I've noticed something.
My desk is messier than ever.
Sure, it wouldn't take long to clean it up a bit. I'll probably do that in the morning. But the thing about it is, it doesn't really bug me like it normally does. That's because right now, in my world, things are not normal.
My usual state of mind is like a Long Island Iced Tea. Cram a whole bunch of seemingly incongruous, toxic ingredients into a cup. Toss in some ice to give it longevity even in the event of a meltdown. Add a splash of citrus to give the appearance of health. Add a dash of Coke to not only make it a little easier to stomach, but also to remind one of its American origin. Let it earn a bad reputation, even among drinkers, and ban it in several states.
But these days it's been straight up tea. Hold the Long Island. Nine days and counting. And as we all know, tea is civil. Tea is consistent. Tea is universal. And tea definitely does not originate in Rockaway, L. I.
I know, yak-yak-yak. This fuckin' guy again. Will he ever shut up? Stick around if you really want to know.
I keep a clean house.
More so, for a long time now, I've had a desk. A big, beautiful, computer desk that my Aunt and I found. We found it for free on the side of the road as we were on our way to pick up our new identical computers. It was provided I'm sure, in some part, by the spirit of my Mom. Thanks Mom, I miss you. I've always been a trash picker. The things people throw away. I mean really.
But anyway, for a long time now I have been bouncing back and forth between nervous breakdowns (thank you drugs and alcohol I do not miss you. Not yet.). I'd been vacuuming a lot and had always made sure my desk was clean and organized like I was an important person with important things to do. As I am a self professed megalomaniac, and a damn good one at that (are there any other kind) this last statement is debatable. Getting your name in the Gazette's police log does not constitute acumen as a publicist. It has however inspired me to step up my game and try, for the first time, to live 100 percent clean and sober. I'm not doing it for the courts as I have yet to appear at the Gothic St. Pavilion. That show is booked for later in the month. I hear the sound is great there but the lighting is atrocious. Security is supposed to be pretty harsh too. Definitely no backpacks. No, I'm doing this for me.
There's no "I" in "Team" but there is an "m" and an "e".
And since I'm doing this for, as Sesame St. once described, "The most important person in the world', I've let my desk go to pot.
No, not that kind of pot.
And it's OK.
It's OK because my mind is taking the spotlight these days.
Said grey matter is not exactly ready for it's closeup yet, but it's feeling better than ever. And this is in light of a whole shit storm of recent stressful events. My mind can calmly, quickly find the letter from the lawyer, under the magazine, which is on top of the CD-R's that I just used to burn our New Year's show which I think may be our best ever. I feel like fucking Superman. I definitely do not feel like me. That's because right now, things in my world are not normal.
Because the me I'm familiar with would have thrown that letter away absentmindedly while he furiously searched for his keys to drive to the bar before last call. He would still have a big stack of blank CD-R's because the New Year's show would be the last thing he would have wanted anyone to have a record of. And he would be mostly upset because he just cleaned the house spotlessly and would have seen the keys if they were there.
And now they are definitely not there.
And my desk is more cluttered than ever.
But you know what is there? What is staring me square in the face with all it's powerful significance and stigma?
A new key chain.
I got it this evening at a hall where I didn't have a gig.
And when I stood up to go get it, about 200 or so people gave me a big round of applause.
And hardly anyone there knew who I was.
And for a megalomaniac that's a strange thing to process.
No, things in my world are definitely not normal.