Monday, September 7, 2009

(Not Quite A) Timeline

Man, I have no idea what day we are.

It's labor day, or something, I just checked, but that doesn't help me much.

Some days are different, some aren't, so even the clichés don't feel like helping me out.

It's weird, after spending the bulk of the summer doing just what I had intended to do, which is take it easy, catch up on organizing my shit, take care of my cats, write new songs, try out new bandmates, feed this blog more than just occasionally, look for a better-suited day job (ideally: columnist in a weekly paper, or writer of some sort) to no avail, book my annual festival so that it happens in early-to-mid September - and spend quality time with the people around me.

Along the way, fake priorities reared their ugly little heads, especially in the past 4 or 5 weeks. Suddenly, work weeks started taking up 60 hours of my time - and I started losing track of it. Time.

So much so that I booked a show for my festival, Wednesday August 26th, but for some reason, probably because I hadn't written a date all summer long, I drew flyers with ''May 26th'' all over them - and never thought twice. I went and got them printed... $10 for 200 wrong-date useless flyers.

Then I wrote checks to the government to reimburse my student loans... out of the four I made, two were ok. The other two? Incorrect date, of course. The year was 2008. Needless to say, they were returned to me.

Fucking time. It escapes me, eludes me. I'm 30 years old - the type who still acts like a 16 year-old, or so I've been told - and can't remember what I had to eat 48 hours ago. What's it going to be like if I ever reach 75?

In the meantime, I stopped for a breather this weekend, only to see my neat little fucking world crumble before my eyes. I should have just kept going with blinds on, like Forrest Gump when he starts running for no apparent reason.

Instead I sit here, alone, unable to confront my problems because they've been running away from me all fucking week even though they brought it up themselves. Someone's making me eat a shit sandwich with extra stink, and it so happens I'm not a fan.

I have a feeling that when Mick Jagger sang ''Ti-i-i-ime is on my side, yes it is, boy'', it was addressed specifically, to me, right now, telling me he's got time and can grasp it - but I don't. It flew past me all summer long, and today it stands still, taunting me. Tainting me, even.

Not everyone has the same amount of time, so it's more about what you do with it in life that matters, I think. And what matters, to me, is friends, family and lovers. Everything else is in the way, an obstacle, whether it's work, bills, pastimes - even the fun parts.

The rich can afford to make their time with their people more comfortable (and generous souls can even help others who are not in their close circle), but at the end of the day, that's all there is: people, and time. And at times, some people have had their time, and it runs out.

I'm still undecided where I'm going to run with mine.

Shit, I don't even remember what day we are.

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