it's 10:39 pm on my sunday, real time monday. all i want to do is write. or sleep. or distract my mind away from sunny beaches and crashing oceanic waves. but alas, i have this wonderful obstacle known as writer's block. i need an assignment. a nagging 'do this' something or another to pressure me into pummeling out a masterpiece. i've been wracking my brain for some sort of inspiration or real life tale to transcribe into my first masterpiece, but i don't think the things i've been circuiting with for the past few months would amount to anything more than two word mentally disabled nonsensical outbursts. 'CATMAGNET'. or maybe, 'CLOWNSHOW.' fuck, i can't think.
this year's been surreal. pretty awesome, though. but still, i sometimes catch myself waiting. things can't always continue to progress better and better, can they? is there going to be a secret catch? there usually 9 times out of 10 is one. and when i finally catch onto the snag, i realize that hook is going to cut a lot deeper than i ever would have imagined when i first tossed the lure. but instead of overworrying and being catlike cautious, i'm trying something new. i'm going with my gut, head and heart. (this typically works better than going solely with my vagina).
so far, so good.
i have a careeresque job. i live in a convenient and nice neighborhood with a decent apartment and roommate. my cat continously advances in her daily affections with me, today we crossed the line from hugs and kisses to her feebly, yet insisently making strides towards biting or batting my nipples. i'm in a pretty incredible relationship. just got back from a trip to mexico. saw, splashed and loved the salty, light waves in person for the first time in my 27 years. excessively indulged in never ending buffets and mexican beer and fruity cocktails. copped a tan. got sand in my ass. copped a bloody, fatlip. rode in a taxicab backwards down the world's steepest cliff mountain road. ordered a meal in spanish at a chili's in the guadalahara airport. una mesa para dos personas por favor?
my break was a good one. but still, the break after the break back in my own bed in my own apartment in my own city was the best part. relaxing, sleeping, snacking, and laughing. is romance the ultimate cockblocker for productive writing? it seems to be a double edged sword - love and romance. when you are swept up in its seductive whirlwind, your head is full of x's and o's, fantasies of last name swapping, rainbows and candy colored hearts - ultimately preventing any sort of rationality, let alone energies to dedicate to actually putting sentence A behind sentence B in a constructive manner.but then, after it all crumbles or comes to its ultimate demise, the sorrows and brokenness, the jadedness, the hurt and poison, it floods more quickly onto the scroll than the ink from the quill. so what happens when you find yourself dealing with tidbits of column A and column B? humility from your own naivety of former self destruction and the sense of being robbed. but then, a heavy, pounding, unavoidable intoxication from cupid's sweetest bow? i guess you are kept in check, kinda. but you still can't write for a damn.
growing up is hard. adults really need to take more vacations. longer vacations.
i'm starting to get sleepy. i am dreading returning to the madness of my office tomorrow morning, especially since i managed to lock myself out of my remote email account so i wasn't able to even take a sneak peek at the turmoils that await my return.
i realize it's been a while since i've mentioned anything of music as of late. tomorrow, (if i'm not dead as a doornail), i plan on checking out fujiya & miyagi at the mid. their newest album, ventriloquizzing, was hardly mind blowing (at least compared to their sophomore effort), but i've got a stack of free tickets and a handful of lovely ladies interested in being my date(s), so i'm gonna do my best to make it happen. doubt i'll have the energy for a review, but SIMS is playing schuba's on 3/27, and if he brings even an iota of a fraction of what he brought at the fine line in mpls last month, shit will be dope as hell. then, tv on the radio will be at metro in april, and i just received three 3-day passes for pitchfork. who's to be my date is to be determined at this point (until a certain someone requests off from work, that is). but i must admit, reading all of the blogs and twitter feeds re: sxsw this past week made a small pocket in my gut weep. i missed a kanye/jay-z collaboration. doomtree was there. the strokes. but whatever, even after my OD of pina coladas and warm bottles of dos equis, i would never trade the 4 days i had on the beach with my boo for any orgy of over hyped chillwave buzz acts and tangles of american apparel accessories. (although the shiner bocks would have slid down my throat a tinnnny bit easier).
rambleocity.com.
that's where i'm at. hopefully this week won't be too brutal. in addition to my new responsibilities with CHIRP in the promotions department, ima try to collect some organized thoughts into constructing some readable words for this here lil blog.
til then, ima drool all over this cathairy pillow and dream of Chewy, el triste hombre de puerto vallarta and his poor lost hermano.
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