So there was a secret squirrel Mountain Goats gig on the weekend. It’s probably the only time in my life I’ve wished I lived in Southern California. BUT, through the magical mystery world of the internetz, tonight I listened to the whole damn thing in a recording that actually rivals the sound quality of early Mountain Goats releases. And not only that, I watched pretty awesome footage of 7 of the songs. It has all at once got me madly excited and highly impatient about the gig in January.
I’m telling myself there is a fine line between being a fan and flying interstate to see more than one show. Let’s stay on the sane side of crazy, just this once.
Just over a week ago I decided I was going to travel again. Not only that; I was going to plan a massive trip that would be all about art and architecture. The Louve, the Musee d’Orsay, the National Gallery in London, Prague, Barcelona, and??? the Hermitage. Also, I was going to hire a car and spend two weeks driving around Ireland. I have long service leave – I might as well do something with it. It had me giddy and excited and planning again, with something to look forward to other than maybe a weekend free in 4 months.
What I have here, though, is a decision to make. Do I travel again in the next 2 years (particularly the type of trip I want to do), or do I buy a house? I’m not sure I can do both. Even if I go the hostel and/or couch route like I did last time, a European trip of this magnitude is going to cost. And Europe is where I want to go – right now (and perhaps this is a direct reflection on how my day to day life is traveling) I crave art. I crave the emotional reaction I get to a piece of art I’ve never seen before, and I want to be awed by the greatest there ever was. I spent time in Paris in 2001 but I was there no where near long enough – there are things unfinished, paintings to see, and avenues to walk. The Hermitage is something I don’t even dare dream about really – it’s like a magical place somewhere far away that doesn’t truly exist.
A girl can’t always do the smart thing. My boss has been gunning to get me tied to a mortgage for some time – I’m a little too tie-free for her liking right now. If she can help me into a big fat mortgage I can’t afford to leave my job I guess. It’s not the responsibility I’m shirking – the money thing doesn’t actually worry me that much, so long as I’m not financially crippled by the whole thing. I guess it’s the same old thing it’s always been – do I really, truly want to plant my feet here. Something is stopping me answering yes to that question.
I’m just not done yet.
There’s a certain comedy in doing your washing at 11:20PM on a Thursday night. Particularly when you’re a big fraidy cat like I am. I’m not the sort of girl that scares easily – I don’t really scream, ever, and it takes a bit to wig me out generally. I have this thing about stuff I can only partially see though – does that make me scared of the dark? Probably. It’s more about things that look like other things, or things that look like they might be moving, or might be something else. I’m an idiot.
Also, right now I have a fairly massive spider nesting on my clothesline. The downside of this is the size of the berth I’m having to give it to get to and from the laundry, so as not to take down any of the threads in its web. The upside of this is that for the first time in many days my line is free. Bless you incey wincey.
Tomorrow night = work Christmas party. Angela is coming and I could not be happier about that. I miss her, in that, I miss spending time with her. And in January she’s moving to QLD and then I won’t have her here at all. I don’t have enough good friends even remotely nearby to lose one.