No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2002-08-28 - 10:59 a.m.

Ode to my shirt

I know, I know. The days fly by and I'm doing ... nothing.

I have sauntered into a well of no motivation. No motivation at all. Ani says in Out of Habit "Art is why I get up in the morning". You know why I get up in the morning? So I can go back to sleep.

I need a job. Not really for the money (thought I need that, too) but just so I have a reason to get up in the morning. This is not to say there aren't a million things I can and should be doing. I'm just not.

I blame Rudy. He's the one who came over on Monday, and tempted me with Playstation instead of going to the gym. Whoo, I'm such a slacker.


So, last night was one week since I broke up with RockGirl. It's frightening/amazing/validating how quickly she has faded from my thoughts. I just don't think about her all that much in the past couple of days. Sad to think that I can get over a nine-month relationship in a matter of a few weeks. But it also says something about where I was in the relationship.

It was the right thing for me. To leave.


Right now I'm wearing one of my favorite shirts. It's old as hell and faded, and has holes, and is generally a ratty mess. That's because it's one of my favorites, and I used to wear it all the time. It's so soft and comfy. I can still remember buying it, down at the outlet malls in Castle Rock. I wore this shirt in my one film role, as a sleazy cleaning products salesman. This shirt has seen the top of two fourteen thousand foot mountains. This shirt has been skiing with me. This shirt has been drinking with me. This shirt has been pulled off in haste and thrown in a corner. This shirt has a lot of memories attached to it.

I get too attached to inanimate objects. Is it any wonder that I'm a pack rat?

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