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Someone, i think it may have been Chrissie Hynde, said a very true thing about second albums. You’ve got years to write for your first record, really your entire life. But, for your second record you’ve really only got a year, or two at the max. In my case, that’s the difference between almost 100 songs to choose from as opposed to only about 30. This time last year i was in a severe writing rut, but by Thanksgiving i was recording tracks for what would become Other Plans. This morning’s Recording class got me thinking about my next cd, and what might actually wind up on it. I’m not so sure right now, but i need to start making the effort soon.

I’ve got to head out to ‘Basic Studio Recording’ in about twenty minutes. I’m not feeling too industrious with all the rain today, but i’ve got to get moving, because i’ve also got to make it to the coffee shop and a Drexel Players meetings. Plus, homework. :)

That’s enough bitching and whining, though. As i expected, my apartment isn’t especially well insulated. I knew this because it resembles my childhood home so much, and my room there was always frigid. So, it was hardly a surprise yesterday when after shutting all of the windows i still had to crawl under a blanket before i went to sleep. Chill air permeates this place, seeping in past the cracks and aged worry lines of the wooden window frames. The apartment feels so empty like this, just me stting at the computer, everything packed away to where it’s meant to be, the floor bare and silent. I had another dream about snow last night… rain frozen to the streets despite the day being just moderately autumn. Am i so cold that it seeps into my deams? I can never dial a phone in dreams, but i always catch myself thinking this isn’t a dream, you should be able to dial it. More agonizing than anything else is sitting on the floor, trying to dial up the weather hotline to see if classes are cancelled, and being unable to hit any of the right buttons. This seems to go on for hours, it takes over for entire dreams. A dream about a blizzard becomes a dream spent on the phone. A dream about love becomes one about forgetting her number. The list goes on and on. It’s actually a bit disturbing, because i used to dream of flying almost every night, so much that i almost would feel as though i could fly when i awoke in the morning. I haven’t flown once since moving into this apartment. Maybe it’s the upper bunk staring down at me, reminding me that i am as grounded as any other sleeper, with no place to go. Whatever it is, it’s left me hopelessly trying to dial phones for nights on end. Last night’s dream ended with me watching a Superman cartoon and thinking that WonderWoman could withstand a head-on punch from the Man of Steel. I’m sure she could, too. Batman’s the weak one.

It’s getting to that point in college when nearly everyone is ‘attached.’ There’s new relationships that spring up as freshmen storm the campus, continuing sagas that have been extended long past the high school halls where they began, on-again off-again romances that always leave you wondering if you should ask how the other person is doing, and random lustful exchanges that aren’t even acknowledged the next morning.

For the record, i am currently not taking part in any of these exchanges. i have a dual impulse right now: one is to totally give up on the chance of ever dating anyone and just enjoy my alone time more, and the other is to start putting my full list of 2200 freshmen to good use by calling them all and asking them for a date. And, somewhere inbetween those to impulses is me sitting at my computer as 7:57am with nothing better to do than whine to my blogger. And i’m wondering if i chose that first impulse years ago…

I woke up at 3am this morning for a few seconds, and my first urge was to run to my computer to get onto the P.B list early. It’s a sad existence…