I feel as if I’ve made about twenty trips to twenty different places in the past 24 hours. The burden of the endless errand sits perched upon my shoulder. As I landed back at my apartment, I had one of those slow-motion realizations that I am going to have to drive another 30 miles later this evening due to my own forgetfulness. All of this just to leave town for a couple of days…
Yesterday, in between bouts of coughing up all sorts of new colors, I learned a new lesson: Never turn your back on an animal, even if he has a pretty nifty name like Sundance.
Today’s lesson came while sitting in traffic as the air conditioner blasted stale, warm air across my face in lieu of cool, comforting relief. Apparently, I should have listened one particular voice inside my head when I had my new stereo installed in my car this past winter. I had done some research on doing the installation at home on my car model and found that several people had inadvertently disconnected the AC in the process and written guides on how to avoid that situation. On the day I took my car in to have the stereo installed, I kept having visions of no air conditioning once the summer heat finally hit Washington. As I filled out my paperwork and handed over the keys to my vehicle, I must have begun the same sentence at least one hundred times in my head that would just toss those “car stereo professionals” a small concern I had with the air conditioning, but I never actually formed the words with my mouth. As I stepped out of the garage and back into the frozen Christmas-time air, I gave one last look at my vehicle, shivered and thought, “These guys know what they’re doing…” and closed the door behind me. Fuckers…
I used the lack of air conditioning and the fact that all three stores I visited today did not carry the magazine I was looking for as an excuse to purchase James Frey’s newest novel, Bright Shiny Morning. I really haven’t been in much of a mood to spend money on hardcover books as of late, but I justified the purchase by reasoning that I was going to buy a magazine anyway and there was really only a 17 dollar price difference after tax…
I’m definitely not one of those people that gives a shit whatsoever that James Frey exaggerated the truth in his first novel, nor have I ever cared that Oprah Winfrey gave him the verbal strong hand on her show a few years ago in retaliation. Despite the fact that aspects of his memoir may or may not be completely truthful, he wrote a captivating novel that got my attention and kept it. I really don’t care if it happened or not. The second that people get over putting artists on some sort of higher moral pedestal and admit that they make the same asshole mistakes that everyone else does, the better off we will all be.
As I made a stop by my parents’ house this afternoon, I was presented with an opportunity to sit at the piano and write in the comfort of a silent and empty home. There are few pleasures as sweet as that. Tomorrow, I take leave of this wretched city…
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Currently Listening To:
Girl Talk / Feed The Animals
