So--if you're of the Detective-Savvy Ilk, you may've pieced together (that, and it's in my previous post) that today is my 29th Birthday--or I suppose was given it's almost midnight.
The Pleasantries:
- Waking up with my girlfriend
- Breakfast: Lox on sprouted-wheat bagels, cream-cheese, tomato, cucumber, red onion, olive oil (I use olive oil on just about everything--Peanut Butter & Jelly included)
- My girlfriend bought me a neat pair of shoes (Dress Shoes: I have an interview [second job--server] tomorrow and like a child I didn't have proper attire)
- Very intense cellular-detox sea-salt bath: You fuckers can laugh, but I DARE you to try it, correctly, and not feel yesteryear's booze, amphetamines, impurities just fly away
- Shaved my beard into a moustache: You fuckers can make ironic-hipster-jokes, but I DARE you not to look at me and feel a mighty pang O' joy gestate in your heart
And despite everything--it didn't feel too "Hey-it's-my-birthday!"-ish because I've deferred all celebratory hullabaloo until tomorrow.
But I'm behind, I'm falling more and more behind on Apartment Hunting I still don't even have my treatment done--which sort of makes me an asshole. If you want 'In' on one of my major neuroses as a writer, it's the out of sight, out of mind syndrome: forgetting where to connect scenes at the perfect thoroughfare, absent-mindedly leaving out this joke, or this particular flashback; I can tell you, for me at least in all my ADD-addled glory that it's important to be succinct and consistent.
Did I need to watch 10 episodes of 30-Rock with my Girlfriend (in a span before and after she was working) and fill the temporal gaps with other Housewife duties (I'm a spectacular housewife, or househusband if you will) ? Well no, but, and I'll be transparently honest, the very person I want to--need to--get my professional-shit together for so we can have a future (NOTE: I of course, want the same fantastical-limitless-potential-tapping-inspiring-the-masses future, but I hope you can appreciate my sense of urgency and domestic-pangs), is the same individual I have a kids-at-recess-flummoxed-and-crestfallen-that-mid-game-kickball-has-to-end-because-recess-has-concluded attachment to. Either way, I'm awful bored with masturbating.
The Tunes: Miles Davis' Bitches Brew
The Anxiety: That I'm somehow going to fall ill and relay to the 50 or so people I invited to my Birthday Shindig that, yes, my immune system failed me once again
The Early-March-Social-Anchor: Watchmen midnight-showing tickets at the IMAX
xoxoxoxo,
-michael
No comments:
Post a Comment