I am sitting at the libraty in Park City, Utah. Blogging. After being away from the computer for months, you forget all the passwords and log-ins that you had. I almost couldn't get back on this weblog. Well, I have missed you all too. I am at a crutial junction in my life right now, yet I don't really know how to define it. It is getting time to boldly plunge ahead, or live a life of quiet desparation. Which will I choose? Do we really have to ask? Okay: news. About 6 or 7 new songs will be up in less than two weeks. I will be in Phoenix at the end of September as my sister (twin) is getting married October 1. I want to put on an accoustic show while I'm there, perferably at a bar as opposed to Stinkweeds or something. If anyone wants to be part of this accoustic show email me @ larry@aquanautdrinkscoffee.com, or leave a note on this site. I'm thinking a Sunday night would be ideal . . . at a bar . . . with friends . . . and beer.
So I am not embarrased to admit I am seeing a therapist once a week now. Therapist = shrink for those of you who think of therapy as treating only some physical ailment. Not to be crude but it's like throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. This guy is good, he calls me on my bullshit and I think we are making progress. So I have been reading voraciously, writing alot of music and attempting to acheive stability in my life. Is it possible? Will I ever be content and feel as though I am living a fulfilling, rewarding life? Probably not, but such is the spirituality of imperfection.
I woke up today and walked into the kitchen and there was dog shit on the floor. Little links here and there, not one sizeable mound. The people I live with chastcize me on not keeping my room clean. But that's my room. I live with a 6 foot 4 guy in his mid twenties who was given a dishonorable discharge from the army because he broke both of his shins in basic training. Simultainously. This young fellows' girlfriend (they share the basement) is very nice when she isn't on drunken tirades smashing crockery and plates in the kitchen while screaming to her also drunk boyfriend "Shut up! Don't talk to me! I'm sick of this!" The third lad is a former speed freak whose eyes are always as big as silver dollars where you can completely see the whites all the way around his pupils. Kinda disturbing. The kid is a know-it-all and I try not to engage in too much conversation with him. But he does occasionally go on these cleaning binges, which I suppose are a throwback to his crystal years. Sigh
So I took my two cousins to see Charlie And The Chocolate Factory. Enjoyed it. I rarely see movies anymore. Last one I saw was The Life Aquatic and while I enjoyed it immensley, the girls (my cousins) were like, "What was that?". Okay I am off, oh yeah, I am moving into a new house with my interesting roomates Friday and I told my Uncle where the new house is and he replied, "Oh, you're living on the bolevard of broken dreams." hence the heading on this post. Apparently this dead end street, way back in the mountains, is where all the old time Park City peeps go to curl up and die or whatever. How pleasant. Anyway I'm looking foreward to digging a fire pit out back and not waking up to shit on the kitchen floor, as there is a yard at the new house.
So new songs, new house, new shrink, working on a show in the Fall in Phx, and I do so apologize for any spelling errors you may have encountered while perusing this post. Talk to you soon.