Another apology for being spread too thin
Sorry I haven’t been around here much. I’ve certainly got grist to write about — the visit with the long-lost brother I’d never met, the new job, a few good shows (like last night’s Sea of Bees/John Vanderslice/DoomBird gig), even more stuff about the friend who passed away suddenly a week ago, and a whole new raft of thoughts triggered by the stabbings at the bar around the corner Friday night, and how this area of town has gotten out of hand. But I’ve just been stymied, and my first priority today will be to finish a piece I’m writing for the SN&R. Then, laundry; it’s kinda like my favorite paraphrase of that chopping wood carrying water line. Before enlightenment: doing laundry and carrying groceries; after enlightenment: doing laundry and carrying groceries.
Not that I’m anywhere near enlightened. I’m just a blogger who gets himself spread too thin sometimes. I get entire blog posts in my head — like one about love and loss and emotional attachment and as a Buddhist meditator and silent observer of the mind’s workings I shouldn’t be falling into that trap but I still do sometimes, and what is the nature of emotional attachment, and why can’t I just be a human tabula rasa like the David Carradine character in Kung Fu, a hypothetical post that was triggered by the stupid (at this point) heart-dropping surprise of running into my last big emotional attachment and her new boyfriend on bikes yesterday in front of a salad joint that hadn’t opened up yet that we used to frequent together, mumble mumble, I think I probably came across as stupid, arrogant and frightened — but those brilliant hypothetical posts evaporate by the time I go to write them, or I’m too tired, or something. Sorry.
Anyway, I had big ambitions today, but I’m going to finish my SN&R piece, then wash clothes. I won’t be able to play Brian Wilson songs tonight at the Old Ironsides tribute that Jerry Perry is putting on, which you should attend because it’s likely to be brilliant, and I may show up, but morning comes early and I have to be up before sunrise to get to the job on Monday morning. This is a big adjustment, and I’m doing it to the best of my ability. But, like you and everybody else, or most everybody else, I’m not superhuman.
Or maybe I am, and just don’t know it yet. You, too. —Jackson Griffith