Friday, November 14, 2008

The world feels high strung right now.

When did everyone get so sensitive? Are we really just going through an awful time? Everything I say, lately, seems to be bothering somebody massively. Am I a jerk? Well, yeah, of course I am a jerk. I am callous and selfish, I am as ugly inside as I am on the outside.

I am sensitive, and inconsiderate. This is a weird mirrorish idea right now. In the last two weeks I have been told that I am both ultimately sensitive, and ultimately rude. I have been told this by people who lately have seemed what I would label "ultimately sensitive, and ultimately rude" themselves. How accurate can this accusation be, then?

I have been really letting myself go this month. Losing it. Losing my mind, my willpower, my self control. And I have not been getting anything at all done. Is it possible to salvage November now that I am half of the way through it? I am not even so sure anymore. It will probably be the all too prominent case of "too little too late". Story of my life.

Hey guys, sorry if I have been a jerk to you lately. It has been 25 years and I am still not entirely equipped to be the perfect gentleman. I will figure it out one day though.

Playlist: The Pixies, coffee

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

About you, about me.

Everything is emotional.
Everything is real.
Everything is worth your consideration.

If you can move yourself too far away from that fact, you are a bad person.
If you can make yourself ignore it, you are ignoring the part of you that makes you human.

Playlist: The Smiths, Fugazi, The Apples in Stereo

Sunday, September 28, 2008

What price?

I am just as confused as most of you are. I don't really have it all that figured out.
I am very insecure, no matter how cocky or uncaring I may seem.
I do not really know what I am going home to.
I am scared, and worried, and excited, and looking forward to every minute.
Except the ones that will be spent lonely and in debt.

Playlist: The Pixies, This American Life, Chuck Klosterman IV

Monday, September 15, 2008

Don't care?

I find that the most care free times in my life are those when I don't care. Oddly enough I am usually pushed to feel this way when I have alot of things to care about, but I really just don't want to care about them.

When I was going to community college I would wake up in the morning, get ready, get to school, and think about how much I just didn't give a fuck.

When I was amassing huge amounts of credit card debt in San Diego because I was overspending to compensate for the horrible feelings provide by my failing relationship, I didn't really give it much thought.

To be perfectly honest, I don't want to get hurt anymore. Will I be alone? I really shouldn't care. And what's going on now? I don't give a fuck.

I'm in Santa Fe, NM making a movie. That is life right now.

Playlist: Foo Fighters, Bedhead, Superdrag

Sunday, August 31, 2008

No New Zealand is not Good New Zealand

I am in Santa Fe, NM. It is as unhappening as I remember it. It is hard to start something new, fresh, and exciting, and then have to leave it all behind. I'm not even sure how far this will go, but I kind of hope it goes far. Sure, I have my doubts, but after what I've been through these last few years, doubt isn't just renting out part of my brain, it is paying a fucking mortgage.

I did not think it would be so hard to sleep by myself, on a couch in a living room in a house full of strangers. As it turns out, it really really is. And the last few days all I can tell myself is that I'm doing the wrong things, and that I am going about things the wrong way. I'll always be behind. I'm full of a terrible loneliness and isolation here. I feel so very far away from everything I love and care about, and it is eating me alive.

I just want to do well.

Playlist: Jay Reatard, Beat Happening, the Halo Benders, Beirut

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Loose Leaving

I've been living in Los Angeles for about a week now, a little longer. I keep hanging out with the same girl and I think she's really sweet for the most part. Something still seems strange though. The day after tomorrow I leave for work in Santa Fe, NM and I will be gone until October 9th. It is inconvenient and very sad.

Yeah, that's probably it.

Playlist: GG Allin and the Jabbers, Spazz, Sidetracked, Sojourner, Q and Not U

Wednesday, August 13, 2008


Back to this again. Too much excess this week. I was drunk everyday for seven days straight. Try as I might, the nineteen year old version of myself was never able to accomplish this. And what was on my mind the whole time? Girls girls girls.

