I’m inclined to complain about the fact that I am still out of work, but have been trying to keep it to myself. Suffice to say, I’m pretty bummed that I am still unemployed. I do much better when I have a job. Emotionally, in my body, etc. This week I’ll be doing some house-sitting/gardening and am like, embarrassingly excited about it. Just to get out of the house and do something for a minute sounds like a dream.
I mean, I have been doing, but you know. You know? Of course, there are literally a million things I could be doing but I have like motivation fatigue or something. It is true that I do best at one end of two extremes. Either laying completely motionless with a cocktail on a beach somewhere or so damn busy I can’t see straight. Anything in between is difficult town.
Things I should be doing:
- Fixing the drywall in the ceiling in the living room
- Patching/sanding the basement apartment
- Putting together my chap book
- Getting quotes for replacing the counter tops in the apartment downstairs
- Going for long walks
- Finishing edits on that story that I’ve been writing for a year
- Writing more poems
- Researching gigs
- Memorizing the hell outta some pieces
- Spending time with my mom
- Reading the rest of The Creamsicle by Rhiannon Argo because its actually so good.
- Cleaning my damn room.
- Being a fool in love with a dreamy lady (I am, admittedly, doing this like every hour of every day, so thats something.)
This list might make me seem like a total lump. This also might be the most boring blog entry ever written. despite everything, I am still such a happy, happy dude.