Three-Man Socialist Rock Symphony

I'm listening to From Monument to Masses. Awesome. I'm going to see them play in Detroit on Friday. Also awesome. Pretty much three years to the day since I first saw them.

I remember I was hesitant to go to that show. I went pretty much to see Planes Mistaken for Stars, even though I hadn't been too into anything they'd put out in the past three years then. Still, it was Friday, I was leaving Saturday morning to meet Marta in NY for a two-week roadtrip, and feeling pretty optimistic.

So I'm at the Fireside, kinda wiling my time away waiting for PMFS to play, and FMTM gets up there. Says nothing. First thing I hear is samples of early morning news broadcasts, and then the music starts, slowly at first. I can't remember exactly which part drew me off the bench and over to the stage, but it wasn't long and I found myself rocking out.

Three guys were up there, very occasionally shouting something at the mic, but just getting into the music. Building it, adding to it. They'd play a few bars, sample themselves, then start playing over themselves. Really taking effects equipment to new heights as musical instruments. Plus the samples, and rhythm of the whole thing.

Beautiful.

Then, at some point they played a short song, totally beautiful. It started with a line about how everything in America is fucked up and rotten, and then this beautiful instrumental - and I mean beautiful, as in pink and orange sunsets shared with beautiful girls who want to stare into my eyes beautiful - breaks through. No words, just musical sentiment, and it brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to share it so much that I dissociated from the music.

"The Quiet Before" still has that potential to wrench my heart around, only now there isn't really anyone to share it with. But, like any emotional spike, the feeling just can't last, and so must fade.

I didn't stay for more than ten minutes of PMFS's set.

This sick boy feels like Stickboy.

I have a cold. Worse, I have a summer cold. Worse yet, it comes on *the* hottest day of summer. We're talking record-setting hot. My head feels like it's way big and wobbling around. It could be worse, though. At least I'm not totally stuffed up all the time, my throat isn't sore, except for when it's real dehydrated in the morning, and I'm not totally dead on my feet.

I'm looking forward to the weather cooling off. Tomorrow. I'm looking forward to dinner with Kate. Tonight. I'm looking forward to meeting Liv again before she moves. Tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing and dancing to the Dirty Calypsonians. Thursday. I'm looking forward to the drive to GORP. Friday. I'm looking forward to sleeeeeeeping. Who knows when. I'm looking forward to the new mp3 player coming. Order still processing.

Trish told me this morning that Ned broke up with her again. My heart goes out to that girl, because sometimes she seems to have a real hard time of it, and deep inside I think she's got some self-esteem issues. I don't think they're justified, but they're there regardless. So I just want to make sure she's not feeling completely alone and rejected, although I don't know how much it will help.

I'm back to procrastinating. Maybe it's the heat, but all weekend I didn't get shit done. Maybe a treatment plan. But really, not much. Mostly I finished reading the Honor Harrington novels (or most of them) for the third or fourth time. Nerdtastic. Now I can confront the mess my life has become. Literally. Shit is falling apart, and I've been neglecting my moral and emotional growth as well as my ADLs and professional work. Now that the gigantic block of escapism I embarked upon when John died has been conquered, maybe I can get this shit to the point where I feel it's under control.

Step 1: call the patients I need to call. Just fucking do it. Step 2: treatment plan my remaining cases. Well, that's pretty much done, but get it nailed down. Step 3: start my lit review and keep working on it. Step 4: get apartment clean - yeah, I know...Step 5: sleep.

Obviously, some of these are going to get done out of order, but still.

My whole not drinking at home alone thing is going well. I don't even miss it, although I did at first. I still want to eat like mad, though. It's an escape mechanism, to feel full somehow. I think I'm just gaining a bare understanding - a glimpse - into compulsive behavior. It's weird, how I see this path I can very easily start down, and how comforting it would be, but also dark.

Speaking of dark paths, I need a nap. And I need to remember to take my ibuprofen.