How about health? How about career? How about me, and not somebody else's effect ony the chemicals in my brain? How about some real fucking resolve?

No love, no crushes, no romance. Not until I am who I want to be. Here I am again, fasting from the most poisonous thing known to the human heart. I am entering a cacoon, to borrow an idea from my friend Randy. I will emerge when the time is right, according to nature. Obviously.

Gifts of affection still accepted, of course.

By the way, I live in LA now.

Playlist: the Ergs, Commander Venus, drugs, alcohol, swimming

Friday, July 18, 2008

A full moon, a convenience store, and a head full of mushrooms.

White trash semantics:

7-11 is always a store. 7-11 is always 7-11. A store, however, is not always a 7-11.

This seemed very important tonight when we got to the corner store. We went inside and I couldn't bring myself to select a product and buy something. Everybody in the place was looking at me, I swear. They all knew I was out of my head. Then a very beautiful girl walked in, paid for gas, and left. I turned completely around to look at her. I was wondering to myself why I didn't stop her, tell her she was beautiful. I don't want to scare people. That's usually why I don't compliment them. I'm missing out on alot of thank you's I bet.

Playlist: Pere Ubu, the Melvins, mushrooms

Thursday, July 17, 2008


I can recall a monsoon season when my childhood friend Pete(who now goes by Frank), and I were sitting inside playing some bastardized version of Magic the Gathering we had made up. The rain was coming down in sheets and it was hot. Very hot. Pete's bright idea was to simply go outside and run around in it. The idea of getting my clothes soaking wet seemed kind of strange, but I lived just up the street, and if it really bothered my I could just go and change.

We got outside and were soaked very quickly. We took our shirts off and ran about in the water filled streets. There wasn't a soul around except for us. We ran the neighborhood, and at 12, we were probably the youngest rulers this neighborhood had seen. Pete got so intense about the whole thing he decided he should slide down his driveway on his stomach. It was so wet out that he was successful.

I don't really remember what we did after, but it probably involved video games, pay per view movies, and or soda. Life was good back then.

The World Series of Poker, where I have been working, is finally over. My last day of production was the 2nd of July, and after a week off I came back in for a week to do some shit work and help with the load out. One of my coworkers put mayonaise on my shirt and I got really pissed off. I almost punched him in the face. It takes alot to get me that mad, but for some reason when it comes to somebody fucking with my clothing I get angry really quick. I took a shirt that once belonged to Jean Robert-Ballande, who is a poker player who was on Survivor for one season. Nobody likes him very much. I just think it is funny that I have his shirt. It's not very nice and I probably should sell it on Ebay. Awesome.

Playlist: Maritime, weed, beer, summer break

Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Desperate Jerk.

When somebody breaks your heart and then attempts to ruin your life, it is commonplace to not allow them back into your life, correct? I was going to ask why I did this, but a different question is a tad bit more appropriate.

How did I get so lonely that I invited somebody who betrayed me so harshly back into my life?

I am not exactly hung up on these actions, they happened quite a few year ago. Also, I'd like to think that I am not the grudge carrying, shit talking jerk I was before. And I swear, I am not. I am confident that the main reason behind my forgiveness was pure curiosity. I just wanted to see what would happen. Also, if things had worked out better, I might've been able to take care of that loneliness thing too.

My friend Natalie touched on the subject of wanting something more than you knew you could possibly want in her most recent entry. I don't want to be lonely. I want non-loneliness, and I want it more than I ever knew I could want it. It is getting scary, and I am becoming that awful awful thing that scares girls away like a strong stench: desperate. I am feeling like the human embodiment of desperation and I know people can tell. It is pathetic and there is nothing more undesirable than a desperate jerk.

Playlist: Red Cross, Piebald, NPR, working

Monday, June 16, 2008

Kissing strange girls

I have only had the pleasure of kissing a complete stranger once in my life. My band was playing a house show and my future ex girlfriend introduced me to her friend who decided that making out with me would be fun.

