ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- MJ TUESDAYS I checked my diary profile to see when the last entry was added and noticed that there is a "delete" otpion. That's not right. Once something has happened in your life or a thought has entered your head, it can't be deleted; no matter how much you wish that it could. It's there forever, and a part of you. May as well accept it. So it's been a few days, though farbeit (yes, that's a word) for me to say that nothing has happened. Becki called to assure me that she's alive, which sets my mind at ease. I had become worried, if not egoistically so, because she hadn't written in a while. What can I say? I've come to terms that my social universe revolves around me and without my perception, no one that I know exists. The sooner that all of you figure this out for yourselves, the better you'll all be. The band has been practicing fervently for the upcoming gig. John, the guitarist, had a rare emotional moment with me on the steps outside of the practice house while we smoked cigarettes. He expressed his happiness that I'm in the band and attributed all of our drive and determination to that sole fact. He expounded on how excited he is about our upcoming gig and tried to infect me with his excitement, though I'd been bitten at the beginning. It was nice, nonetheless. Work has been going well. Charles is back in town after a three week vacation so I actually have an occasional night off that's not devoted to band practice. I'm hoping to revamp my stand-up-comedy act this Sunday at The Comedy Store. It's been a long time since I've had an audience. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever had. The bitches at The Laff Stop in Houston just hoped that I'd shut up so that they could have their turn. This should be fun. I've written my father but haven't mailed it yet. It's hard, you know? I never know how he'll take words from me. I sped here in excess of eighty miles per hour listening to God Lives Underwater and God Street Wine (I'm on a "God" fix) and watching smoke unfurl from my slightly parted lips, intent on getting on the internet and ignoring everyone else. I truly do love this place. Lestat's, that is. It's 24 Hours and there's always someone other than me here. They typically look as lost and alone as I am and I like that. It's good to know that I don't suffer alone. My dreams have been lacking lately. Last night I dreamt that John and I wrote a song on piano and I was shocked to hear that he was a better singer than I could ever be. I said something to that effect and he shrugged and said something about being a guitar player. That's all that I remember. Jonathan Garrett, a good friend of Jeff's and acquaintence of mine, is in town visiting Monica. I always feel inferior in his presence as he is just so goddamned together on all of his shit. It's quite humbling to sit in the shadow of his well-deserved shining smile. Maybe someday I could smile like that. 2:48 a.m. - 2003-08-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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