Listening to: I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen
I had a lousy day today. No rhyme or reason. Probably drank too much this weekend, stayed up too late chatting. Who knows? Just a lousy day. I had a class for some voice over shit. I blew my copy. Or my copy blew. That sucked. I hosted a comedy show. I was not funny. That blew. Admittedly, it was not my job to be funny. Just a lousy day. Had a nice long critical look at myself. Didn't like what I saw. Just a lousy day. It's Valentine's Day Eve. Nobody. Lousy. Day.
It occured to me after a couple of conversations today that maybe it is time to throw the proverbial hat in. I don't even feel like talking or typing or anything. I thought this would make me feel better but all it's doing is making me feel worse.
I walked a Japanese couple 3 blocks out of my way because they were looking for a vintage clothing store. I gave a young girl a dollar because she said she needed seventy-five cents to make a phone call. Everyday I do these stupid little things. I think it is because I am inherently selfish and I think all of this karma is just building up somewhere. But it isn't. Sigh.
I don't know why I always feel like going to my Grandma's house when I get like this. I think it's because nothing was ever really wrong there. Dolores. That's my Grandma's name. She makes a killer soup, has a heavy french candadian accent, loves the Celtics and the Red Sox, sings in her church choir, and she prays for me. Ain't that a hoot! She prays to Saint Anthony that I will find whatever it is I am looking for. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost objects. St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. Whatever.
I try not to be too critical of myself but self-analysis and self-criticism is something I have always gravitated towards. I never wanted to hurt anyone or make anyone feel ostracized. Where am I going with this? I don't know. Tonight was just one of those nights when I did not want to be in New York. I want to be as far away from this place as possible. Unfortunately, that is not an option right now.
I'm going to bed. I feel like I can quiet all these voices there.
Last night's dream: I had to write an essay on the entire Lord of The Rings Trilogy. Post-apocolyptic futuristic New York City. Fast stream-lined cars, Ogres and the like. Graduate school professor yelling at me. A pervasive cold feeling. There was more but it escapes me.
Goodnight.
I had a lousy day today. No rhyme or reason. Probably drank too much this weekend, stayed up too late chatting. Who knows? Just a lousy day. I had a class for some voice over shit. I blew my copy. Or my copy blew. That sucked. I hosted a comedy show. I was not funny. That blew. Admittedly, it was not my job to be funny. Just a lousy day. Had a nice long critical look at myself. Didn't like what I saw. Just a lousy day. It's Valentine's Day Eve. Nobody. Lousy. Day.
It occured to me after a couple of conversations today that maybe it is time to throw the proverbial hat in. I don't even feel like talking or typing or anything. I thought this would make me feel better but all it's doing is making me feel worse.
I walked a Japanese couple 3 blocks out of my way because they were looking for a vintage clothing store. I gave a young girl a dollar because she said she needed seventy-five cents to make a phone call. Everyday I do these stupid little things. I think it is because I am inherently selfish and I think all of this karma is just building up somewhere. But it isn't. Sigh.
I don't know why I always feel like going to my Grandma's house when I get like this. I think it's because nothing was ever really wrong there. Dolores. That's my Grandma's name. She makes a killer soup, has a heavy french candadian accent, loves the Celtics and the Red Sox, sings in her church choir, and she prays for me. Ain't that a hoot! She prays to Saint Anthony that I will find whatever it is I am looking for. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost objects. St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. Whatever.
I try not to be too critical of myself but self-analysis and self-criticism is something I have always gravitated towards. I never wanted to hurt anyone or make anyone feel ostracized. Where am I going with this? I don't know. Tonight was just one of those nights when I did not want to be in New York. I want to be as far away from this place as possible. Unfortunately, that is not an option right now.
I'm going to bed. I feel like I can quiet all these voices there.
Last night's dream: I had to write an essay on the entire Lord of The Rings Trilogy. Post-apocolyptic futuristic New York City. Fast stream-lined cars, Ogres and the like. Graduate school professor yelling at me. A pervasive cold feeling. There was more but it escapes me.
Goodnight.
posted by Ben at 10:45 PM
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