I am home. As in home-town. It's cold and it's raining and there's nothing homey about any of it. The entire place has changed in the past--jesus christ--almost 7 years. Seven years I've been gone, and back, and gone again. I don't know that I belong here anymore. I'm unsure where I belong really. I have a home in Austin. Right now that's the only place I want to be. In Austin with Austin. Regardless, here I sit with three coats on because the fucking heater broke. Yes. It gets cold in Texas once a year and that one time is the time our heater decides to stop heating. I had to take a klonopin because I was on the verge of a panic attack earlier. Packing and the idea of flying home tomorrow irks me. My flight here was a nightmare. It was rainy and shitty outside and my flight was delayed, unbeknownst to me. This would have saved me lots of stress and panicking--throwing things in bags and busting ass to the airport. I had planned to carry everything on the plane to make it easier. But those were the good old days apparently. I knew I'd have to take off my shoes but I honestly didn't realize that the TSA would escort me out because I had a bottle of hairspray. So I threw it away and made it through security to find out about my delayed flight. So I go back out, get my shit out of the trash, put it in my bag, and check it. Cool. I still have my other bag, with the shit I really need. Except this time I don't make it through security somehow, and they DID escort me out, because apparently I look like I wanna blow up a plane with a bottle of perfume. Man I just want to go to Christmas with my family. Fuck. I couldn't help but let them have it. So I go check my other bag with ten minutes to departure, and make it back through security, thrice, JUST in time to board my flight. Turbulence the entire way, and I still haven't eaten. So I get to Houston but my bags do not. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Instead they got put on the next plane from Austin to Houston because apparently Christmas packages have to be checked by the TSA. I am like what the fuck is going on in America these days? The whole world has gone crazy. I finally make it to Christmas like 4 hours late and proceed to get drunk enough on Merlot to argue politics with my dad. Ha. That's when you just don't care anymore. So I am now traumatized, and I do not want to have anything to do with the fucking airport tomorrow when I go home, although that's the only way I'll be getting there, and it's the only place I wanna be. Thank god he'll be waiting there for me. Christmas was pretty cool, I got everything I wanted so I can't complain. I have a bad habit of doing so anyway. Right now I am nervous because in a few hours I'm supposed to have drinks with two old friends I haven't seen in years, and I don't know if I still know who they are. These were my sisters you see; but they left me at a crucial point--and I hate to say it but I believe that was the beginning of my downfall. I try not to blame them for not wanting to get sucked into the downward spiral I was most certainly in, but it hurt. I didn't realize until today how much it still hurt. I desperately want to be friends again, but there is so much history that I am just not a part of that scares the hell out of me. I feel ganged up on. I thought it was just gonna be Erin. What if they don't want me now just like they didn't want me then?? I know if that were true they wouldn't have called me this morning. But I'm scared nonetheless. Why is it that when I'm scared I just want to sleep? If I could get under the covers with my Bear forever I think that'd be okay with me, though that just won't do. If I'm going to live my life, I'm going to have to confront it. So being "home" has been a huge disappointment. All the friends I had before are gone. And I had lots of friends. No one answers their phone for me. They don't know me anymore. Truth is, I don't know them anymore either. I'm just so goddamned lonely. But we are going to the bar tonight. It is Christmas Evening. Everyone should be in town at their parents' and ready to get the hell out of the damned house. People I haven't seen in years. Ex-friends. Ex-boyfriends. I've been so concerned about Erin that I just realized there's a great possibility that I will run into Joey, or worse, Gingerfish with his new fiancee. Man fuck that. I bet I'm prettier than her. That's what counts, right??
So it turns out that the editor really liked my review--enough that she wants me to be a regular contributor to the e-zine, meaning she'll pay for me to go to shows I wanna write on and all. Rock the fuck on. And so now I'm published; and you can read me (if you haven't already in the last post) right here! Scroll down and you'll see mine. I'm so proud of myself. Everyone has praised it and I'm starting to feel like this is something I could really do. Something I'm good enough at to make a life of. Well besides having children one day. However fearfully, I've been thinking more and more that instead of some liberating career, god put me here for one very simple reason. Unconditional love. And I'm not one to argue with god, no way. I trust him to liberate me in a way no job nor career ever could. So I'm thinking about being a mom, as a career choice, traitor to my generation though I may be. And for the first time ever, motherhood sounds really fucking appealing. I guess that's what being in love is about though. Right?
