It's May 16th, nowhere near new years, not at all close to the holidays. Imeem recommended Auld Lang Syne by El Perro Del Mar probably because I loved the song God Knows (You Gotta Give to Get) I must have told them at some point.
The end of the year is a culmination, in New Year's conversations most people will explain their hopes for the coming year while lamenting on how many unfortunate things can happen in one 12 month period. Anyway they pass. I generally have no comment.
The funny thing about writing is I am too connected with it, to the point where I feel that every word is a mistake, a waste an embarrassment to what I think a writer would create.
So I stop.
Take a break.
Don't stress myself out with the thought of writing anymore.
Focus on work and looking my best in photos.
My mom was recently waiting for lab results from the doctor. She assumed he would tell her that she's dying or at the very least in need of high blood pressure medication and diabetes treatment.
But that's the thing about waiting. Creating your own outcome, various scenarios, past experiences and future images. All one block of continuous thought.
There is a terrible song playing at this coffee shop I am sitting at. I cannot think until it is over.
She watched my grandma die at 59. How could she not worry? I watched her worry at 37, I was 20, too sad to look nice and oblivious.
Her results came in, I listened along to her doctors muffled message on the answering machine, his tagalog accent saying everything was fine through my iPhone headphones as I drove home from work. Everything is fine.
Have a post-work beer, eggs and potatoes with Pico Pica for weekend breakfast. Onto the next thought...
A new Nothing Serious CD project. Limited edition. Hologram of my face and a Jaguar. Change my name to something indigenous that starts with an X. Move to San Francisco. Start writing again. Revisit El Perro Del Mar or something else that has been recommended based on past experience.
