Los Angeles, CA
I wrote up a review of a Phish concert in the Midwest and got a comment from someone who wondered if I was a trustie (trustafarian), because he could not fathom how someone could afford to see a dozen concerts and pay for travel/accommodations.
The reason I wanted to be a writer and worked my ass off the last few years was so I could put myself in position to: 1) have time off to travel and hang out with friends, and 2) have enough money to cover those sojourns.
I have to admit that Phish is an expensive hobby, even though I'm writing a book about it and could write off many of the costs as a legit business expense. But over the last year or so, I took on extra freelance work specifically to fun my Phishy travels. One of those assignments is right now. I'm like 70% done and actually have a few days off after seven long-ass nights in the last 10 days, before I finish up next week.
So what do I do? I stare at my laptop and I watch people play online poker and then I write about it. Sounds exciting, right? Not as exciting as some of the stuff the "most interesting man in the world" does in those Does Equis commercials like jump out of planes, titty fuck models, wrestle bears, and shoot dice on a dock.
My sleep schedule is all out of whack. Last week was tough to sleep with all of the renovations in the upstairs apartment. The work upstairs is finally done, but they were stripping, sanding, and shellacking the wood floors earlier in the week. That noise set off a horrendous case of insomnia. I've been lucky to get two hours of sleep each night, or I should say between the hours of 8am and 10am. Today was rough. I crashed at 9am after trying to fall asleep watching Charlton Heston in one of those 1970s disaster flicks titled Airport 75. Helen Reddy played a singing nun in that flick.
Anyway, I was hoping that to fall asleep during the flick, but two hours later, I was wide awake. I took some melatonin and smoked tuff before I crawled into bed. I dragged ass all day today and was too tired to do any real work, which gets put off to tomorrow (well, today technically). I'm in one of those spots when I want to knock myself out for 10-12 with rhino tranquilizers so I can finally get some rest and let my brain take some time off and let my body get the needed time to recuperate.
But depriving myself of sleep is what I do -- for work and for play.
And now it's 4:31am and I've been done with work for about thirty minutes. I'm gonna wind down the night and hope to drift off into a deep slumber where I dream about rainbows, butterflies, and a solvent financial system in America.
By the way, in the last 24 hours...
- I ate breakfast at the diner at 6:30am. I was one of three people in the joint at the time.
- I started re-reading David Foster Wallace's essay on taking a cruise ship. I only got half-way before I had to stop when my food arrived.
- I watched three flicks: Airport 75, A Scanner Darkly, and Swimming to Cambodia.
- I picked up Michael Vick off waivers in my fantasy football league.
- For dinner, I ate a Philly cheesesteak sandwich from the pizza place around the corner.
- I bought a lighter at 7/11. Five hours later, Nicky bought three.
- I watched the first episode of Top Chef Just Desserts. Too many flaming pastry chefs for me to watch. But I had the munchies like a motherfucker when I saw all those delicious items.
- I did a load of laundry and have clean underwear.
- Listened to the Yacht Rock 4 mix... twice.
- I got paid for one freelance assignment that I wrote two weeks ago, and I sent a "where the fuck is my money" email to one client who I billed 7 weeks ago and I completed the work three months ago.
- Most importantly, my tickets to Furthur at the Greek Theatre for next week arrived. And I scored a golden ticket to Phish Halloween in Atlantic City. Giddy up.
That's it. Eyes too tired to write anymore.