it was my birfday monday. another year come and gone and i still want sanrio toys and dress like an unruly toddler.

it’s grey out and i’m running on 4 hours of sleep. bern and chris got in around 8PM and after we got them settled we trekked out to haight st. for drinks. sitting in zam zam i ordered a jameson on the rocks and confessed that this was the first bar i had ever gone to on my own. i remember sitting at home on a friday night feeling sorry for myself. all my friends had moved out of the city or were crippled by their own issues. the couch was covered in cat hair. i was covered in cat hair. i had eaten a bowl of cereal for dinner and wondered if this was it. the rest of my life before me. dander and puffins. i turned the television on. i turned it off. america’s next top model was always on. i’m convinced. it was the year of that all television stations played marathons of all seasons of tyra banks in all her cray-cray. greg wasn’t speaking to me. i wasn’t speaking to james. it was one of the inbetween places. i was neither loved or in love. i felt like i should have been somewhere else. there was so much outside. there was nothing inside. nothing but hairballs, dirty dishes and girls fighting on television.

so i picked myself up and walked to haight for a drink. zam zam was the most quiet of all the bars i walked by. there was live music going on at deluxe. hobsons reeked of one too many rum pukes in the indoor-outdoor carpeting. i didn’t feel dirty hipster enough for murios or gangsta superstar enough for milk. zam zam had patsy cline on the jukebox and i ordered a jameson, sat at the end of the bar shaped like a half moon and sipped.

the first drink was miserable. i was a wreck. no one else was at the bar alone. i was flocked by groups of 2-4. i sipped. i ate my ice at the end of my drink. i ordered another one and told myself i’d shotgun it and go home.

the second drink i was red faced and warm by the third sip. my shoulders were slack and i found myself contemplating a third. no one was talking to me but i was having a pretty interesting conversation with myself. this time next year will be awesome because a lot can happen in a year, right? someone will have made a decision about me, right? whether i was someone they wanted to keep around. someone, anyone, maybe someone new, right? it’s possible. anything is possible. chickens are birds that can’t fly and that gives me hope that i, too, can be a chicken, errr or a…what? you know what i mean. i can be that thing that is…good and shit.

i wasn’t expecting dude next to me to say hi as i tried to think about what kind of awesome bird i was.

we talked about stuff that i don’t remember. he was wearing a windbreaker and a baseball cap. he’s as nondescript as this memory of him. the everyman. i remember walking home tipsy, shuffling my feet through the pandhandle and sprinting down the block past the scary school building on ashbury to safety. i decided friday nights were stupid and stopped feeling the need to go out just because it was the weekend.

this is getting old. i am not a crumudgeon. i just prefer the comfort of a toilet i don’t have to hover over and not having to have yell conversations over the music.

after a quiet drink at zam zam, bern, chris and i made our way to deluxe to check out the live music going on. i watched in awe as an amazing asian girl owned the upright bass in ways i couldn’t understand. i looke down at my own hands. but they’re so small. how is she doing this? does this mean i can too?

an hour or so later i crawled into bed and fell asleep thinking about new ways to make my hands work like that, all fast fingers and precise movement. jazz is so weird. all sorts of crazy timing and the ability to simply trust that where your fingers take you it’ll be the right note. i have trust issues along with hand issues. my trust is small. how did this happen? what awful thing made me stop thinking i’m an awesome kind of bird?

it comes and goes. this is normal. sometimes i wished your birfdays were more than just dates. i wished they served as a point in time where everything shifts and changes in large and noticible ways. i want to wake up on july 19th, not necessarily a different person, but with a different perspective. i want an insta-fix. i want growth and knowledge in an easy to swallow pill. i want change. i want things to taste better the older i get. i want a shit ton abundance of trust.

i also want more sleep.

brain. dying.

i’m going to eat some tomatoes and pray i stay awake until 6PM.


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July 2010
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  • RT @skstock: We need to stop glamorizing working at 150%. That extra 50% is a loan from your future self. Eventually you’ll need to collect… 3 days ago



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