Blah times...
I sank into a sort of depression pit yesterday. Bad way to spend a day off.
I tried calling Scott, but after a fifteen-minute spiel about how great the NIN/Bauhaus show was (I had to sell my ticket a couple of weeks ago to work conflicts), he had to run, and I was left feeling pretty left out (despite the fact that I’ve seen NIN three times already and Bauhaus once). From there, things got steadily worse. I called Greg to ask if he wanted to hang out, after which Nick called and asked me the same thing, and I postponed an outing with Nick to hang out with Greg, who called a while later to say he had other plans, by which point it was too late to call Nick back. Writing didn’t work so well after that, as I was geared up for socialization, so I tried calling other people seeking a conversation that might pull me out of my funk before I sank too deep. This was a counterproductive activity, for those who didn’t blow me off entirely gave me the distinct impression that I was interrupting their daily lives. I stopped calling, now completely depressed, and tried to type again, with much the same results as the first time; I had no creativity left in me for the day. There was barely anything left to do but fall asleep early and fast-forward life to another morning of work.
My son helped though! I called Matthew and we chatted happily for a bit, and he revealed to me that he’d gotten me a Father’s Day present! When all else fails, the love of a child shines like a beacon through the fog. Too bad the phone kept cutting out on us, and the conversation had to be cut short.
Tonight, I shall be replacing depression with adventure, if I can find someone to drive me north to Springfield, VA where PIG is playing. I’ll be annoyed, but hardly surprised, if I wind up missing this show, especially as last-minute as this will be. (Thanks to Industrialnation’s failure to update their site often enough, I didn’t even discover they were playing until five minutes ago.) I’ve missed every other concert I’ve tried to attend since moving out here, for one reason or another. It’s times like this that I miss Seattle (more than usual, I mean), because everyone plays Seattle! Actually, that’s not true. Ministry and the Revolting Cocks (one of Ministry’s alter-egos) aren’t scheduled to hit Seattle this time around, but they’ll be in D.C. towards the end of this month, and I’ve already been promised rides by two people who’ve had to watch me miss concert after concert and sulk about it. I’d love to see Ministry play again, especially in D.C. Jourgensen’s anti-Bush antics should go over quite well there! (Maybe this time I’ll even get to see the whole show.)
Time to walk back through the rain to the slave cage… er, the Fresh Market prep room.
I tried calling Scott, but after a fifteen-minute spiel about how great the NIN/Bauhaus show was (I had to sell my ticket a couple of weeks ago to work conflicts), he had to run, and I was left feeling pretty left out (despite the fact that I’ve seen NIN three times already and Bauhaus once). From there, things got steadily worse. I called Greg to ask if he wanted to hang out, after which Nick called and asked me the same thing, and I postponed an outing with Nick to hang out with Greg, who called a while later to say he had other plans, by which point it was too late to call Nick back. Writing didn’t work so well after that, as I was geared up for socialization, so I tried calling other people seeking a conversation that might pull me out of my funk before I sank too deep. This was a counterproductive activity, for those who didn’t blow me off entirely gave me the distinct impression that I was interrupting their daily lives. I stopped calling, now completely depressed, and tried to type again, with much the same results as the first time; I had no creativity left in me for the day. There was barely anything left to do but fall asleep early and fast-forward life to another morning of work.
My son helped though! I called Matthew and we chatted happily for a bit, and he revealed to me that he’d gotten me a Father’s Day present! When all else fails, the love of a child shines like a beacon through the fog. Too bad the phone kept cutting out on us, and the conversation had to be cut short.
Tonight, I shall be replacing depression with adventure, if I can find someone to drive me north to Springfield, VA where PIG is playing. I’ll be annoyed, but hardly surprised, if I wind up missing this show, especially as last-minute as this will be. (Thanks to Industrialnation’s failure to update their site often enough, I didn’t even discover they were playing until five minutes ago.) I’ve missed every other concert I’ve tried to attend since moving out here, for one reason or another. It’s times like this that I miss Seattle (more than usual, I mean), because everyone plays Seattle! Actually, that’s not true. Ministry and the Revolting Cocks (one of Ministry’s alter-egos) aren’t scheduled to hit Seattle this time around, but they’ll be in D.C. towards the end of this month, and I’ve already been promised rides by two people who’ve had to watch me miss concert after concert and sulk about it. I’d love to see Ministry play again, especially in D.C. Jourgensen’s anti-Bush antics should go over quite well there! (Maybe this time I’ll even get to see the whole show.)
Time to walk back through the rain to the slave cage… er, the Fresh Market prep room.