I know people that meet and make out with strangers. They do this in places like bars, and parties. I have never been that guy (except for that one time, I guess). It just does not work out that way for me. I think I need to get more of that out of the way before I decide it is not something I really want to do.

I tell myself it is something I don't really want to do. Thinking about it, making out with some random girl in front of people at a bar is probably making my cheeks red right now, but I think I should give it maybe one more shot. That one time I did it i remember enjoying it, but I was sixteen then. Whatever.

Playlist: Jens Lekman, Nada Surf, Crossed Out

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Total Recall, Totally.

When I was in elementary school I was an intensely shy child. I was afraid of other children to a point that almost anyone could get away with bullying me. At one point it led to me peeing myself in my kindergarten gym class because I was afraid of asking the teacher to go use the bathroom. There I was sitting in a disgusting puddle of urine on the floor of the gymnasium, hoping that nobody would notice. They did notice, and I got to go home early, and I admitted to my mother that I was scared of the gym teacher lady. They made me talk to her about it, and the woman did not understand why I was so scared of her. She looked hurt, and told me I could always ask her for anything I needed. I do not understand why I was scared of her still.

When I was in the first grade I went to the restroom with a restroom pass, as was the standard procedure. Two older kids, I am not sure what grade they were in, came into the restroom being loud, and trying to act cool. Your regular everyday jerks. I was using the restroom stall, but I was pretty gun shy then, so I just kind of waited standing in the stall, hoping they would leave so I could pee. One of them kicked open the door to the stall, which had no lock on it. They both came in the stall and terrorized me. I did not pee myself, but I do remember crying. I did not fear for my physical safety, but they stole my hall pass out of my hand. I was convinced that I would be in a lot of trouble if I lost my hall pass, and also I was positive that I would never recognize these kids if I tried to rat them out because I could barely look them in the eye. They turned it into a sad game of monkey in the middle at one point, and then they left cackling down the hallway. I just sat there, relieved. They had taken the hall pass, but at least I got to pee(so much relief going on at this point).

I remember thinking if somebody caught me without my pass I would be damned to hell for all eternity, so I felt the genuine need to sneek back down the hall to class like a spy. When I got to the classroom my teacher, Mrs. Morris asked me where the hall pass was. I said I did not know and just kind of looked scared and sad, which I was. I do not recall ever telling any adults about this one though.

I had a similar experience in the sixth grade, but that is another entry.

Playlist: Paper Airplanes, Coffee, The Agent

I am here

Doing my best to pretend I don't care. Turning my back and not paying attention. Answering phone calls and feigning being a.o.k.

This begins an era of focus. I am focused from now on. I will be what I want to be and do what I want to do.

Also: I do not ever want to go back to Dino's again as long as I live. So I will probably see you there next weekend, or something.

Playlist: The Agent, The Promise Ring, The Old 97's, The The(no, not really)

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Something Vague

I've never heard this song before. It seems really long.

"Don't look at your friends!"
"I'm self conscious, I can't help it."

After about an hour of this(not really) the song is over.
I feel ok.

Playlist: Built to Spill, Tom Waits, Man is the Bastard

Friday, April 11, 2008

Love, fast.

I'd like to think that I have all the willpower in the world to do, and not do, whatever I need. I can take one look at myself in the mirror and I know that is absolute bullshit.

I'm ignoring my urges to immerse myself in any kind of romance. I don't have a problem with actually immersing myself in such a situation because I don't usually succeed in fulfilling said urge.

When I was 12 years old I developed a crush on my good friend, Nicole Thomas. She was a bright tomboyish girl who was beautiful and funny and I thought we got along very well. Eventually she caught wind of this. Most of my friends weren't really up to the task of admitting they liked the girls they liked back then, so this was odd. Needless to say she wasn't interested in this. She told my sad little young self that she usually stopped being friends with boys when they developed crushes on her. Harsh, I know.

