"I don't feel down for attachment for awhile"
...Well shucks. Doesn't get much clearer than that, does it? The message I received that included the above line didn't exactly pertain to relationships, but I think it speaks volumes. It kind of upsets me, but I need to stop worrying about it. She has her own shit to work through, and I have no business being in love with her anyway, if I am being honest with myself.
I got an incredibly awesome letter in the mail today from Sammi. It was wonderful, and probably the highlight of my day. She drew me a fantastic White Ninja comic about her experience with Sheetz' frozen green tea lattes, and it made me laugh pretty damn hard.
I am drinking beer right now. Sam Adams beer, to be precise. And sitting on my bedroom floor, because my computer is still set up on my dresser because my desk is covered in random boxes and other assorted bullshit. I should be studying the Indiana driver's manual so I have a better chance of passing my permit test tomorrow, but quite frankly, all I feel like doing is getting hammered and wallowing in self-pity and wild speculation. Both of these impulses are wrong. I haven't gotten drunk since I've been here, and I've been off of weed for at least a week and a half. And you know what? Sobriety is fucking AWESOME. And I mean that. As for the other impulse... eh. These things shouldn't be getting me down to the point that I wanna drink all alone until I pass out. Instead, maybe I should be talking with her about what's going on with me, but I get the feeling I should probably just give her space for awhile. Maybe this impulse is wrong too. Goddammit, why is everything so hard sometimes?
I started working this past Monday. Spent three days in Michigan standing around, occasionally fetching tools and taking notes while my father taught some people how to set up Cincinnati presses. And for this, I got paid $15 an hour. I feel like a thief. Maybe I should wear a ski mask when I go to pick up my paycheck. Sunday I am leaving again to spend a week between Wisconsin and Illinois, for what my dad estimates will be a 70 to 75 hour work week, inspecting presses to decide what needs repairs on them, and more importantly, how much said repairs will cost. It's going to be a long week. And I know that 30 or 35 hours of overtime sounds like a total bitch, but the fact that I'll be making $22.50 an hour that whole time eases the pain.
I'm trying to get better at playing slide guitar. I sat out on my front porch and ripped out some Bayou sounds while some little neighborhood kids danced across the street. It was beautiful, in its own warped way.
I think I'm never moving back to DuBois now. With this great job I would be a total fool to give up, surroundings that are always humming with seven different kinds of action at once, and the half-remembered familiarity of scenery I haven't seen since I was 6 years old, I honestly feel like I'm finally home. I miss people I left behind, but mostly not as much as I feel I should.
I found out today that when I was a baby my dad got a job offer in L.A. that he turned down. I could have grown up in the shadow of Los Angeles. Boy, that would have been something.
This is doing nothing to ease my mind. Time to drink another beer and put in The Shining, and hope that I fall asleep too quickly to dwell on other things.
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