I am up late after working nine hours straight, all fucking night, and now I'm listening to Bright Eyes, but feeling rather like you, Kurt--I just wanna get high. I wanna forget all this shit. I'm so very sad, and even lonlier, tonight. I settle for White Zinfandel and funny cigarettes. And even more cigarettes after that. My lover is in the other room, in bed, wanting nothing to do with me, although I don't know why. I fear that he simply loves drugs more than me, or even himself. I'm done with that shit now though. I have to be no matter how awesome it would be to just binge for a week. Fucking aye. But fuck that. I'm so angry at myself for coming here of my own volition. Now I realize what's really going on, but I'm in too deep now. I feel so angry. Angry that I let myself fall in love when I fucking knew better. You know I knew better! God I do love him. I'm tempted to say "loved" because I don't know the man sleeping in our bed anymore it seems. It hurts so badly I shut it out. It's all I can do. Ya'll know I never drink alone--but here I am, face warm and I've got to take a piss already. I'm afraid. I'm so afraid that I know what I'm going to have to do--and I don't want to do it. At all. Fuck this shit. It's not fucking fair. It's so hard to have faith when you're smart enough to grasp the reality you've put yourself in. And the reality is that there's nothing and no one you can count on --fuck what "he" says. The universal "he." He'll always leave you and in the end all you've got is Blush and if you're lucky, a Danielle or two. But I just had to fall in love with him. I just had to. It's never going to happen is it?? Kurt, please tell me otherwise--please tell me things will be normal if I just keep believing. Tell Him that. Tell Him what you learned and what you regret. Please do it for me, because I fucking love Him. I fucking adore Him. Conor--thank you for always knowing exactly how to say something I need to hear. You have a knack for that. I've never felt so comforted as by your voice. When you're here with me I don't feel so alone. Please stay with me until he comes back, because it's hardest to be alone when you're right with the one you want--I'm sure you understand. So stay with me until he's back to being my Austin, because he is coming back to me, you know, my Austin?? Right? Love Always,
I knew that A Pocketful of Deng was about to start their set because suddenly there was a crowd where only a handful of people had just been. Minutes before, Red Eyed Fly was littered with wandering 20-somethings with seemingly nothing relative to each other, save their cans of Lone Star Beer. All this changed as five finely dressed young men with unkempt hair and chronically un-tucked shirts took the stage. A Pocketful of Deng are a five piece, Austin-based, experimental/progressive rock band, and arguably one of the more entertaining bands in their oftentimes pretentious sub-genre. This is really just Rock and Roll. Encompassing everything from punk rock to jam bands, Pocket play to their own crowd, unique as is the band itself. Forget The Scene; Pocket deliver what most up-and-coming bands these days cannot; something for everyone. The band’s eclectic sound is a direct reflection of their fan-base—a delightful mix of all kinds of music, for all kinds of people. Blonde and right in line with the likes of Robert Plant, Vocalist Patrick Husband knows his audience. He knows they want him, regardless of whether it’s known to them…yet. With an elegant but haunting moan, reminiscent of The Doors’ Jim Morrison, Husband lures his listeners through the looking glass and into a world of metaphor and make-believe. A night with The Deng is just another trip down the rabbit-hole, a question mark in a vast field of absolutes. As lead guitarist, Travis Larrew takes on the role of The Pied Piper, leading listeners on their journey with tightly hewn guitar licks, demanding riffs, and a style he makes his own. Listing influences such as Radiohead, Beck, and of course The Beatles, Bassist Jackson Ellis has a difficult time describing A Pocketful of Deng as only one entity, as each member’s differing tastes can sometimes clash so that they actually sound brand new. Their sound seems to constantly develop on its own in front of the crowd, growing with it, and I can’t help but feel that none of this was planned at all—it all seems to happen spontaneously before my eyes. Billy Gardner’s stage presence and proficiency with the harmonica bring subtle soul into the mix, deconstructing the traditional formula for rock songs with a fusion of blues and punk, entwined neatly with galloping rock anthems and good old dance-floor rock and roll. Ellis, Gardner, and Larrew’s chemistry on stage is truly Pocket’s strongpoint—watching them play together is as natural as it gets, convincing the audience that this was all somehow meant to be. High-octane melodies and Rob Edmiston’s drum-fueled rhythm, combined with top-notch showmanship prove to be Pocket’s greatest strengths and immediately sets them apart from every other long-haired rock band you’ll see in any given bar in downtown Austin. These young musicians aim to please their crowd, and that they do, very obviously, with much pleasure. Except that the pleasure was all mine. If musical diversity and the lyrical revival of acid-rock pique your interest, A Pocketful of Deng have just what you’ve been looking for. A trip with The Deng proves to be a refreshing, if long-awaited, trip down the rabbit-hole.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to write. Hence the silence. No I haven't forgotten my craft--the hiatus was necessary to protect the not-always-so-innocent. Heh. Seems like I've gotten myself in another pickle. Nothing I can't get out of. I'm a sneaky one I am. But I'll talk about that in due time. It's too soon to know anything. No I'm not pregnant. You've got to be kidding. Even though I do fear he is the proverbial One. And you see that's the problem. He's got a problem. The very same one that I share. Except that he's not here right now because of it and now we are both lonely. And scared.
I've said enough now onto the good shit-- I've got my first writing "gig" for an online magazine promoting local bands. I wrote my first live show review for my boys in A Pocketful of Deng. I just turned in my final draft, so it should be up soon, I'll have to show it off to ya'll. So in the spirit of getting back into the spirit of writing again, I thought I'd share that with you when it's up and online. Baby steps, right?
Talledega Nights is the funniest shit I've seen in ages.