That started a long history of rejection and not even bothering to try. And now: I continue.

Playlist: Matt and Kim, Jesus Fuck the Sun(yeah, I've been listening to the new shit alot), Algernon Cadwallader

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Crummy (for Natalie)

The last month has been quite up and down. I haven't had any work, and that is bad. I got my records back and kissed a girl. That wasn't so bad. I haven't written in here for far too long. That's bad. Alright, I guess it was mostly down. And to top it all off I can't stop thinking about you, Jessica Flores. I want to, and I even get upset about it. But this town has too much of you in it for me.

I blew it, I really did. Should I accept defeat now? Should I believe in the fact that I probably won't ever find somebody I connect with that way again?

Probably not.

I keep trying to make it happen. I used to just let things happen. That was the way I lived my life until I went away to school. Somehow I had this wild notion inserted into my brain that if you do not try and make things happen for yourself they NEVER WILL. This might be true when it comes to me getting jobs on movie or television sets, sure. Is it true when it comes to love, something that I, for the life of me, can't figure out why I am so obsessed about?

Ever since girls started to matter (the sixth grade), I have always wanted something I could probably never have. I have shown that to be false by ending up in three fairly serious relationships, and there hasn't really been too long of a dryspell in between the less than serious things. Somehow, though, I am always left wanting some kind of romance.

This tricks me into thinking things are far more serious than they are. A girl taking any time to talk to me leads me to believe she might be interested in me. Whatever happened to platonic friendship, Brett? Oh, right, it never existed. At least not right off the bat. You've had some form of mild crush on every girl you were ever friends with. Don't worry, ladyfriends, these are usually brief and defeating once I realize they will never go anywhere.

So, why can't I ignore this bullshit? Why can't I just wait until a girl comes along that I genuinely get along with very well, and that really wants me without me having to act like a jackass and go to some kind of awful bar or place I would never usually go to just to prove that I can "broaden my horizons" and that I am not a stuck up piece of shit? Fuck that. I am a stuck up piece of shit. But I'm kind of nice, and I can be very sweet, if I like you...

Fuck, there I go again, trying to sell myself.
What a whore.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

What a slum.

I went to the office, after saying good bye to my uncle. I was told that the place I needed to be was down the street. I was escorted down the stairs and back out onto the street. Hastings street. It was cold and not that nice out, though earlier in the day it had been slightly sunny. I could see my breath either way and I was very nervous. New country, new people, new institution, new new new.

We made our way down hastings past the sketchy looking memorial park, and another block down we found our way around the corner into 420 Homer street. It was slick looking inside, and everything was very new and exciting. I was pushed through the door and smacked in the head with the booming voice of George Johnson. He told me I hadn't missed too much but I would have to work hard to catch up. Thanks for keeping up appearances George! I sat awkwardly in the front with my huge jacket and prepared to take notes. We watched a few short documentaries shot at VFS that day.

Also I was introduced to some people. George asked Jason Segal to show me the ropes. He was kind of the leader of a group of dudes made up of Dave Sarneki, Levon Motut, and himself. The young guys. I didn't really fit but I went out of my way to be nice because they seemed to be nice enough.

We broke because class had already been going for a good two hours by that point and a tall cute skinny girl kind of walked up to me and I think she even shook my hand. Her name was Monique and she was pretty. I don't remember meeting anyone else that day but I'm sure it happened. I don't really remember the rest of that day at all. I think that was the only class for the day at all, or maybe we went to lunch somewhere or something like that. I didn't have a camera so there were no pictures.

These memories will become clearer with time, they usually do anyway.


Will work for love.

Deja vu makes me think I have probably dreamed things before. Earlier I was gathering laundry and I dropped something and when I bent over to pick it up it just seemed so familiar. The whole situation, everything about it, even my station in life. Did I really predict that I would be single, living with my parents again after going away to school for a year to myself, and then kind of forget it a year or two ago?

