Arcata, California
Today was our last day of tour in California. Coming up from the south, through deserts and the complete surreality of SO CAL's sunny dispositions and impossibly picturesque lifestyles, stopping for many days in the Bay Area to witness the final greatest achievement of the liberal body put into city form, and then ending in serene, green, and strange Arcata. I have loved almost every minute in California this time.
Tonight we played in a beautiful house that despite being inhabited by seven people was clean and organized and picturesque and comfortable. It made be wish very badly to live in such a place. I don't hate my house but it has been very disorganized and dirty for a while, and that's really not where I'm at as a person right now. I mean, I've nearly quit drinking any alcohol, improved my diet and my exercise, keep my room and car and personal effects in ship shape, and devote myself to reading and projects and working almost entirely. My house and its contents (outside my room) are pretty incongruous with the rest of my life. This is one of the things I hope to change when I get home in a few weeks.
Whenever a tour is ending that I am really enjoying I have to encorage myself to get back into my life by making lists of things I will improve when I get home. It makes the return seem like an achievement instead of a crash landing. So, clean house. organize kitchen and buy more food supplies for cooking. Finally build that shelf to hold the rest of my boxed books. Get rid of more stuff besides books. Call more people and take more concern in their lives. Write more. Don't go back to work for as long as possible.
There was someone at our show tonight that I would have liked to have gotten to know better, but we left that house to come to this nice one where we are going to sleep now. I'm a little sad about it. That sort of thing happens to me so rarely; I've turned myself into a bit of a closed down island lately. It's even a little scary to me how much so. To feel any kind of spark to seek out the company of a new person is a major stirring in me. But fortunately or unfortunately tomorrow is a new day and we'll be gone from this place.
Tonight we played in a beautiful house that despite being inhabited by seven people was clean and organized and picturesque and comfortable. It made be wish very badly to live in such a place. I don't hate my house but it has been very disorganized and dirty for a while, and that's really not where I'm at as a person right now. I mean, I've nearly quit drinking any alcohol, improved my diet and my exercise, keep my room and car and personal effects in ship shape, and devote myself to reading and projects and working almost entirely. My house and its contents (outside my room) are pretty incongruous with the rest of my life. This is one of the things I hope to change when I get home in a few weeks.
Whenever a tour is ending that I am really enjoying I have to encorage myself to get back into my life by making lists of things I will improve when I get home. It makes the return seem like an achievement instead of a crash landing. So, clean house. organize kitchen and buy more food supplies for cooking. Finally build that shelf to hold the rest of my boxed books. Get rid of more stuff besides books. Call more people and take more concern in their lives. Write more. Don't go back to work for as long as possible.
There was someone at our show tonight that I would have liked to have gotten to know better, but we left that house to come to this nice one where we are going to sleep now. I'm a little sad about it. That sort of thing happens to me so rarely; I've turned myself into a bit of a closed down island lately. It's even a little scary to me how much so. To feel any kind of spark to seek out the company of a new person is a major stirring in me. But fortunately or unfortunately tomorrow is a new day and we'll be gone from this place.