So this weekend, I learned a few things. Mostly things I knew before, but the way each seemed to settle or reappear made it new all over again. And I love it.
I'm terribly bad at doing what I want to do. And not doing what I want to do. I'm black and white, ends of a stretched spectrum and opposite poles of a magnetic. Either I'm doing everything I can to match everyone else's expectations, or I'm livin' la vida loca for myself. What is significant is that I haven't been doing for myself much lately and while I hesitate to jump over the edge and get all Chris-centric again, I deserve a few treats for me.
I've bitched long enough about my job. I deserve happiness. Happiness won't come from working with Terminix any more. Time to erase the board and start drawing again. Granted, unemployment isn't the key to happiness but I don't plan to stay unemployed long. Perhaps I should wait until I have other work, but after this weekend, I'm not sure I can endure it any longer. So Tuesday, I'm gone.
Tuesday because that's when I get paid and I don't want any funny stuff.
I'm a creative person. A human endowed with a few sets of weird glasses. I see, hear, smell and dance differently. We all do, I know, but I love the way I do. Time to embrace, cherish and strike. To know me is to dig me.
A tree fell on the A/C unit at Mom's. Being the genius I am, I called my friend, Clint Bob. He does HVAC work and was primed to help get that crushed bastard working again. In the midst of thunder and lightening and the stench of emminent death, I worked my way out to the air conditioner with the phone in hand ready to describe the scene. CB was giving me some technical advice, lingo -- things to look for. What I saw was that the fan had stopped moving. It'd been killed by the tree. I bent the blades, it spun freely and the temperature inside dropped 93 to 78. It was a joyous time for us all at Rancho de Horno.
And let me give just a general warning to anyone wanting to go to Loco's in Macon. If you do and you don't have a legitimate reason (trying to save a dying child, fulfilling prophesy, etc.), then you're probably a wanker. I will concede that I was there this weekend and that I was, indeed, a wanker for doing so. Thankfully, wanker is a status that needn't be permanent. People change and wankers are people so wankers can change.
My problem with the place is the place. It's loud, bands from crapville populate microphones and no matter how hard you try, strangers will stay strangers unless you're going to fuck them. So, let's say you want to strike up a conversation for conversation's sake. If you aren't, in their opinion, fuck-worthy they will not reciprocate. What happened with just making friends? Doesn't anyone believe in this noble cause?
I'm just mad because no one wanted to fuck me.
Remember who loves you, baby.
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