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Aug. 26th, 2003
Going to bed when it's light and waking up when it's dark should only be done in the winter time when the sun sets at like, 3:30 pm or something. Today I went to bed in the warm rays of the sun and woke up in a pitch black house. Nine hours had passed. Governments have been overthrown in less time. Apparently I slept through my father coming and going and the phone ringing several times. Gee, helluva thing to write a journal entry on, huh? Well, I wish I could say my father was doing as well. He got another four hours of sleep today, yet again. This is after him working four hours overtime this morning. I'm worried about him. I'll admit it.
With what little time I was awake and home tonight I whipped out the editing for the rest time in a few days, but didn't accomplish very much. Just a paragraph, but it was a paragraph of background story that's needed modifying for some time in order to make the whole rest of the thing make sense, so I feel I did accomplish something. At least I can write in this situation. Having my dad here has made it impossible to get any music practiced or even to just listen to music when I want to. I don't want to bother him with my skwonking guitar and even if that wasn't an issue, I'm self-conscious about playing anything I write for anyone until it sounds like an actual song instead of just me randomly making noises. Of course, it's self defeating because if I don't practice then everything I play just starts sounding worse, now doesn't it? I was supposed to be writing Middle-Eastern style bass lines for Lesley to practice her belly-dancing routine to, but that hasn't been happening for the same reasons. Sadly, when we all get a house together, I'm fearing it's just going to be more of the same.
Why am I griping about this all of a sudden? Because last night, my best friend from high school calls me to tell me that he's gotten a record deal. He writes darkwave/EBM stuff. Apparentely, he was DJ'ing a party and some record company types were there and BOOM! Signed him and his partner on the spot. I'm happy for my friend, but I'd be a dirty liar if I said I wasn't extremely jealous. In the wise words of Morrissey (who, in spite of being a wimpy, tremulous-sounding British pooftah, still has what I must begrudgingly admit are some pretty wise words,) "We hate it when our friends become successful."
Que cerra, cerra. Congratulations Mike. Nobody's prouder of you than I am. I just hope that sooner rather than later I will be right up there doing it alongside you.
With what little time I was awake and home tonight I whipped out the editing for the rest time in a few days, but didn't accomplish very much. Just a paragraph, but it was a paragraph of background story that's needed modifying for some time in order to make the whole rest of the thing make sense, so I feel I did accomplish something. At least I can write in this situation. Having my dad here has made it impossible to get any music practiced or even to just listen to music when I want to. I don't want to bother him with my skwonking guitar and even if that wasn't an issue, I'm self-conscious about playing anything I write for anyone until it sounds like an actual song instead of just me randomly making noises. Of course, it's self defeating because if I don't practice then everything I play just starts sounding worse, now doesn't it? I was supposed to be writing Middle-Eastern style bass lines for Lesley to practice her belly-dancing routine to, but that hasn't been happening for the same reasons. Sadly, when we all get a house together, I'm fearing it's just going to be more of the same.
Why am I griping about this all of a sudden? Because last night, my best friend from high school calls me to tell me that he's gotten a record deal. He writes darkwave/EBM stuff. Apparentely, he was DJ'ing a party and some record company types were there and BOOM! Signed him and his partner on the spot. I'm happy for my friend, but I'd be a dirty liar if I said I wasn't extremely jealous. In the wise words of Morrissey (who, in spite of being a wimpy, tremulous-sounding British pooftah, still has what I must begrudgingly admit are some pretty wise words,) "We hate it when our friends become successful."
Que cerra, cerra. Congratulations Mike. Nobody's prouder of you than I am. I just hope that sooner rather than later I will be right up there doing it alongside you.
