5. daydreams
I won't make apologies for my lack of attention to this journal because even though I've only been round a bit, when I see them on my page I roll my eyes and think to myself, See you in 5 weeks slag!
The band and I have been very busy, work work work, and I must say I really hate the studio! It drives me completely insane. I know, I know, so many artists and hopefuls and dreamers would kill for the chance to slave away in a studio doing what they love, but that's not me. I hate it!! I hate the way life changes pace and slows down almost to a bloody halt. Life just tends to wind down til you're sure it's about to stop. The arguements get worse because there's no distraction there is only work and lots more of it.!
This morning held one of those gruesome fights that have three of us storm out and Butch left sitting there wondering what the fuck just happened. Fights like this happen in the blink of an eye. We were just laughing and kidding on, slagging each other for silly shite when it went a little too far. The exhaustion phase has set in and it drives us mad! On tour it is so rush rush rush go go go that you never have time to get bored and you only feel tired when it settles into your bones and for me, my throat. I ride the adrenalyn till it's past its expiration date and then I ask for just a wee bit more time to push on. It's only when we return and things go slow that boredom sets in, the routines make me sick and knowing that I'll be waking up to coffee and work with the guys just makes me want to pull the duvet up and hide.
I had to get out because I would have knocked one of them to the ground and took down whoever tried to pull me away, so I busted loose, grabbed my bag and said I'd be back when I wasn't seething at the sight of them, took off down the road. I passed by a tiny school, no uniforms and it made me sad, but I watched the kids play and I listened to their laughs, their rambunctious and infectious giggles and screams. Teachers shouting at little Tommy not to hang upside down from the bars, watched the girls playing that teether ball game and a group of lads all in a circle god knows what they were doing. It reminded me of walking down King St. to my own school in my former years.
In the corner sat a girl against the wall. She watched the same sights I did, heard the same sounds and felt as detached from it all as me. I wanted to jump that fence and be her friend. I quickly learned what the boys were going on about. Her shoes, her clothes more like rags, the knots in her hair. Neglected at home maybe? Defense mechanism? I could see even though my sight is still adjusting to the new contact lenses that she was lonely. Alone. She was the outcast and I identified with her. She was my soulmate in 8 year old form. I wanted to hug her, console her, pat her on the back and pull her over to the go around and let her spin. I wanted to rekindle her smile and set her free. Be it that I'm only one person the loneliness would have been hard to break but I would have tried. She would have been my friend and we would have shared a love affair of grand designs that you can only find in your best gal pal. The one you grow up with, plays dolls with, do each others hair and reveal secrets while doing so. Not tell a soul whose heart is written inside your schoolbooks with a name in the middle. She would have been my friend and I would have been hers.
I stopped myself. Far be it for me to get cuffed and escorted to the asylum for aching to cheer up a lonely tot, but as I walked away I watched the faces of these obnoxious boys and realized they'd never amount to much. While they were playing, she was reading and dreaming and believing in change. She learned not to notice the stares, the hard remarks, the bullying and teasing. A tough shoulder to their inconsideration. That wee lass will grow up stronger than they ever could dream of.
I smiled. She was me. I was the daydream she was enjoying. I went back to work.
The band and I have been very busy, work work work, and I must say I really hate the studio! It drives me completely insane. I know, I know, so many artists and hopefuls and dreamers would kill for the chance to slave away in a studio doing what they love, but that's not me. I hate it!! I hate the way life changes pace and slows down almost to a bloody halt. Life just tends to wind down til you're sure it's about to stop. The arguements get worse because there's no distraction there is only work and lots more of it.!
This morning held one of those gruesome fights that have three of us storm out and Butch left sitting there wondering what the fuck just happened. Fights like this happen in the blink of an eye. We were just laughing and kidding on, slagging each other for silly shite when it went a little too far. The exhaustion phase has set in and it drives us mad! On tour it is so rush rush rush go go go that you never have time to get bored and you only feel tired when it settles into your bones and for me, my throat. I ride the adrenalyn till it's past its expiration date and then I ask for just a wee bit more time to push on. It's only when we return and things go slow that boredom sets in, the routines make me sick and knowing that I'll be waking up to coffee and work with the guys just makes me want to pull the duvet up and hide.
I had to get out because I would have knocked one of them to the ground and took down whoever tried to pull me away, so I busted loose, grabbed my bag and said I'd be back when I wasn't seething at the sight of them, took off down the road. I passed by a tiny school, no uniforms and it made me sad, but I watched the kids play and I listened to their laughs, their rambunctious and infectious giggles and screams. Teachers shouting at little Tommy not to hang upside down from the bars, watched the girls playing that teether ball game and a group of lads all in a circle god knows what they were doing. It reminded me of walking down King St. to my own school in my former years.
In the corner sat a girl against the wall. She watched the same sights I did, heard the same sounds and felt as detached from it all as me. I wanted to jump that fence and be her friend. I quickly learned what the boys were going on about. Her shoes, her clothes more like rags, the knots in her hair. Neglected at home maybe? Defense mechanism? I could see even though my sight is still adjusting to the new contact lenses that she was lonely. Alone. She was the outcast and I identified with her. She was my soulmate in 8 year old form. I wanted to hug her, console her, pat her on the back and pull her over to the go around and let her spin. I wanted to rekindle her smile and set her free. Be it that I'm only one person the loneliness would have been hard to break but I would have tried. She would have been my friend and we would have shared a love affair of grand designs that you can only find in your best gal pal. The one you grow up with, plays dolls with, do each others hair and reveal secrets while doing so. Not tell a soul whose heart is written inside your schoolbooks with a name in the middle. She would have been my friend and I would have been hers.
I stopped myself. Far be it for me to get cuffed and escorted to the asylum for aching to cheer up a lonely tot, but as I walked away I watched the faces of these obnoxious boys and realized they'd never amount to much. While they were playing, she was reading and dreaming and believing in change. She learned not to notice the stares, the hard remarks, the bullying and teasing. A tough shoulder to their inconsideration. That wee lass will grow up stronger than they ever could dream of.
I smiled. She was me. I was the daydream she was enjoying. I went back to work.