You Make it Easy.

I should go to sleep.  I know I should.  I work in about nine hours or so, and had a pretty eventful weekend.  I could probably use the rest.  Truth be told, though, I’m kind of avoiding my bed.

You see, I spent this weekend with my girlfriend.  Long-distance girlfriend, to be exact (elaboration on the same, I don’t have multiples).  Us both being strapping examples of twenty-something-energy-is-wasted-on-the-young, we spent most of that time in bed.  My bed.  And seeing as how she just left a few hours ago (okay, like, eight) I’m still walking around my apartment in a kind of daze that she’s not hiding from me just around the next corner, waiting to pop out and do something silly.

When I gathered her from the airport on Friday, it felt like a dream that she was here.  Now it feels like a dream (and a really bad one) that she is gone.  Every minute we spent together this weekend felt so effortless and perfect… I’m almost in denial that I have to go back to the life that I had, that I had to dredge myself through every day.

It’s miserable to be so far from someone that you care so much about.  The only thing that keeps Minneapolis tolerable is the knowledge that eventually every day will be as easy and wonderful as this weekend, and that if I hadn’t moved away, we wouldn’t even be together.  That last clause kills me.

But, when life hands you lemons… you go to Frederick’s and start planning some devious surprises.

Freezing our asses off, but still Cute As Hell™.

I’m Yours.

I’ve started futzing around with musicality lately.  I miss the days of my bandwhoreness.  In my adolescent and pubescent days I seemingly could pick up any symphonic band instrument and soar.  Not so much these days, however.  I stole Ms. Cat’s French horn the other day, and I can’t remember a single darned fingering, and I’ve completely lost the ability to find a pitch.  I gave up after a while and moved on to my own saxophone.  I remembered far more about the sax than the horn, but to be fair I played it for about five years longer.

Ever since I moved out of my parents’ house, I’ve been carrying around my dad’s old acoustic guitar (it’s a 3/4, I think).  I keep moving in with people who claim to want to help me learn to play (since I can’t afford real lessons), but that promise always seems to end up broken.  Something about string instruments has never made much sense to me, and I can’t find anyone to give a shit (for free).

One thing I’ve never lost hold of, though, is my adoration of singing… and more importantly, my desire to sing for a kick-ass cover band.

Cat and I were playing around with her guitar tonight, and it made me realize how much I’ve always wanted to front a cover band.  I don’t (necessarily…) want to be famous (for that) any more, but I still think it would be a LOT of freakin’ fun! Trouble is, I don’t actually have any musical experience outside of the various degrees of grade-school band I ended up in, and I don’t have the friend base out here to start that as a drunken joke and RUN with it.