Felt sort of insidious today. A traitor in the fine arts department. "Who are you kidding -- you aren't a writer? When did I decide this course of life? This lifestyle etc?"
Don't know why, but I spent most of the day with my head tilted down and ears filled with other people's music. Then I got home and watched "The Virgin Suicides" with Joy and that made everything better.
Rehearsed for four hours last night with Semi-Louise. That's a lot of practise. My hands feel like they should be taped up. The callouses on undersides of my fingers are spreading into thin, tough sheets. Not bad, but one developed into a blood blister, then the skin hardened over it, so it looks like I have this sick black mole where my index finger meets the hand. Fucker. I want it to go away. I've always been grossed out by people with visible birthmarks, and now I feel like one of them. Eww. The lower orders.
Plan for this weekend is to start on my next story, and rewrite a totally failed poem. Also I'm recording a demo with Jay and Ryan, which should be a blast. I think I'm up-to-date on my chops. Jay has also scheduled studio time in late march to record a CD. Whee!
You stole my name!
Posted by: vanderhoof at February 11, 2004 10:13 PM