baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My fingers, they wander over the keyboard It's Friday and my mind, weary from three consecutive late nights of music, cheap drinks and deadlines, prefers to wander and ramble through the afternoon. And, so, to match the decor of my thoughts, here is a wandering and rambling entry. ---------------------------------------- Duncan Sheik has been whispering in my ear lately. Something about the way he says *the black holes that surround you are heavier by far* kills me even to this day. It makes me think of all the negativity that I've tried so hard to overcome in recent years; the people I've purposely jettisoned from my world to make it lighter and hopefully happier. I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing in erasing these personalities from my life. My band opened up for Duncan Sheik years ago back when he was the face of the day. In sharp contrast to the guitar-laden pop noise that came from the stage while we weperformed, he offered a subdued soundscape: just one voice and an acoustic guitar. It was refreshing. ---------------------------------------- Today, over plates of rice, beans and carne asadas, my friend Brian and I talked about messy houses-that some people don't seem to mind if their homes have piles upon piles of garbage and throwaway memories stacked up in every possible corner-the smell from years of neglect embedded in the carpeting and furniture. Usually, people seem surprised when they first walk into my home. My place, unlike my thoughts, is neat, orderly and clean (at least as clean as girl-unit and I can maintain). These first-time visitors often speak with a surprised tone to their voice-their eyes wide open as if they expected my house to be a messy, filthy mess. I listen to them compliment the crib, and can't help but wonder why they expected otherwise. ---------------------------------------- Tonight, I play at a place mere seconds away from a house that, at one point, was like a second home to me. I still haven't grown accustomed to driving by and seeing strangers walking in and out of the front door. I wonder what these strange faces would think if they knew about all the conversations, arguments and dreams that lived and died within those walls. I wonder if I'll drive by my current home someday and wonder the same thing. ---------------------------------------- Tomorrow, I'll be in snow. The band gets a day of skiing and snowboarding before we dry off and perform in the small bar within the ski resort. It'll be another wonderful day-the kind of day that makes me feel lucky to be alive. I've been blessed with a lot of these days, and I sometimes wonder if there's a limited supply of good times available per lifetime. I wonder if my supply is running low. 02:54 p.m. - 2001-03-23 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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