My brain took a look at the schedule coming up:
*Rush Limbaugh rehearsals
*Teaching at Annoyance
*Nurse Novels practice
*Bitter Tears practice
*Tijuana Hercules practice
*Tijuana Hercules recording
*Bitter Tears recording
*Nurse Novels recording
*Rush Limbaugh shows
*Nurse Novels shows
*Bitter Tears European Tour
...what else am I leaving out?
Oh yeah...
*Miserable delivery job - Daily
So.
When am I going to pursue freelance writing? Journalism classes?
The insight I gained from Christy last night had become a hangover of defeatism.
Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss.
I yawned and got bummed out.
On the roads it was a koo koo fest. A woman cut me off on South Cicero only to slam on her brakes and scream or sing at me using her rear view mirror. This upset an obese pick up truck, who later cut me off on the Stevenson. Then he swerved into the angry or singing woman and attempted to run her off the road.
More similar party-style driving occurred throughout the day. It looked like fun so I joined in.
Yelling, honking, screaming and singing.
These words were used the most by me:
*Fuck
*Jesus
*Fucking
*Shit
*Idiot
*Fuuuuck
*Christ
*Stupid
I realized that as long as music is my main thing, I would be using these words during most days.
I rubbed my eyes, yawned, and got more bummed out.
I felt like crying.
While waiting in the lobby of the Goldblatt building I noticed a gallery of Art Shay photographs of Nelson Algren. Circa 1940, Nelson rode his tank of a bike through the familiar near north alleys, worked on his typewritten manuscripts within earshot of a watering hole, and played poker with a drug dealer. He lived in an efficiency apartment. His hair was thinning.
It gave me hope.
So instead of crying, I lied down in the back of the van and took a two-hour nap, letting a journalism study period go to waste.
Hey.
My hair isn't thinning yet.
Verdict: Loss
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