Tired, unable to sleep. Uninterested in sleep. Heather and I have been on this stupid schedule for so long – 5am is when I get interested in bed – that it’s just hard to contemplate heading up earlier. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to go to sleep.
We had a bunch of people over tonight – just to hang out and watch the Lord of the Rings. We “only” got through the first two movies, but had an awesome time. I miss Living at the Mirkwood House in Kensington and having big movie parties. Not really as much of an option when you don’t have your own place – but I crave it. I Loved the fact that we just hung out for a couple of hours. The “party” started at noon and we didn’t watch a thing till about 3. Just a really good feeling – and a chance to bond with a couple of people that I haven’t had much of a chance to bond with.
Chris and Joylene (of the Chris and Joylene Show) and Jeff and his wife (of Symbiont – “his wife” simply because she’s not in the band and therefore not quite in the public eye and I KNOW I put plenty of names in here that aren’t but they’re closer into the ilyAIMY circle and… whatever…) showed, and I was slightly weirded out by the fact that the majority of the night was spent with a majority of married people.
The Marrieds.
How odd.
Later that same day…
Ok, Heather and I have GOT to get back on a human sleep schedule. Went to bed at 7am and got up at 2pm. I guess we’re both just a bit panicky about money at the moment. There’s some cool things on the horizon, but there are bills much closer. Wondering if this summer will be the summer of hedonistic festival going, and then this Fall we’ll both go get day jobs for a couple of months. I don’t really want to do that.
Last night I read a movie review for something called “Sideways”. Something about wine-tasting that looked very much NOT to be my taste. There is a point to this despite that – the leading character is called a “failed writer”. I started thinking about that term – wondering when you go from calling yourself a “writer”, waiting for your break, waiting for that letter that says your work will be printed to accepting the title “failed writer”. If Heather or I ever quit for a moment, does that make us “failed musicians”? Or for that matter, does that make me a “failed artist” or Heather a “failed journalist”?
I’ve heard the term “failed writer” before, and I don’t think I’d ever given it too much thought – and for good reason – it seems to be a term that doesn’t really mean anything. If the person still writes, than they’re still a writer… and if they’ve gone on to soemthing else, they’ve gone on to something else.
So odd…. so tired. Where’s our management? I just want someone else to take over somedays. Most days.
Heather and I have an interesting work rhythm. Sometimes I’m the really productive one, never setting things down, constantly thinking, constantly doing this, that or the other – and sometimes it’s Heather. At the moment it’s Heather. It seems rare that we’re both in that zone at the same time. Things have just sort of settled that way.
