Now for the bad news. Despite bragging about the novel to an old friend I hadn’t seen in literally YEARS at the concert I went to last night, I got home and had absolutely no desire to write. In fact, I was such a zombie that I just sat and watched Nate play video games for what must have been an hour before I drug myself upstairs and threw myself in bed (where I promptly read for another hour instead of getting the sleep I SO needed and deserved.) In fact it is not so much that I had no desire to write, but that I had a negative desire. On a scale of one to ten, my desire to write was a negative thirty. In fact, I didn’t sit there and watch Nate because I was interested, or out of some desire to play the game myself. Oh no! I sat there because it was like doing nothing, and nothing was exactly the only thing I could think of that was a better idea than writing.
So this means I’ll have to write a 5k day. Did I plan this subconsciously to see if I could do it? Some part of me thinks I did. Only problem is, what day is it going to be? When do I have the mother-fucking time to write all day? Certainly not this weekend, as I’ve got SHIT planned in the middle of both days. Maybe SHIT is just code for “things you do in your break from writing all day”.
It is again 7:30 AY-TO-THE-MOTHER-FUCKING-EM, and this time I’m feeling it. Yesterday, I was all “oooh, it’s so pretty in here, sunrises are the best!” Like I was some pansy-ass kid on a fieldtrip to the flower garden or something. Now that my skull is threatening to implode as torture for not resting it long enough on my silken pillowcase, (And even though I don’t even USE a pillow in bed, that hard mattress sounds as soft as silk right now.) I see this sunflower on the horizon for what it really is, a daisy growing from a dung-heap.
I am not even focusing properly.
Well, there you go, double dose of me on the soon-to-be-caffeinated trail to terror that is the AM. Wish me willpower; cause staying awake now is almost as hard as writing two thousand words at midnight.
Last night, (for real last night, not yesterday’s last night, as in the last post’s last night), I went to see Cloud Cult at the Cedar Cultural Center with Laura and my friend Ryan. The old friend I ran into was this guy Ray who I knew back when I used to play music. He was there working the soundboard.
It was a decent show. I felt like they were pretty scattered all over, and also like they maybe were trying to sound like some other band… *cough*Sigur*cough*Ros*cough*, an impression I never got from their album (I’ll let you know about he new one after I listen to it today). But still, Sigur Ros are pretty lofty company, if you can pull it off, and we all agreed that we’d go see them again, if only to find out if they bring the horrible stage dancers to every concert with them. (The guy painting a canvas on stage was cool though. If I ever have a band, and am doing a CD release party, I’ve got to remember to get me one of those.)
On the downside of the evening, I feel pretty horribly because my brother John told me about the concert back last Saturday, and asked me if I wanted to go. I said sure, yes, I was excited even, and he said something like “cool.” And that was it. Not “Cool, can I call you at 7:00 the night of the show from a coffee shop by your house and get a ride?” It was just “cool.” But I still feel bad as hell about it. I was down there at six, and I didn’t get his message until 9:00, right before the band went on. (My cell phone is unreliable as hell, and I think it may randomly just decide to turn itself off rather than suffer the indignantcy of allowing me to hear it ring.) So yeah, I had been wondering where he was, then I checked my messages, and I knew. I’m a shitty older brother.
Whatever anybody tells you, sleep-deprivation is not your friend.