planetary indecisiveness
Saturday Night in the City of the Dead. I should be at the Blonde Redhead show but I'm not. I just got back from meeting up with someone who I think I rather like and while I'm under the impression things went well, I'm, for whatever reasons, getting the sense that some overlooked set of emotional issues have just been touched on and are starting to surface. Thus, I'm at home for the night knowing full well other things need to commence again tomorrow. I shouldn't be worrying so much over this, but I am and my thoughts, I'm finding, are drifting more away from said fellow into other areas.
I'm starting to come to the realization, something that should be obvious, as I've undoubtedly been griping about it for some time but for some reason it's never been blatantly clear as it is now, is that I've been straying away too long from what it is I'd like to be doing. I've been going over a set of really crude demos that have been otherwise untouched since last year and much of what I can do with the new Logic is still very basic. It still feels as if I've been set back, away from the more basic Logic Express I was doing all of my other recordings with and I haven't had much chance to really get any recordings up to the par that I did back in 2008 before everything fell apart. What I'm realizing now is that everything kind of fell apart after that. Everything has been a recovery from that point and even with things as they are now, undoubtedly improving, that recovery has not been met yet. Something broke and while it's been mended, it hasn't been completely mended yet. I'm tempted to say that it's wounded pride, but I don't think it's that simple. It could be just me trying to recover from how defeated I've been feeling over the past few years and I'm stumbling into new situations where that feeling of being defeated yet again could easily be resurrected. I've always felt that if I was not in a position to really occupy myself creatively, I'd snap, either losing my sanity or becoming bleakly depressed, and I think that's exactly what happened.
It doesn't help that I'm feeling more distanced from everything, largely because I'm not in any position to really devote any more time towards it as my energy is divided in between maintaining the job that pays the bills and going through the schooling necessary for getting the better job. Dan and I have been able to practice regularly, but we haven't really had the chance to solidify anything largely due to my time and my energy being spread out as thin as they are. I have a break coming up for December and we're going to try to see if we can do a show, but beyond that, I'm still at a partial loss over what to do since the time needed to really focus on what we should be focusing on is simply not there. The new awkwardness of having to operate interface boxes and trying to figure out how to balance the analog and digital elements is a new kind of frustration that I've never had to deal with before, granted it's supposedly going to offer a whole slew of benefits. I haven't been able to keep up. I've been far too distracted with trying to survive and keep going and it feels like things have been going to the wayside despite these efforts. The words to Portishead's "We Carry On" are echoing terribly close to home. It's been what I've been telling myself for nearly two years now and the past few years are looking more and more like some bizarre game of charades. I feel more and more as if I'm waking up from some kind of nightmare. The last three years are almost a blur. I almost feel as if I don't have anything to really say or show for within that time and I don't like that feeling.
We went to a pub, this new fellow and I, not far from my apartment and sat around for a while drinking light beer and talking about the past couple of years. He had made a snappy comment at me over the place I told him to meet me at was closing earlier than expected, at around the time he was supposed to meet me, and commented almost negatively on the colors I used on my hair, but otherwise continued to maintain interest. He insisted he "was intrigued by my grammar, my use of words, and the way I put together my sentences." I told him that plenty of people have nasty things to say about my grammar, my writing, and the way I speak as much as others might say the very opposite. He was supposed to be on his way to work and it seems he was going to be late on my account, but not anything I should worry over, or least that's what he insisted. I was reminding myself of Larissa's rather blunt advice ("stop dating assholes") and wondering whether or not I was walking into yet another self-fulfilling prophecy. But he did beg forgiveness when our first plans to meet up didn't pan out. If he feels somehow out of reach, it's mostly because a lot of things feel out of reach right now. More than anything right now is that I'd like to have the comfort of having something solid to grasp, something tangible and in my hands, a reassurance that all of the various worries in my head are just that. How strange it is that human touch is all that's really needed to quell that. He looked into my eyes for quite a while and it was hard to say what impression he got. My initial impression was someone of a gentle nature but doing his best to keep a neutral, otherwise unaffected composure, thus not too different from other men other than the fact he had (nay, has) an interest in me. There was only so much time and the natural distance that comes with finally meeting and getting to know someone for the first time.
I'm looking over the bills and realizing that December is going to a bit rougher than I had anticipated and it's expected to snow this year (whereas last year here, it really didn't). Other concerns are demanding my attention as I move forward. I haven't spoken with Chlapce in a while and I don't think I'm going to hear too much from him again. I'm still not sure how I feel about that just yet. The first time we reconnected after the break-up, we ended up going back to my place. Catharsis, let's say. When we met up again afterwards, he had expected the same thing to happen and seemed visibly disappointed when he realized that what happened the first time was going to be a one-time only thing. The one, only, and final time. Our incompatibility shown through on that moment when I left the bar making my way to the bus stop. He said that in the next ten years, the same thing could be expected; work, social drinking, conversations revolving around non-issues with people who could only be considered half-friends because they were half-entities taking whatever they could get, seemingly wanting for nothing since instant gratification of primary urges and concerns was enough to keep them satiated. Nothing too intimate, nothing too serious, nothing too passionate, nothing too extreme, too vague, too over-the-top, too potentially alienating because it's too far from the average. I reminded him that I could never be happy in a life like that. He knew I needed a companion, someone who was going to be there for me; I still don't know what exactly he wanted from me. Something easier and more manageable undoubtedly.
