Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Tink happy toughts
I feel stiff and my stomach is swimming. My heart hurts a little. But it's somewhat nice to feel sentimental stinging pains creep up to me through the words of my dearest friends.
I'm glad I read Ellen's blog tonight. Just yesterday four of my best friends here were let go.
I came here completely alone and found comfort in the vagabond counselors surrounding me. I felt like we were all supposed to be here, and now I am searching for some interpretation of why they had to leave. I comfort myself in that my last two weeks here can be spent serving my earliest intentions of making this journey. I have a lot less baggage to carry and I'm not so much in need of help as I was when I arrived, but things sure did pass a lot smoother when I had so many to laugh with.
And still the Northwestern Beauty meets me every morning. That can't go away. And even when it is cloudy there is daylight. One more thing to count on.
I can console myself with all the new possessions I have. I am no longer going through the phase I was in before I left. The one where I wanted to get rid of it all, although I know now that I could. I kept saying, "It's just stuff." But it isn't. Not to me. Music could not be just stuff to a musician, not any more than words could be stuff to a writer or oxygen could be just air to a newborn baby.
It's fuel. When you're hungry and your stomach is growling loudly you don't tell yourself that you are being superficial and "it's just food." You get yourself a sandwich.
Music is my sandwich. My grilled three cheese sandwich with tomato and cottage fries and ketchup. It's my cup of coffee. And I can't get up without my coffee.
So you can now understand maybe slightly how I feel to now be the proud owner of my very own brand new Cara's going to rock out super excellent bad ass makes you feel like a rock star just to hold it '95 Fender Strat. It's red and white and it rocks and its all mine.
And its from a store called Smash Your Guitar, located in the heart of dazzling Downtown Bellingham. The place I can think about while smiling forever and ever.
Bellingham is a healer too. As much as music. As much as karaoke.
It is a happy thought. I feel a definite change in mood here, and rather than edit this I'm going to leave it the way it is.
The anxiety has not subsided, but one thing coming here has taught me is to like myself, to be proud of myself and to not be afraid of looking like an ass (I had a bucket of freezing cold water thrown on me tonight. I also ate a whole bowl of vanilla pudding last night in 1 minute and 15 seconds without being allowed to use my hands). That's three.
Pardon my rambling, but it feels sort of purposeful(?)-ish.
Oh yeah, and I've been listening to still more punk music (MXPX, NOFX, the Warped Tour Compilation, and this old new wave punk compilation I bought that has the Buzzcocks and Bow Wow Wow and lots of other cool shit on it and they all make me happier than now).
OK time to go so I can play guitar and go to bed and get up for summer camp in the morning. Love you.
I feel stiff and my stomach is swimming. My heart hurts a little. But it's somewhat nice to feel sentimental stinging pains creep up to me through the words of my dearest friends.
I'm glad I read Ellen's blog tonight. Just yesterday four of my best friends here were let go.
I came here completely alone and found comfort in the vagabond counselors surrounding me. I felt like we were all supposed to be here, and now I am searching for some interpretation of why they had to leave. I comfort myself in that my last two weeks here can be spent serving my earliest intentions of making this journey. I have a lot less baggage to carry and I'm not so much in need of help as I was when I arrived, but things sure did pass a lot smoother when I had so many to laugh with.
And still the Northwestern Beauty meets me every morning. That can't go away. And even when it is cloudy there is daylight. One more thing to count on.
I can console myself with all the new possessions I have. I am no longer going through the phase I was in before I left. The one where I wanted to get rid of it all, although I know now that I could. I kept saying, "It's just stuff." But it isn't. Not to me. Music could not be just stuff to a musician, not any more than words could be stuff to a writer or oxygen could be just air to a newborn baby.
It's fuel. When you're hungry and your stomach is growling loudly you don't tell yourself that you are being superficial and "it's just food." You get yourself a sandwich.
Music is my sandwich. My grilled three cheese sandwich with tomato and cottage fries and ketchup. It's my cup of coffee. And I can't get up without my coffee.
So you can now understand maybe slightly how I feel to now be the proud owner of my very own brand new Cara's going to rock out super excellent bad ass makes you feel like a rock star just to hold it '95 Fender Strat. It's red and white and it rocks and its all mine.
And its from a store called Smash Your Guitar, located in the heart of dazzling Downtown Bellingham. The place I can think about while smiling forever and ever.
Bellingham is a healer too. As much as music. As much as karaoke.
It is a happy thought. I feel a definite change in mood here, and rather than edit this I'm going to leave it the way it is.
The anxiety has not subsided, but one thing coming here has taught me is to like myself, to be proud of myself and to not be afraid of looking like an ass (I had a bucket of freezing cold water thrown on me tonight. I also ate a whole bowl of vanilla pudding last night in 1 minute and 15 seconds without being allowed to use my hands). That's three.
Pardon my rambling, but it feels sort of purposeful(?)-ish.
Oh yeah, and I've been listening to still more punk music (MXPX, NOFX, the Warped Tour Compilation, and this old new wave punk compilation I bought that has the Buzzcocks and Bow Wow Wow and lots of other cool shit on it and they all make me happier than now).
OK time to go so I can play guitar and go to bed and get up for summer camp in the morning. Love you.
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