subtle sleepy shift.
i am currently on shift at camas and ready to curl up close my eyes and pass out. we close in one hour but tonight is the anarchist reading circle so i'm hanging-out for that which generally doesn't end until 10pm even though we attempt for 9:30pm. the quality of my sleep has been lacking as of late. i'm looking forward to being in a bed and i'm lucky to have one to crawl into.
it's been relatively quiet here today, but that just means more time for me to peruse the shelves and read the books i've always wanted to. i'm currently reading the first volume of endgame by derrick jensen at long last. i genuinely love that man.
this afternoon i had a phone call from the lynden street house - turns out they are having a fundraiser this weekend, potluck. i plan on being there but i've been asked to perform and i'm still sitting on this edge, not sure i'm ready to put myself out there in that way once again. i don't know if i want to sit down and pour over what i've recently written and clean it up to a point where i can present it to a crowd, to an audience consisting of people some of which i don't know so well. my writing has entered a bizarre realm i previously only flirted with, and it's not even content it's context, it's emotion and what i invest. i'm thinking about it but mostly allowing that i'll attend as supporter and not so much as performer. it's a label i've had difficulty wearing lately.
i'm feeling the desire to write but the exhaustion blocks out genuinely lucid thought so i'm going to give it up for now.
the night still holds beauty.
it's been relatively quiet here today, but that just means more time for me to peruse the shelves and read the books i've always wanted to. i'm currently reading the first volume of endgame by derrick jensen at long last. i genuinely love that man.
this afternoon i had a phone call from the lynden street house - turns out they are having a fundraiser this weekend, potluck. i plan on being there but i've been asked to perform and i'm still sitting on this edge, not sure i'm ready to put myself out there in that way once again. i don't know if i want to sit down and pour over what i've recently written and clean it up to a point where i can present it to a crowd, to an audience consisting of people some of which i don't know so well. my writing has entered a bizarre realm i previously only flirted with, and it's not even content it's context, it's emotion and what i invest. i'm thinking about it but mostly allowing that i'll attend as supporter and not so much as performer. it's a label i've had difficulty wearing lately.
i'm feeling the desire to write but the exhaustion blocks out genuinely lucid thought so i'm going to give it up for now.
the night still holds beauty.