I was thinking, what if there were a dude who had a dream about dying and in this dream everything seems normal and he is taking a shower. When he steps out of the shower his bathroom tile is more slick than he anticipates and he falls, his head breaking bits of tile off the wall and sending them flying. The miniature tile/shrapnel come back down from the sky in which they flew with great velocity and embed themselves into our protagonists throat, severing his carotid artery. He woke up scared but didn't remember it the next day. As people often will, he forgot about this dream. Business goes on as usual for the next week, year, whatever. One morning he wakes up extra glassy eyed from last nights binge behavior and hops in the shower. Everything is going fine, but when he turns off that shower he has a pause. This is so familiar, he thinks. He reaches out for his towel, and then looks down and remembers he decided to wash the bathmat a day ago and didn't put it back in its place yet. His brow furrows for but a moment, and then panic spreads across his face as that fleeting moment of recall shoots through his brain and he can almost remember what the problem might be.

What would you do? Get out, or air dry your body crouched and cowering in the cold cold bathtub?

Playlist: the Halo Benders, Blue Moon Honey Moon Summer Ale(it's still good!)

sound #4

the Halo Benders - God don't make no junk

I want a girlfriend who likes this band.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Take the Cross Out Ya Pussy

I have a friend who can sing my feelings. We have a connection that is unspoken and comforting and sometimes frustrating. It somehow manages to remain healthy. At least I think it is healthy, anyway.

I met Nicole when I was only 16 years old. I would sleep over at my friend Joe's house, after band practice most weeks. Nicole was Joe's friend and one Christmas she brought me a present. It was a pez despenser and some pez candy. I didn't understand why she would do this because as far as we all knew she had a really big crush on my best friend Chris, who was also in our band. Nicole, however seemed to have waning interest in Chris, because she started coming around more and more often whenever I was there. Eventually she tried to get me together with her friend Amber, which worked out kind of except Amber had a boyfriend and the situation was poor. Nicole and I eventually ended up together for what seemed like a decade or something to my puny adolescent brain and heart, but was in reality about a year and a half. That's one, maybe two birthdays. Her first car and my drivers license, the breakup of my first band and the beginning and end of my second bad, my highschool graduation, seeing David Spade at the RIO, seeing Blue Man Group at the Luxor(instead of playing my second bands last show), you know, memories, things of that nature.

It wasn't a healthy relationship. It was terribly unhealthy. We were both so insecure and latching onto each other like that at such a young age couldn't have been a good thing. Eventually she started looking elsewhere and all I could do was sit around and be sad. She ended up cheating on me with Joe(mentioned above), and with some random guy who she worked with. I was devastated. My feeble young heart and mind(mentioned above) were in a shambles and I suspect they probably still haven't recovered. I was 18 when it all ended and I'm 24 now. She kept coming around and trying to spoil anything I managed to eek out for myself after that for a while. She succeeded.

Now we're strangers. Eventually I told her I could never talk to her again and I haven't yet. I haven't run into her since I've returned to Las Vegas and I could only imagine what it would be like if we did run into each other. My guess is awkward.

I haven't spoken to Jessica, the girl I was in love with and lived with for a few months now. After all of these years all I am really left with is another stranger who knows me way too well for my own comfort.

Playlist: Modest Mouse, Lamps(live), Monique Noir, Japanther, the Rentals

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

sound #3

The Rentals - Return of the Rentals

Motherfuck an explanation.

Good morning.

There is something about driving home early in the morning that is refreshing and depressing at the same time.

I drive past people walking places, people driving places, commuting to start the day again. At certain points I concoct this ridiculous idea in my head that there is some kind of great drama to the fact that these people are making this commute on their own. It all seems so terribly sad in my mind.

Then I realize that they probably do this everyday, and that the real tragedy lies in when they don't do it anymore, because they're probably dead.

