Marc
I'm thinking about laying off the bottle for a while. No particular reason -- more like a whole bunch of little reasons all piling up. Still undecided, I guess, but who knows? It just seems so hit or miss lately. Not nearly as uncomplicated as it was only a few months ago. Maybe it's the changing of the seasons, or the extraneous circumstances involved with it all. Whatev. I'll figure out something soon.
I may try tonight without it, and see how that goes -- but then again, maybe not.
Indecision, indecisive, nothing ... blah. It's a Saturday. I'm still in my clothes from last night. I left this party last night pretty suddenly, beelined for home in a pretty deep funk, and just sat down and wrote for about two hours. I read it all this morning, and it's crap. Pure crap. All of it. (at this point, you're going to have to picture me sitting in a straightbacked chair, at a tiny little desk, surrounded by piles of clothes, with my head in my hands, hair springing up between my fingers, just kind of staring at the keyboard) Can anyone say, "Fuck"?
It is nice to finally be hearing from Jesse again, though. I got a call from him last night at the show, while I was backstage. I remember yelling into the phone, as I tried to carry on a conversation with him, and I'm not quite sure if his parents were in the car or not, but I'm damn sure that I was swearing like a sailor, and now I kind of wish I hadn't. Que-ev.
I'm thinking about laying off the bottle for a while. No particular reason -- more like a whole bunch of little reasons all piling up. Still undecided, I guess, but who knows? It just seems so hit or miss lately. Not nearly as uncomplicated as it was only a few months ago. Maybe it's the changing of the seasons, or the extraneous circumstances involved with it all. Whatev. I'll figure out something soon.
I may try tonight without it, and see how that goes -- but then again, maybe not.
Indecision, indecisive, nothing ... blah. It's a Saturday. I'm still in my clothes from last night. I left this party last night pretty suddenly, beelined for home in a pretty deep funk, and just sat down and wrote for about two hours. I read it all this morning, and it's crap. Pure crap. All of it. (at this point, you're going to have to picture me sitting in a straightbacked chair, at a tiny little desk, surrounded by piles of clothes, with my head in my hands, hair springing up between my fingers, just kind of staring at the keyboard) Can anyone say, "Fuck"?
It is nice to finally be hearing from Jesse again, though. I got a call from him last night at the show, while I was backstage. I remember yelling into the phone, as I tried to carry on a conversation with him, and I'm not quite sure if his parents were in the car or not, but I'm damn sure that I was swearing like a sailor, and now I kind of wish I hadn't. Que-ev.
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