I can’t even remember the last time I blogged something that wasn’t mostly just inane re-posting. I’m tired but I can’t go to sleep yet, and I seem to have outlasted everyone else. Not hard when most of your friends live in a time zone 5 hours ahead of you. Really though, what would I do without the internet?
Being back home has finally reduced from every-moment-is-excruciating to this-is-the-sound-of-settling. Without the oddly upbeat chirps of Ben Gibbard. I’m starting to get comfortable here, but it mostly feels like giving up. There’s been 4, no, I’ll separate that into 4.5 different versions of my life. The Beginning, Pittsburgh, London, Tour, London 2.0 (the part that only counts half, “Can you see your name on that list, Laura?”). Now I’m moving into version 5 and I’ve already dubbed it ‘The Dark Ages’ or ‘Open Bar At the Self Pity Party’.
I’m all for making new friends, but I’m still fighting it. Still pissed off that I can’t just see the people I want any old time because of government fucking paperwork, and the friends without legal barriers are either always on tour or, well, done that whole living their lives for years without me thing. You can never go home, right? Probably just me being neurotic, but I’m good at it. Stick with what you’re good at. I’m still not sure where I want to live, but letting employment determine that seems like a cop out/win situation. The current palpability of loneliness is physically exhausting, despite almost constant interaction in some form. This is what scares me most.
I interviewed today for a position as a ‘Graphic Artist’ with a wall decor company. Not glamorous, but there’s a decent chance I’ll get it, I’ll get paid decently for the first time in my life, and I’ll get good experience with professional printing. Now that I’ve said that, I’ll fail my skills test. Probably not, actually, Photoshop is my bitch, and it’s not like InDesign is brain surgery. Tomorrow after Ikea with my mom (which will prove to be yet another exercise in patience) I’m gonna hang out with Tracy at her new(ish) tattoo studio. Apparently she’s been rallying to have them employ me in some capacity since the Lush job dissolved into thin air, so maybe that’ll work as a back up or even a supplement to the other job. If I can’t have an active social life I can just be a workaholic and be loaded. As in rich, not drunk. Not anymore, the pain has subsided to the occasional dull throb which doesn’t need deadened with alcohol every minute. Progress!
I began the set up of my Etsy shop for Nobody’s Darling and got the first t-shirt design ordered from Commonwealth. Getting started is half the battle, the other half is split between being so overwhelmed with ideas I’ll accomplish nothing or lacking self-confidence enough to fuck it up later on. Hmm.
I’ve spent the last few days in the car lamenting not being home with my laptop to work on my book. The only thing better than reading one is writing one. The characters look and act however I want, reflect any person or experience I like, and do whatever I make them do. People I wish I knew can have conversations I’d like to have. This is one thing I’ve started that I’m positive I’ll finish.
In a recent conversation it was admitted to me that this person took little notice to lyrics, that they saw them as just part of the music. I couldn’t even imagine myself feeling like that, I’m pretty sure I would cease to exist.
I believe in desperate acts.
The kind that make me look stupid.
(Look like a fool)
Just keep reinventing myself.
It’s move or die.
(I change my form)
These days the people I love
are spread so far apart.
(All out of reach)
It’s a thin sheet
Across the face.
(Cover me now)
The Navigator's Daughter 