It’s been a good weekend, full of resolution and epiphanies and hugs and delectable food and wonderful surprises.
I’m running on autopilot again. Sleeping well and feeling good. It still hasn’t sunk in that I’ll be in France in less than a month. There are so many projects I’ve put off until I get back.
I’ve been doing this old school lately. Taking long showers, writing to Trailer Park Boys, staying up way too late. Just an uncomplicated life, with shit like, “Hey Bubbles, let’s order some chicken pizza, and play some video games on your new tv, man, I got that new wrestling game, man”.
Video games and chicken pizza; sometimes there’s nothing more. I finally feel like I’m back in the same headspace as I was in university, with a simple contentment about everything.
I spent almost $150 on gourmet cupcakes for the House Show. It’s going to be fucking awesome. I’m both excited and nervous. My friends know how much it would mean to me if they were there, but I’m not asking them to come this time as a favour, because they already came last year to support me. They’ve already given me so much, and I couldn’t ask them for any more.
Darren, Chris, and Jeff are driving up from Toronto to be there. I agreed to go out with them one night when they’re Ottawa. It’s been years since I went to a club, and I’m a little trepidatious about the entire prospect. Not that I’m averse to dancing — sometimes, I’m compelled to do nothing else when the right song comes on — but it’s pretty rare that club music intersects with my own tastes, and I wonder if I’ll be left standing there while everyone else is moving to a beat I don’t like.
Sometimes, I feel like I don’t fit in with 99% of the human population. This never becomes more apparent than when I’m at a party, unable to have more than a pithy conversation with anyone but the person who invited me.
This doesn’t bother me anymore. The right people recognize the right things, and I’ve always stuck by them.