Playlist: Elton John, CCR

Sunday, February 10, 2008

sound #2


Two songs from Glasvegas. Your brain will shoot out of your penis/vagina.

United by one theme.

I was fifteen years old when I lost my virginity. I think I should have waited. The girl I was with at the time seemed pretty awesome. She liked punk rock like me, she didn't care about the things normal people did, she had a healthy distrust of the world around her, it was all I could ask for in a girl. But eventually she grew to be kind of repugnant. It probably didn't help that I didn't think I could do any better, and for some strange reason once I hit the age of 12 I was convinced that I was never going to get laid. Why did I care about getting laid at the age of 12? That weird and irrational fear, however, has never gone away. It has been about 8 months. My dry spells tend to last about 8 months, but I'm not counting on anything to change come March.

When I was 18 I made out with my ex girlfriends best friend. I had felt this was some kind of a victory at the time. My ex had cheated on me, with some random guy, and with one of my best friends whom I had a falling out with. After that point I never talked to him again. On the subject of the ex's best friend: at one point in the evening she asked me to have sex with her, and thereby had asked me to take her virginity. I was shocked, I was touched, mostly I was aroused. However something in my brain told me this was trouble. This girl fancied herself a lesbian(what she was doing making out with me I have no idea). As far as I could tell, the logic behind this was, lose it to some trustworthy friend and forget about doing it with guys after that. I didn't do it, though. I told her that I wasn't in love with her, and felt that because of this I wasn't right for the job. As far as I know she just ended up having sex with some other guy.

Sometimes I will think back to that moment. Slouching over her dresser fiddling with her CD player, I heard her ask, "Will you have sex with me?" My head dropped, and I just got kind of dizzy. I had never been asked that question outright before. I liked her just fine, but obviously I wasn't in a healthy emotional place. I'm going to stop going over it right now and admit that I should have just gone ahead and done it. I wish I had, and I should stop kidding myself. It wouldn't have mattered anywhere near as much as I thought it would or wanted it to.

Playlist: Glasvegas, Lifetime

Saturday, February 9, 2008

sound #1

Bedhead - whatfunlifewas

I've been listening to this alot today. And now I am sharing.

Other people's feelings.

Living in Vancouver, BC, I came to know a man by the name of Ian Whitehouse. Ian is a great dude, he's a little shy and slow to come out of his shell, but once you get to know him, you will find he is a wonderfully genuine person with a large amount of charm. It is because of this I would not miss his birthday party for anything. Unfortunately, this story is not about Ian directly, but moreso about another gentleman at his party, and myself putting my foot in my mouth.

The party was at a bar called Wings, and one of the people who joined us was a man whose name we shall say is Phil. Phil was an interesting fellow
, affable and whatnot. I had met him a few times before, and I came to find out that he was the grandson of a legendary jazz musician who shall remain nameless here. Something I noticed right off the bat about this gentleman was that he oft wore very flashy jewelry, in particular, a gigantic cross, made of either platinum or silver. Here is the part where my foot ended up in my mouth. With us that evening was Brett(a different Brett, duh). He was a fan of jazz music and the like, and I felt the need to inform Brett of Phils lineage. Brett was impressed to say the least. Phil had on more than one occasion mentioned that he was the current owner of the name and likeness rights of his deceased grandfather. Thinking Phil had left the table for the rest room, I decided to inform Brett of this. "Oh, yeah, dude is loaded. Didn't you notice his BLING!?" It was then I realized two things; I was speaking loudly because the music in the place was loud, and that Brett had a look on his face that said to me something along the lines of "Oh my god, you asshole". I turned and sure enough, there was Phil, right at the table. I'm not sure if he heard me, but I'm pretty sure he heard me. Sure enough to where I felt like leaving the party was a good idea. I felt pretty bad. He was a nice enough guy, and I had probably insulted him just a tiny bit, if not alot. If you ever read this, famous musicians grandson, I'm sorry I said those careless things, and I'm sorry I didn't have the balls to say that to you in person. And if you didn't hear me that night, this is entirely a work of fiction anyway, so don't even worry about it.