Despite all else, onward ever onward. This isn't as emo as it seems; just more of me coming to grips where particulars of my situation are concerned. That and I think I would really like to see this fellow again soon.
I'm starting to come to the realization, something that should be obvious, as I've undoubtedly been griping about it for some time but for some reason it's never been blatantly clear as it is now, is that I've been straying away too long from what it is I'd like to be doing. I've been going over a set of really crude demos that have been otherwise untouched since last year and much of what I can do with the new Logic is still very basic. It still feels as if I've been set back, away from the more basic Logic Express I was doing all of my other recordings with and I haven't had much chance to really get any recordings up to the par that I did back in 2008 before everything fell apart. What I'm realizing now is that everything kind of fell apart after that. Everything has been a recovery from that point and even with things as they are now, undoubtedly improving, that recovery has not been met yet. Something broke and while it's been mended, it hasn't been completely mended yet. I'm tempted to say that it's wounded pride, but I don't think it's that simple. It could be just me trying to recover from how defeated I've been feeling over the past few years and I'm stumbling into new situations where that feeling of being defeated yet again could easily be resurrected. I've always felt that if I was not in a position to really occupy myself creatively, I'd snap, either losing my sanity or becoming bleakly depressed, and I think that's exactly what happened.
It doesn't help that I'm feeling more distanced from everything, largely because I'm not in any position to really devote any more time towards it as my energy is divided in between maintaining the job that pays the bills and going through the schooling necessary for getting the better job. Dan and I have been able to practice regularly, but we haven't really had the chance to solidify anything largely due to my time and my energy being spread out as thin as they are. I have a break coming up for December and we're going to try to see if we can do a show, but beyond that, I'm still at a partial loss over what to do since the time needed to really focus on what we should be focusing on is simply not there. The new awkwardness of having to operate interface boxes and trying to figure out how to balance the analog and digital elements is a new kind of frustration that I've never had to deal with before, granted it's supposedly going to offer a whole slew of benefits. I haven't been able to keep up. I've been far too distracted with trying to survive and keep going and it feels like things have been going to the wayside despite these efforts. The words to Portishead's "We Carry On" are echoing terribly close to home. It's been what I've been telling myself for nearly two years now and the past few years are looking more and more like some bizarre game of charades. I feel more and more as if I'm waking up from some kind of nightmare. The last three years are almost a blur. I almost feel as if I don't have anything to really say or show for within that time and I don't like that feeling.
We went to a pub, this new fellow and I, not far from my apartment and sat around for a while drinking light beer and talking about the past couple of years. He had made a snappy comment at me over the place I told him to meet me at was closing earlier than expected, at around the time he was supposed to meet me, and commented almost negatively on the colors I used on my hair, but otherwise continued to maintain interest. He insisted he "was intrigued by my grammar, my use of words, and the way I put together my sentences." I told him that plenty of people have nasty things to say about my grammar, my writing, and the way I speak as much as others might say the very opposite. He was supposed to be on his way to work and it seems he was going to be late on my account, but not anything I should worry over, or least that's what he insisted. I was reminding myself of Larissa's rather blunt advice ("stop dating assholes") and wondering whether or not I was walking into yet another self-fulfilling prophecy. But he did beg forgiveness when our first plans to meet up didn't pan out. If he feels somehow out of reach, it's mostly because a lot of things feel out of reach right now. More than anything right now is that I'd like to have the comfort of having something solid to grasp, something tangible and in my hands, a reassurance that all of the various worries in my head are just that. How strange it is that human touch is all that's really needed to quell that. He looked into my eyes for quite a while and it was hard to say what impression he got. My initial impression was someone of a gentle nature but doing his best to keep a neutral, otherwise unaffected composure, thus not too different from other men other than the fact he had (nay, has) an interest in me. There was only so much time and the natural distance that comes with finally meeting and getting to know someone for the first time.
I'm looking over the bills and realizing that December is going to a bit rougher than I had anticipated and it's expected to snow this year (whereas last year here, it really didn't). Other concerns are demanding my attention as I move forward. I haven't spoken with Chlapce in a while and I don't think I'm going to hear too much from him again. I'm still not sure how I feel about that just yet. The first time we reconnected after the break-up, we ended up going back to my place. Catharsis, let's say. When we met up again afterwards, he had expected the same thing to happen and seemed visibly disappointed when he realized that what happened the first time was going to be a one-time only thing. The one, only, and final time. Our incompatibility shown through on that moment when I left the bar making my way to the bus stop. He said that in the next ten years, the same thing could be expected; work, social drinking, conversations revolving around non-issues with people who could only be considered half-friends because they were half-entities taking whatever they could get, seemingly wanting for nothing since instant gratification of primary urges and concerns was enough to keep them satiated. Nothing too intimate, nothing too serious, nothing too passionate, nothing too extreme, too vague, too over-the-top, too potentially alienating because it's too far from the average. I reminded him that I could never be happy in a life like that. He knew I needed a companion, someone who was going to be there for me; I still don't know what exactly he wanted from me. Something easier and more manageable undoubtedly.
Despite all else, onward ever onward. This isn't as emo as it seems; just more of me coming to grips where particulars of my situation are concerned. That and I think I would really like to see this fellow again soon.