on wrestling angels

I am in a new house watching over the jungle puppy and the cats, cooked myself a curry, did some laundry and some reading, and fell asleep sometime early because I only woke up when the phone rang around 10 and completely missed its beep before then. I wonder why the curry warms me and makes me feel so tired and the internet tells me it's got the same stuff that turkey does and is also an aphrodisiac which could explain a lot about a few things but that's another story.

But the rest was probably needed, given  a Monday night of getting booted from a convenience store by a tweaker employee for reasons I still can't parse, given that we're old and nondescript skinny cracker punks who weren't buying booze or lottery tickets or smokes and then we went to see Russian Circles and enjoyed it but his feet were sore and so were his ears. I could have stayed later, comfortable in stompy boots and ears insulated by foam, but both of us were cool with taking off early, having gotten our fix of post-metal catharsis.

I wanted to re-record my skeletal demos, flesh them out with some vocals and some structure instead of just parts-a-b-c-b-d followed by extensive noodling, see how they work with acoustic guitar and a voice and if they stand on their own instead of being this jumble of half-finished flashes of beauty. We got frustrated playing the other night, I couldn't hit the notes I wanted to and all my words sound dumb. Some nights the chemistry just isn't there but I talked to someone else tonight about coming into the circle, maybe him and his ideas will give us the infusion we need.

I hate to blame the weather for the ennui that keeps my eyes half open, maybe it's the soreness in the back that never seems to go away or the existential crises that I can't shake. It takes me longer to recover these days, and the continued bonechill doesn't help.

One of my friends tells me that one of the reasons why I have this sadness is that I don't pretend things aren't there, I don't distract myself with other things, I keep fighting for answers and can't escape into what other people escape into. Maybe she's onto something here.

It's not that I can't laugh, if anything I laugh when it feels most dark. I just have to fight my way through it when it comes, that's just the way it is, that's just how I am, I say. I want to apologize to everyone who hears my bleakest thoughts, because I know it's disorienting to hear from someone who's generally smiling and good-natured, but this is just as much a part here.

I can't be the comforter all the time, sometimes I need comforting too. I need it a lot, and feel like that is often so lacking when I want it most, and wonder if wanting it so badly makes me selfish. I know better than to expect that from anyone else, and long for the spiritual intimacy that comes with the heartbreaking yearning that I find in the mystics, and wonder why I only have the latter and not the former. When he calls, I keep it light, I don't say that I'm still as depressed as I was yesterday, that I was crying for no reason when the phone rang and composed myself when I picked it up. It weirds me out that he reads my cycle better than I do. I don't want to depend on him to feel better, especially since I feel like he already knows me too well.

I am strangely comforted by the warmth of this house and the presence of the dog that watches over me like Anubis when I sleep, the cat feet in the hallway. There are things going on this weekend, I think everyone I know is going to see the Sonics tomorrow and I just can't bring myself to. I said I was coming to a party that I now don't want to go to. I crawled unwillingly out of the shell last night and wish I hadn't and now I don't want to crawl back out any more than I have to.