This is where I'd normally put a creative title...

Creativity in writing comes in spurts these days... Usually because I'm too busy constructing visual items or completely exhausted from creating the aforementioned visuals. Thus is the life of an "artist" or whatever you would reference graphic design as. And yes, I DID end a sentence with a preposition. Take that, conventionality! Bahaha.

I'm sure if I had a therapist, he or she would say I should do this more often. Ya know... get my feelings out in the open so I don't bottle them up to the point of explosion and turn into a serial killer or some business like that. On a side note, I hope that they wouldn't be an analyst as well, because "Analrapist" looks weird on a business card... But I digress.

After nearly 9 years, I'm finally starting to make money doing what I love, thank the Lord. I drove to Iowa just to play a show... then I drove back and played another show here. Two shows in three days. I personally wouldn't mind getting to the point where my drums never leave my car. In fact, that's the goal. Commercial "Art" is a nice fallback, but it's not my passion by any means.

This stupid aromatherapy soap they have at highlands is starting to get to me...

I'm finally starting to truly love life again... even when my foot ends up down my throat or when giant piles of horse poo are lobbed my way. I'm taking more things in stride and trying not to stress about things. It's a shame it takes the passing of someone your age to realize that life is short and that you only have one chance to do what your heart is set on. Therefore, I'm taking more chances. QED.

I've met a lot of interesting people in my short few weeks of retail work at Dollar Mart... It's been quite the experience. Like the 86yr old guy who's had more surgeries than you cant count and talks with a voice box... or the U-Haul employee that tells me her life story every time she enters... or the crazy woman who haggles me over the price of $1.75 mylar balloons... or the 8yr old girls that buy makeup and apologize for having "no cents." It makes for really good social commentary and stereotyping lol.

The feeling returns to unused hands
the touch of soothing laughter.
The heart, it sparks with signs of life
That have long departed me.
What am I to do?
Cut and run or stay it true?
That long-forgotten feeling.

I just don't know anymore... It's so confusing... and there's no reason I should feel that way.

Anywho, time to go to bed before I start rambling and typing gobbledygook that only makes sense to me and the Thom Yorke inside of me.

Adieu, un chien Andalou.