Also: nice cross.

Playlist: Paper Airplanes, Braid, Otis Redding

I am not talented unless somebody else thinks I am talented. And neither are you.

I've got to find a better way to get this energy out. I'm creating creating creating. I've written more songs, scripts, and random things since I've been home than I have in years. I've got to commit this to something other than the internet. Here is more memory:

When I was little I lived in Brooklyn, NY until I was 7. I think back to all of my actions as a child and I hate kids because of it. Not all kids, mind you. Babies are cute(my niece in particular), but when kids get to be an age where they become concerned with what is cool, and what isn't, they tend to suck. It's unfair, I know, and it makes me sound like some kind weirdo elitist with a strange superiority complex picking on an easy target. I had a powerwheels ATV thing and my parents would let me ride it on the sidewalk in front of the house. I remember the cool air rushing past my cherubic childhood face as I whizzed back and forth on that thing. I felt fucking cool. I was 5 years old and I had the world in my fist, ready to squeeze. All I had to do was go a little bit faster on my powerwheel and things would be better than they ever had. Then some bigger kids rode past on their bicycles and I thought to myself, here is a real chance to impress some important people. Obviously they were important, these kids had bikes! And they were taller! How could I do this? Apparently the answer was trying to ride my little ATV backwards. What the fuck would possess me to do something like this? The need to be cool. I ended up almost falling over after running off the curb. Caught in the act of being cool by my mother, I was scolded and my sweet sweet ATV freedom was taken away just like that. Real fuckin' cool, 5 year old Brett.

Playlist: Bedhead, Paper Airplanes

Today is the day.

Today I will not get anything of any real importance done. I have traffic school to do from when I got a speeding ticket speeding through Crescent City, CA on my way home from school.

I went away to Canada to go to film school a year ago. I left on new years day at 7 in the morning. Jessica, my girlfriend at the time and I went to sleep at 10 at my parents house, where we were visiting for the holidays. I guess she wasn't my girlfriend at the time though. Things had already broke bad, and what I'm describing here is the last time I saw her in person. We went to sleep early that night and woke up briefly to hear some fireworks and kiss each other at midnight. We had broken up in November but were still living together in San Diego, and thusly, we still acted as a couple. This was as brutal as it sounds to live through. We woke up at 4:30, and packed some stuff into our cars, mine was packed pretty intensely. I brought whatever home comforts I could manage to justify. A 27 inch television, way more clothing than I really needed, some of my dvds, my computer, my acoustic guitar, some other shit. We got into separate cars and drove the I-15 down to barstow. We stopped for some coffee, ate some del taco, and then sat against our cars crying our eyes out. We kissed, and embraced and then I never saw her again. I went away. My first stop was to pick up her cousin Sergio near Burbank. He was going to the same school I was and he decided to catch a ride up there early with me. From there it was a straight shot north, through the mountains of northern California(but not before the boring ass farm land of central California), up through Oregon and Washington right to the border. Sergio almost got denied entry because his loan papers weren't as in order as they should have been according to the border agents. We got there on January 3rd. I started school the next day.

I've been back since December 21st or 22nd or so. On the trip back I drove the entire way, on the trip up I drove the whole thing except for a short stretch in Oregon which Sergio drove. I haven't found work yet, but to be perfectly honest, I've only put minimal effort into finding it. When I say work I mean film related work. That could be wedding videos for all I care(I got an interview for that one, but they didn't call me back).

If today is the day, why do I keep going back to talk about yesterday? I don't know. It is a habit I've always had. Focusing on the wrong things or nothing at all. I'm stuck here in Las Vegas because this is where my support system is, and I can't afford to get out on my own right now. Today is the day, and every day is the day, to figure out how to do that in a way I can live with, on my own.

playlist: beat beat beat, braid, the buzzcocks, the boys, balls, beer