disconnected, disenchanted. It’s been a rough few days. Tomorrow I finally get back out on the street and work, and hopefully that will lift my spirits. It’s been an empty time, where my mantra has been fuck it all and all I could do was think about time, energy, and money spent, and the thoughts kept turning to cancelling all performance except the street for months. Fuck it all. I can’t afford this. I began 2007 with over a grand, busted my ass, and have .45 cents and not even a fucking “thank you” to show for it. In on the outside, a part of them but never used, and yeah – I know that some of it is my fault for not stepping up – but I can’t count how many times I’ve said “use me”.
I need a fucking place of my own, but I haven’t been able to save a dime. It all went straight back into unpaid exhaustion and the booze to try to forget it all and have fun, and ignore the fact that after time spent preparing for EB & SGS, and for a future show at BC. Maybe.
I don’t know.
Something really needs to change. I need to come back.
Two weeks and I’m back in my van, barely a dime to find a home, I feel like things keep going in circles with no growth – and I really need to figure out why – and change it.
I don’t want to be an asshole. I don’t want to say that I’m not doing any performance unless I’m paid, but fuck – all I can think about is a sold out show of about 500 at $25 a pop, the eight hours I spent at Great American beforehand helping load in and set everything up, the time and money spent…
Something needs to change. I absolutely love working with them – being around them – but… perhaps it’s the fact that I’m still fucking living at someone elses house, that the rest of my life is in my van. Someone elses bed, someone elses space. I help, and she appreciates it – but I look back at me, look at my history, and really question myself.
This morning she said I was the most unique person she has met – but still, I can’t help but feel like I am something of a failure. It’s been four months without my own place, and the circle is weighing on me. I think of the past, think of now, am terrified of the future if this is what it holds and the thoughts have not been healthy.
No, I don’t want another job. I want to make this work. I want to cure myself – in so many ways.
I think that if I told my pop that I did all of this for free he would think me a complete fool – and yeah, many people have thought that, bot more times than not it been because I love what I do and I really can’t ever see going back to a shit-ass job that feels like it can control me, or thinks I give a fuck about it.
I’m not like that anymore – consider it learning my lesson. I don’t want a steady paycheck, I want the life that I’ve neglected for so long, the life that I’m trying to make happen, and if it means sleeping in my van – then fuck it. I’ll see how long I can do that before everything snaps. All or nothing…
But I want a home/room of my own, and perhaps I’m an idiot – I’m not willing to compromise there, either. I want it in the city, with good people.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My doctor is wanting me to get back on meds because while my viral load has dropped dramatically, my CD4 count is in the danger zone. My mistake – I was focusing on eliminating the virus from my body instead of bringing it all back to perfect health. . Sending out an email to him right after this asking about my counts from the latest blood work. We’ll see.