Routine breeds a fair amount of steady contentedness for me. I was thinking about this today, as I was cruising away from a job interview that went pretty well. I donapos;t know if it is luck or not, but Iapos;d like to think itapos;s the years of various medications and tribulations that have whittled away my sense of panic and exposed a crusty, apathetic, core. Once upon a time, and still occasionally during my weaker moments, contentedness was not nearly enough, but I think now Iapos;ve learned that itapos;s rare for a person to even achieve something so mediocre and boring, let alone something resembling consistent happiness.
Lately every time I get into some sort of trouble, it just canapos;t seem important to me. Iapos;ll roll it around in my head and I might even open my mouth and complain, but I simply cannot dwell on anything more than a day or so. Even when I want to. Money, employment, quality of life... I really should be concerned about these. I donapos;t have a job right now and I donapos;t have much money and what I do have I plan on boozing and partying it away this weekend. I know Iapos;m generally a smart person. I know what to say, I land on my feet. It just seems like Iapos;m not smart enough to bring back a human element of myself that I might need in case things get worse, which they just might.
In other news, I was just sitting here typing when a spider came dropping down from my bangs, onto my keyboard. It was just a little spider and Iapos;m not a afraid of anything, so I let it go ahead and do itapos;s thing.
Tomorrow night I am going camping at what was formally a nude beach in San Onofre. I am hoping there is savage dancing around the bonfire and that the vegans donapos;t try to make carob, veganmallow smores. Just seems incorrect. I made the birthday girl a fabulous giraffe brooch out of fake flowers and ribbons that I stole Wynona-style the other day. Because I canapos;t not-love her, I may just buy her some whiskey in a plastic bottle to accompany her giraffe pin.
I am going to another really awesome girlapos;s birthday party in LA on Saturday, but I do not have a date, so Iapos;m flying solo for the evening. This might drastically cut into how much I can drink, which will make me a hell of a lot less likely to make a spectacle of myself, but I have a feeling I will end up sitting nervously in a corner, intimidated by the other guestsapos; intense flavor.
Next weekend Iapos;ll be going to a Mountain Goats show in Hollywood. Itapos;s embarrassing, seeing as how Iapos;m the anti-indie. Bring on the vicoders, the corporations, the Republicans, but I do really like the Mountain Goats and I think Iapos;ll have a really good time at the show. The music always makes me feel romantic and wistful. I hope Patrick is good to me that evening. He tends to get unbearable when weapos;re around other people, which is really just fine. Itapos;s easier to plan affairs Iapos;ll never have if I have people around to base them on.
Thing is, if John Darnielle is singing about dilaudin and collapsing stars, I may blur the line between fantasy and reality and have an affair with his songs.
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