"The truth is, I don't believe all that much in writing. Starting with my own. Being a writer is pleasant- no, pleasant isn't the word- it's an activity that has its share of amusing moments, but I know of other things that are even more amusing, amusing in the same way that literature is for me. Holding up banks, for example. Or directing movies. Or being a gigolo. Or being a child again and playing on a more or less apocalyptic soccer team. Unfortunately, the child grows up, the bank robber is killed, the director runs out of money, the gigolo gets sick and then there's no other choice but to write. For me, the word "writing" is the exact opposite of the word "waiting." Instead of waiting, there is writing. Well, I'm probably wrong- it's possible that writing is another form of waiting, of delaying things. I'd like to think otherwise. But, as I've said, I'm probably wrong."*
I played a show tonight while my mom went to a concert and my dad got prepped for open heart surgery. They don't talk. I'll go see him Saturday morning in the Sacred Heart hospital in Pensacola, since we're playing Sluggo's tomorrow night anyway. Would I go see him otherwise? I'm not sure.
I've been breaking out in hives and it's hard to sleep because I wake up itching and I try to remember what I ate during the day and I just hope against hope that I'm not allergic to Publix subs. I've also been shitting blood a lot, but I wouldn't even begin to know who to talk to about that. Rich said if it's bright red blood not too worry about it, it's the dark stuff you've got to freak out about. That's what band mates are for. "Dark stuff to freak out about" sounds like a compelling theme for the new year, but I'm trying to look on the bright side and I've been doing a good job of waking up early and leaving the house (basically my only new years resolutions, that and not feeling stupid or sorry for myself). There's just some things I've been putting off and it's time to stop waiting.
Last night we played in a honky tonk bar in St. Augustine. The bartender ended up being an old childhood friend of mine, haven't seen him since I was four feet tall, but he's punk now too I guess, and it sort of made me amused all day to think about it. If my mom calls me back I'll tell her all about it, I can say, look mom, sometimes people just grow up to be punks. She probably won't be amused. Tonight there's a show in New York City I'd like to be at, and across the planet somewhere there's probably also a real quiet place just waiting for me.
*Roberto Bolano, The Last Interviews (63)
