i just don't know what to do with myself
08.10.03 @ 2:43 p.m.
It's been kind of a long boring weekend, which I am intensely thankful for, but it means I don't know what to write. I'm mildly sad that Liz is contemplating a move from diaryland but it's in favor of different blogging software and that's not like leaving the internet forever, so I'm just melodramatic. And when people leave things that I'm sort of a part of, it dredges up the guilt I have over the essential death of SYMK, a yahoogroup that I've been a part of for I think maybe three years or so. And I feel like I should be trying harder to keep it alive and keep it going, but there's just nothing left for any of us to say to each other. And anyway, I'm still in contact with my two favorite people from that group. Jessica runs her own classic rock based yahoogroup that I'm a part of and I just talk to Rachel a lot anyway. Not so much this summer, but we both have our own things to do.
It's not helping that I'm listening to the beginning of Elephant, which means the lower tempo songs, like "I Want To Be The Boy To Warm Your Mother's Heart" and "You've Got Her In Your Pocket." The world is conspiring to make me slightly maudlin. Which annoys me.
There was an article in the paper today that I haven't read, a review of a new book about rock journalism called The Sound and the Fury if I'm not mistaken. The coolest aspect of this is that they quoted the "Typewriter bangers on" part of Pete Townshend's "Jools and Jim." I wish I were a little more up to date on music and culture (says the pretentious music/culture snob) so I could end up doing something immensely cool "when I grow up," specifically rock journalism.
Oh, and we redyed the tips of my hair yesterday at Martha's house. Now it's neon red. I almost glow in the dark. I'm thrilled about it, except that my stupid idiot father keeps cracking jokes about clown wigs. Bastard, I only dyed the ends. I'm really annoyed with him again today, mostly because he bitched about my listening to Quadrophenia at high volume this morning. Probably it was my singing along, but at least he was diplomatic enough not to say anything. But he can just fuck off, I was in my own room minding my own business.
All of a sudden I'm antsy and upset. I don't know why, but I just suddenly feel unsettled like I want to just go off somewhere and sulk about nothing in particular, but I know there's nothing doing there. I don't know what's wrong with me or what I think I want to do, I just know I'm unhappy right now. Jodi, who was my first friend and my best friend for a very long time, is back from Alaska and I should be seeking her out, trying to hang out with her for a little bit of the short time she's here, but I don't want to and that makes me feel guilty. I think part of all my weirdness today is that I'm feeling an intense need to do something expressive, creative, and/or artistic but there's just no inspiration there and it's making me immensely frustrated.
(Title track from Elephant by the White Stripes)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
