Got up. Went to class. Went to work. Got home. Listened to my messages. Laid in the middle of the floor and cried. Skinned my knuckle punching the wall. Cried. Put “1,000 Oceans” on infinite repeat. Clung to the stereo and sobbed like a child. Went to rehearsal. Love y’all, really i do.
A song about love, in 3/4. One strum per beat, one chord per measure, four measures per line. Dm, then C, then Dm again, and so on. It needs something more, though…
love finds a way and it winds its way into your heart that's where it starts burrows in to you funny how it chooses don't know how you fell in there's so many losers first sight that you got hit you like a shot there's simplicity in her beauty you try to hide it but we all know it's there don't disguise it lay your heart out bare
I had to sing in rehearsal today, without my guitar. Scary stuff. Another tuner popped off of it a few days ago in the middle of trying to record a Trio, so i finally gave in and sent the poor thing to the shop for a bit of maintenance. Afterwords, Gina and I went on a mad guitar shopping spree where nothing was actually bought but lots of things were touched and ‘ooohed’ at. But, i might not spend money on a new guitar, because i want to go here.
For those not in the know, the South by Southwest Conference is sortof a point of convergence for all sorts of hip folks in the realms of internet and music, and, as it turns out, ten or more SurvivorBloggers of past and present are planning on attending and throwing some wicked hotel parties. Yeah. So, aside from the fact that i’m gonna get hit on more than a 5-year old boy at a MAMBA convention, it seems like it’d be a nice break before finals. Of course… to go to the music & internet portions of the festival i’d have to stay straight through my finals week, which would be a little iffy to plan now seeing as i don’t know when my finals will be. But, either way, i might be going to Texas! Yee-haw!
So, yeah, theatre. First i bitched about it, and then i got sucked into it, and here i am bitching about it again. I don’t like to act. Maybe i’m good at it, and maybe i’m not, but i only really like the attention i get and being able to stand on a stage above everyone else. That’s it, though. And, yet, somehow i’ve managed to have rehearsal every night and a song i have to arrange and sing and now i’ve got to learn how to method-act my hand being crippled for half of the show. And i have to learn how to scream.
I’m thinking that last bit won’t be to hard. In the show i get struck hard with a hot curling iron, and it both breaks the bones in my hand and burns me badly. My director keeps trying to give me suggestions on how i could perfect this prolonged scream of anguish and despair, some of which were: “Haven’t you ever put your hand into a fire before?” “Go home and try pouring hot wax on yourself. I can give you some pointers on sensitive spots to try.” “Stick your head into an oven later! And make sure to vocalize through the pain.”
Good direction, isn’t it. It’s like in high school … i had to play these two brief minutes of being drunk, and i just didn’t know how to do it. I was straightedge, i was innocent, and i had no idea what alchohol did to human body. My director coaxed and fixed and pointed and when it came time for performance i still looked like some foolish kid who was a little bit dizzy. In retrospect, he should’ve just bought me a bottle of vodka and let me learn the easy way. So, i’m off to find some hot wax… yum.
Whatever you do, never get the name of your significant other tattooed on your body, anywhere. Never. I know you might like them, i know you might be together forever, i know you want to remember them, but just don’t do it. Okay? Cool.
I actually hadn’t figured that out for years and years. I honestly thought that the echos swirling around in my own head and the occasional fleeting contact would be more than enough to sustain me. But i was wrong. I need an audience, a support system, and a friend. Or more than just one. What i do know is that we can transmit feelings through touch. Only two weeks ago i would’ve laughed if you told me that. Have you ever really held someone’s hand? Held it like it was its own separate conversation, where the squeeze of your fingers says more in the middle of a sad story than any hug or sympathetic word or anything else? I say all that i have said with my lips and other things, and sometimes the other things are just as important.