Today I'm taking my house apart. Old paint cans, half-used fluids and solids, a major pile of old 5K, 10K bibs (why do I have these?), random empty boxes, all the detritus that has a way of accumulating when you're looking the other way. My mother would be so proud. She threw out everything and I mean everything.
I'm gonna make a pile in the garage in anticipation of a U-haul trip to the dump (the dump!) in the near future.
I went to an open mike recently. Gawd. How could I have forgotten what they're like? I could say some very unkind things here but I am metaphorically biting my tongue. And my friend Maryann taught me to be polite and not walk out because I would want the same consideration when my turn came. Yeah, but sheesh.
I once read at Red Sky, a Paul Hunter thang on Capitol Hill, now defunct and a guy came in with a rolled up notebook. He sat at the piano and attempted to keep the notebook from falling on the floor so he could YELL and POUND on the keys in no apparent order, rhythm, etc. It was excruciating. Paul tactfully asked that he finish and no, we didn't want to hear any more. I miss that reading. There was some talent here and occasionally Paul would sing and play a harmonica.
Yes, I'm still in love, in case you were wondering. It's tiresome to have to go to work and live in different houses. I think we should work about 5 hours a week and play the rest of the time. Then I could get everything done, like writing more and painting and playing outside in the mysterious Northwest. Mysterious you say? Ha!