On the floor

Many years ago I had a blog or a website or a something that made prominent use of the phrase "sleeping on the floor". Story went that I had too much stuff on my bed after cleaning my room that one night, so I... slept on the floor.

I don't remember what date that was, but in any case it was many years and many incarnations of self ago. Curious, I went searching archive.org for the (defunct) domain I thought that webpage was on. A highly embarrassing line of investigation, I tell you.

One thing that definitely crosses the 7 year gap and makes me smile is this tidbit:

ClaymationBliss --what music video is it in?-- I've seeen this music video twice... both times on a Midnight Run Special Music Video Edition. It has this funky shaped claymated guy who takes some of the joy he holds inside himself and manufactures it for profit... only to find later that he had become cold and empty inside. So sad, so sad... I'm looking for a music video, a mp3, a CD... some sort of confirmation that I didn't have the same strange dream twice, while awake. :P Even title and artist would be nice...

That music video was Kenna's "Hellbent" (youtube) from his New Sacred Cow album. Still one of my very favorite artists. I was even lucky enough to get a shirt with my purchase of his new CD Make Sure They See My Face last year.

That shirt was folded earlier today with the rest of the laundry...
...and is now stacked with said laundry on my chair...
...which is why I'm posting from the floor.

Monday was a wretched, wretched day. It didn't start to improve until Reagan got home after 11pm. And while expressing my insanity and frustration at him right then did a lot of good to relieve pressure, true healing didn't begin until shortly after midnight as we sat outside under the Hat's neon sign and shared a pastrami sandwich. No particular switch was flipped to make things great at that point, but that was when we were sharing stories about our days and most of my psycho internal drama had melted far enough into the background that I wasn't thinking about it anymore.

I use words like "insanity" "psycho" and "drama", but it's mostly me degrading myself and my emotions. They're not unfounded, and I don't believe they're completely unreasonable, but these spells of acute internal distress are distasteful to my typically rational temperament. Reagan deals with it well.

The hour is later than I expected, so I have another reason not to be ruled by guilt and force myself to draw. Before noticing that it was so late, I had planned on just telling myself not to be ruled by guilt (I did do my early morning drawing!) and take the night off to read (and hopefully (though the hope in in vain) finish) Midnight's Children.

It's a lovely book, but I feel uneducated and uninformed when I read it and try to puzzle through the words, people, and events of the subcontinent. But I still want to read more Rushdie.

I guess without the fear of "oh gosh! what am I going to post!" I'm lax about production.