June 8, 99

WHEN IT RAINS . . .




There is some truth to that saying, you know. When it rains, it pours...

Life ain't made of wimpy-ass drizzles and the kind of summer showers that always lead to sex in a barn in those racy "romance" novels. Hell, no. The best and the worst moments are all typhoon lashings and hurricane deluges. And everything in-between is a lazy lull where the cynics among us await the next calamity.

Brief aside: After watching several episodes of that cheeky Dawson's Creek show with my sister, I have come to the conclusion that Dawson is a Pisces. A whimpering, sentimental, clinging-to-the-angst kind of idiot. You know, just like the rest of us Pisceans. Bah! We are a weak lot. Vlad the Impaler was not a Pisces, I bet. If his best-friend-turned-girlfriend dumped him, I'm sure the next day her head would adorn a fresh stake in his courtyard. But why am I rambling so?

(Man, this is awful. I'm even talking about Dawson's Creek now. Someone hand me a double shot of Jack Daniels before my next entry starts sporting obsequious references to the Backstreet Boys...)

Where was I? Oh yes. Rains, monsoons. Pouring.

See, it's like this. I have decisions to make. Future vs. present. Instant gratification vs. postponement of gratification. In a nutshell, the marshmallow test.

One decision will entail my taking a new fulltime job which will ensure a stable future and income, enough for a wedding in 12 months' time and a somewhat comfy lifestyle... but it will mean foregoing the concert in the US and the chance to see my fiancee (who plans to stay in the US for a year or so). It will also mean disappointing her---majorly. Plans were already very much in place for my visit. And one thing about my lovely Snake Girl. You say you're going to do something, you BETTER do it. Or you're going down, man. And I'm talking about a feeling worse than being beat up by warfreak color separators.

The other decision is to push thru with the trip, foregoing the job offer and making everyone happy--- for a brief period anyway. Then I will eventually have to come home. To what? To resume my freelance work? To continue having fun writing and publishing? How does one plan a future on such an unstable topography? More concretely, how can one finance a wedding on writer's fees that can only be collected 3 months after actual writing? Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Top it off with the fact that I have three minus-one tracks to record for an upcoming choir album, an upcoming private gig/reunion with my defunct band ANIMA, and an upcoming gig with my techno band CLONE at the Music Museum. All in a span of 2 weeks.

All adding up to = one royally fucked-up, lonely, idiot Piscean with a paunch where his abs should be, and a gaping void where his fiancee should be, except that she had to go live with her mom in California for a year or so...

Some people might not view these as problems. To which I say, I really don't care what you think unless you are a Pisces or have ever cared for one. (cared for, as in, changed bedpans, fed medicines and gave sponge baths to...)

And of course the rain is whipping at me thru the open window. Coming in torrents for a little while then disappearing elusively. Which is quite good, since it provides me with an ending that keeps with the theme, and ever-so-aptly expresses my helplessness and melancholia.

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