Falling Down the Ladder of Positivity

And hitting every negative ass rung on the way down.

A song I heard last night got me feeling sentimental, and lead to the gamit of emotions including paranoia, sadness, anxiety, anger, and nostalgia.

I'm about to be in Austin twice within the next few days, and I've done well to not let that bother me until about last night. No matter what happens, my gut will be in knots the entire time. I'm just glad the Wolves' tour starts there. Everything else will be a breeze, unless I run into some worst case scenario type action or information.

Adding to my sinking mood, I've seen a certain model of car about 5 times today, and heard a certain name a few times, and been reminded of some particularly fond memories. Then, I go to meet my mom for lunch, she has to cancel because the courthouse where she works was on lockdown. A guy who was to be on trial today for sexually assaulting his daughter, who I've heard was mentally handicapped, apparently ran his daughter over with his car before going into the courthouse and shooting 4 people with a rifle, killing one, and I believe another died afterward. (It's been a while since I posted this, and the idea that I almost got my mom shot won't leave my mind. She'd have left 2 hours later if I hadn't rescheduled our lunch.)

Kinda hard to stay exclusively happily excited about the upcoming tour and my new guitar being painted, but it's a start.

I am finding sense in acting as a libertine to numb myself and replace my hopes of something I've always wanted, but will doubtfully ever achieve.

I Like You

Whether or not we know each other well, whether or not we've argued or fought, whether or not we ever had or ever will be lovers, whether or not we ever met, I'm aware of you, and I like you.

A Quick Note

I have fallen more in love with guitar. And bass. And Italian jazz.

Oh Yeah...

I had a dream I killed someone! It was nuts! At times, I knew it was on purpose, and other times I thought it was an accident. Eventually it drove me insane.

Anyway...

Harvesting Wealth, in the Jake Hooker Fashion

I'm about to have orientation at my new job, then I'll be on The Danger Zone, an internet radio show on xprtradio.com. I'll soon co-host another radio show on the same station. Tomorrow it's back to bussing tables for a couple of days.

Four sources of income, not including a band that pays me cash and a band that is ultimately my career band. I'm about to not be broke anymore!

They say familiarity breeds contempt. Yeah, maybe. I think that's been the basis for my problems with coping with breakups. Sure, even after a lengthy relationship ends for mutually acceptable reasons, I can become sentimental, but I can pretty easily get over that and resume laughing at fart jokes and mindlessly gawking at gorgeous celebrities.

The last couple of relationships I let myself believe existed were long distance, and therefore lacked familiarity. I tried to stay in touch, to some degree, but unintentionally sabotaged myself by acting on emotions. Had I been less emotional, I feel I would have become familiar enough with the women involved to actually realize, instead of hopefully assume, that despite all the fun, we weren't going to be happy together. But alas, I did as I do, and though I'm generally happy and optimistic, I still find myself awake at 1:51 am, writing blog posts about obsessing over some girl who very deeply and passionately doesn't give a rat's ass how I feel, so long as our mutual friends don't know for sure that it's her I'm referring to.

Why'd she give me a chance in the first place?

I know I'm not perfect husband material. The fact that I won't quit my band to be perfect husband material is proof that that is true, and it doesn't really bother me. That doesn't mean that I have any appreciation for some heartless fling.

Bedding

I'm not the dude that makes his bed, unless I've just washed my sheets, which means it's either July or December, so when I stumble into my room, the pillow is exactly where it should be.

So why, in the name of whoever strikes you as important, would I grab the pillow and move it over?

I flail in my sleep, sure, but when I wake up, I have to leave the perfect position, the position for which I've flailed all night. Does it not stand to reason that my pillow is motherfucking as it should be?

Why, pray tell, do I move my pillow when I get into bed? Furthermore, why can I never remember a comfortable position?