This is that long drawn out lullaby of sorrow, that slow realization that you’re the only one walking away from the wreckage after the confusing car roll off the freeway. It’s a song that reminds you of that last hour saying goodbye to your lover at the airport, knowing that you may never see her again. That final slip of emotional judgement that ruins your life. From here to eternity, yeah, like in the movies. From here to somewhere less fulfilling, with less cohesive chains of every day living. The change was gradual, but it’s taken the place of joy to the point where you can’t taste it anymore. It reminds you of realizing that sugar doesn’t come in cubes anymore and suddenly missing that with a sharp tang of false nostalgia. You just don’t feel whole anymore and you miss being a child. You miss having a hand to hold.
After work today, I slept. I attempted food, but fatigue demolished my appetite for anything that wasn’t related to blankets and rest. The phone rang at nine:thirty, Javina waking me after my alarm went off. I have a concert tonight, a bouncy energetic russian cowboy call, with big giant guitars and sleek fifties shoes. The Red Elvises, I was to be there for nine at the Railway Club. It’s ten now, I’m considering my options. This is my last week in Vancouver before getting on a plane again, stepping in a silver flying machine that will take me away like magic for a month. It really is like magic, the palm trees in California give everything an unreal gloss. It’s too iconified to be a real tree, it’s too carefully placed to be created by nature. They lend the place an air of stylish glamour which off-sets the endless gray concrete and too many cars like a rococo frame around a high-art animation cell. It’s tacky but ironic in a way I can appreciate. Earnest disco ball living, shiny and baby, what is your sign. I love it. I love how saying “I was just in L.A. and I’m going back for a month” sounds so falsely important when it rolls rolls off my tongue. Like I should apologize to whomever I’m speaking to.
If you want to see me before I go, this week is the time to do it. Please, if you can fit yourself in, do. I want to see people.
Added incentive to Ray, Ethan, Ian, Victoria, Mishka, and Bill: I have some presents to hand out.
Monday during the day I’ve lunch with my mother and in the evening I’ll be at the poetry slam at Cafe Du Soliex. It starts at nine, cover is 5$.
Tuesday Dominique and I are being femme downtown until later afternoon, at which point I come home and Nicole and Kyle join me to watch silly girl movies.
Wednesday Jenn and I hunt down wedding fabric and I plan on returning home later afternoon. There may be something planned for Wednesday evening, but if so, whomever it is that planned it with me will have to remind me.
Thursday, I have nothing so far until the evening, when there is my office party and then Nicole’s fetish show at the Drink. (Tickets 13/17$ at Scratch, Noize!, Zulu, and Cheap Thrills).
Friday is also tentatively free. There has been an offer of a party up the road place from girls who remember me from highschool, but if enough people drift over in the afternoon, then I wouldn’t be too sorrowful if I missed it. It was surreal enough discovering that I was a minor celebrity in a place I barely went to.
Saturday & Sunday I have work as usual but nothing after. Visitors are welcome during work hours, but I say now that I’m a rather distracted host and I can’t leave my computer.
Somewhere in there the ferret is being transferred over to Ethans. If I don’t see certain people, I’ll leave thier gifts with him.