The night they drove old Dixie down.

Tonight, because the person I was supposed to have dinner with got sick, I ended up traveling around to five, I think five, stores to see what Prince CDs they had in stock. I ended up buying the new John Mayer at a used store, a copy of The Band's Greatest Hits and Prince's Hits Vol. 1 and 2. Right now, I'm not listening to any of those. I'm listening to Elton John sing "Someone Saved My Life Tonight."

I was looking over my blog entries circa March-April 2004. Good stuff. Toward the end of my blogging days last year, I was mostly writing shit that didn't actually seem to examine anything. The blog worked best when I was really in therapy and wrote an actual journal with an actual narrative drive. I don't write like that anymore. I don't really think that way anymore.

For example, this week, a date stood me up. This week, I ran into an ex. I've seen three improv shows this week. On Valentine's Day, I bought a heart-shaped cake with a sculpted mass of delicious chocolate mousse on top of it, and I shared it with mostly strangers. Someone's interviewing me next week for a job in California, and I'm leaning toward not taking it because I don't think I can afford to move and am currently curious about all the wonderful, new possibilities that have opened up around me in the past couple weeks. I find myself a little unsure around all these new people, but, when I become reasonable, I realize that they like me because I've not yet given them any cause or reason to think they shouldn't like me. And I'm showing them something in me positive, something that they like. I'm learning to be OK with being OK. I still wish I was who I was in London, until I realize that I am who I was.
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I told someone this week - I forget who - that I can't imagine being constantly on display, a one-man-show everywhere I go.

He said, "Depends on how interesting you are. And what you have to say."
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This narrative is unfocused, but I bring you out of the narrative by stating that in the middle of the narrative itself.
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There are reasons to go to California. There are reasons to stay here. This may not be the best opportunity and time for me to go. I keep changing my mind about whether to stay or go.

I'm not sure if I should post this blog. There are people I don't want to know me or know about me that might invariably read it.
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My grandpa has been sick in the hospital for about a month now. My sister-in-law found out this week that she's having another boy in July, and I want to be here to meet him. But I don't have to be.
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I haven't tried writing fiction in a while. I wonder if I'd be able to do it better now that I've been performing onstage with more regularity.

I'm in improv class, so my thoughts have been all over the place. It's time for thought. Lots and lots of thought.
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Now I'm listening to TLC's "Creep." I wonder if I'm funny onstage. I wonder if what I'm doing with all this improv is study of a craft or just some new obsessive fanboy hobby.
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The Oscars are this week. I'm scheduled to work at the bookstore during them. Oh well. I still haven't seen LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA. I've not been in the mood. Improv puts me around people.

I'm there too much, arguably, but it puts me around people. I like being around people lately.

I'm going to post this. I'm not thinking straight. But I'll read this years from now and find it interesting.