It occurred to me a few minutes ago that cigarettes are playing a part in my not writing. When I used to write stuff, you can bet that I was pausing between paragraphs to light a smoke and sit back and stare at the screen, changing a word here or a thought there. These days I spend a lot of time sitting at a table in the shaded cobblestone backyard of my brother's house. I'm reading a lot. (And smoking too much.) The inside of my brother's house is both lovely and non-smoking, as is pretty much everywhere I go these days. I was just trying to think of the last time I smoked indoors in Canada, and I really can't recall.
I went to see Tears For Fears the other weekend. While the band were very good, the Casino Rama audience was not. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the first few rows of tickets were given out as comps, and the people sitting in them had no idea who it was they were there to see. That's got to be a real drag for the band. (At a party the other night, someone told me that Toronto audiences are renown for their snobbishness and stoicism - so maybe it's just a trend.) Tears For Fears introduced the guy who had been singing along with them, a Canadian named Michael Wainwright, and announced he was about to do a duet which was no mean feat. As the notes to Woman in Chains began, I started to compose an e-mail to Roland that nice try with the guy singing, but I can do it better and I'm not busy and can come on tour with them. Then Michael Wainwright started singing and I just x'd out of the e-mail in my head. Holy crap. That link there is to the TFF show in Manila, which is how an audience should behave I think. Watch them do "Shout" in Manila. The crowd goes mental.
As for writing, I'll quote Tears For Fears,...."I find it hard to tell you 'coz I find it hard to take."
Isn't blogging strange? What's that quote? Something like "Never before have so many had so little to say." Or instead of "little" it's "meaningless?" I've shared parts of my life with all you lovelies and all you spam robots who stop by here, and now I feel obliged to update.
But how am I supposed to write about the things going on right now? How can I share here the shit I can't even bring myself to tell the people in my life because I'm sort of terrified? Like, I can't tell you I think my mom is insane and I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea for me to be seeing her. That wouldn't be nice. I shouldn't tell you that I'm not sure I want to be married. That I'm worried I made a mistake and that I can barely be responsible for my own life let alone a partner's. I shouldn't admit that here.
When people ask me how I am I always tell them I'm alright. If I responded truthfully now, though, I'd jump up and down and shout, "I don't know what to fucking DO!" How on Earth could I write about how I feel like I've got just about no family to speak of and how hopeless and useless I am at being able to do one single thing to reconcile that? I can't seem to bring myself to tell my brother and my friend (and sister-in-law) how much I love them and their two girls, and how grateful I am that they've welcomed me into their home since I've been here, but that me having to leave in a week and a half and not knowing where to go is really freaking me out. So if I can't seem to admit that to them, how can I tell you?
"When people run in circles it's a very, very mad world."
I certainly shouldn't tell you how overwhelmed I am. How I just can't look at the big pictures because I don't know what to make of this world. I would be too vulnerable if I told you I've spent many moments these past few weeks wishing myself into non-existence.
So. I'm alright.
Next time you're at a concert, get the fuck up and dance.
Book Review: Greybeard
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