonight, but now that I'm in a fairly good mood, with a decent amount of what feels like zen stored up in my psychic tank, I think I'm going to go out on the prowl for one tonight. Commedia St Kilda could be a good bet, or the Exford. I need to finish writing my show as well, and I promised a random group of people that I'd organize and run a pub crawl for them, with barely any guarantee that I can actually deliver on that promise, so I guess there's that to look into.
That's a pretty reasonable snapshot of my life right now. I guess that's what every single one of these blog entries is supposed to be, or is, really, but I feel like today's is a little more coherent and thought-out than usual. Maybe that's what Grace was doing in my dream last night, a little bit of clarity. Clever boots, evils understood.
Peace, Taco.
Yesterday felt like the first day of Spring – it wasn't, it's still winter for another three days. The weather was fine all day, and it would have been pretty easy to rock no jacket, just a t-shirt, from lunchtime til around sunset. Definitely what you want.
Also last night I made a shitty sandwich, borne of laziness: ham, picnic bacon, cheese, onion, garlic, sweet chilli sauce, mayo, hot sauce – it wasn't even a disappointment, because honestly, who ever expected that sandwich to go well? Well, me actually, in some crazed optimism-coma. Three kinds of sauce, no salad, not even red onion, that shit was white as the KKK and burnt my eyes when I bit into it. Eugh, welcome to the future.
So I've been thinking of moving out of Baker St. That's an interesting thing for me to think; for as long as I've been of legal age and allowed to go out and party, I've wanted to live in a house where the agenda is non-stop action. Drinking, drugs, music, party. Now that I've been here for a year though, I don't know, I mean I always intellectually knew that I didn't actually want this kind of lifestyle, but I have still enjoyed every second of it for the past year, it's only been in the last few weeks that it's suddenly begun to seem tired. But look at me, making it seem as if I've been living some high-octane amphetamine-circus for the last twelve months – I really haven't. I'm sure there are just as many examples of me packing it in early or sleeping through a kick-on since I've been living at this place, as there are of me taking the drugs all night and drinking the drinks into the next afternoon. I guess I just feel like it's the right thing to do now after a year
So now I'm looking, I guess, for a new place, although there's no huge rush... The Workers is an option, as long as the rent doesn't go up too far above $130 a week like Richie said it might do once something happens with management that I didn't quite understand/want to know about... eh.
Finally, I don't have a gig tonight, but now that I'm in a fairly good mood, with a decent amount of what feels like zen stored up in my psychic tank, I think I'm going to go out on the prowl for one tonight. Commedia St Kilda could be a good bet, or the Exford. I need to finish writing my show as well, and I promised a random group of people that I'd organize and run a pub crawl for them, with barely any guarantee that I can actually deliver on that promise, so I guess there's that to look into.
That's a pretty reasonable snapshot of my life right now. I guess that's what every single one of these blog entries is supposed to be, or is, really, but I feel like today's is a little more coherent and thought-out than usual. Maybe that's what Grace was doing in my dream last night, a little bit of clarity. Clever boots, evils understood.
Peace, Taco.
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