What’s better than finally seeing your house come together into a home after living among boxes for two months? Granted, the remaining boxes have mostly been consolidated and stored in the closets, but I tackled the pile of empty boxes taking over my tiny kitchen. I hung up my yarn shelf. I ordered a battery-operated pendant lamp for my bathroom because there are no outlets in there. I’m putting Christmas lights up in the kitchen for mood lighting. Things are coming together slowly but nicely. And at least I don’t have a huge space to think about decorating.
Currently, I’m listening to a 1940’s Evening Radio playlist that I found on Spotify. It’s cleverly designed to include period-accurate ads and war broadcasts between the songs like I’m really listening to the radio in the 1940s. Now I know what it was like to be my Grandma, I guess. What matters is it’s helping me work, because I haven’t been in the mood to listen to metal and I’ve watched Clone Wars to death.
Right now there’s a commercial for Magic Touch on the radio, where apparently women were hoping to attain the “Dresden doll look.” A whole compact of makeup for $1. Now, it’s for Italian Balm, which is “the same pre-war quality and the same pre-war quantity at the same pre-war price.” Did you know men get dry skin too? Only in the winter, though. Can’t be seen using lotion any other time, fellas will think you’re a queer.
My friends came over on Sunday to have dinner and see my apartment. I made chili, Mandee made banana bread, and Jillian brought me a plant. I love my plant so much I went to Home Depot the next day and got it some friends, a ficus and a golden pothos. They all look so cute together.
I felt rejuvenated after that day with my friends and was sad that it ended so soon, but we all had to work the next day. I don’t get to see them often because they live about 45 minutes from me in the middle of nowhere, and also they’re both married so they don’t get away often. I, meanwhile, am easy, breezy, single and sleazy, so I can get out whenever I want. Not saying that I’m dissing their lifestyles, but, right now, it couldn’t be me.
I’m not in the market for anything that will tie me down. I can’t even have a pet right now. I’m not in the right mindset or place in my life to have connections other than friends, can’t be responsible for another person or an animal who needs my attention. It’s why I’m not having kids.
Maybe I’ll want the attention of a partner or a pet in the future, but not now. Will I be able to keep my plants alive? They need attention too, but it’s easier to ignore that and there are no real consequences except the crippling guilt and shame of letting my plants die. Only time will tell, I suppose.
Yesterday I met Allison Leah (who reads my blog, hey girl), a local Nashville indie-folk-pop artist with the sweetest, most crystalline vocals and emotionally anchored songwriting. We met for drinks at the Greenhouse Bar (which is like 15 minutes down the street from me and a literal greenhouse) and talked about basically everything. Here’s an incomplete list of what we talked about:
Moving to Nashville (she’s been here five years but I just moved in May)
Seeing Gracie Abrams at Shakti Yoga, a studio down the street from me that I’m thinking about going to
Robert’s Western World, which is my dad’s favorite place on Broadway, and checking out Lainey Wilson’s new bar
Taylor Swift’s franchise of herself and her crazy fanbase
All the different ways to write a song
The general likelihood of burnout
Why Zach Bryan’s songs all sound the same
Orville Peck’s general shut-down-the-honky-tonk vibe
Introvert/Extrovert punnett square (I’m an outgoing introvert and I think she said she’s a shy extrovert)
The romance novel idea I had last week
There’s so much more that I can’t remember right now but we both feel like we only scratched the surface. I hope we hang out again because I feel like we vibed really well. You know I’m comfortable when I start talking so much that I forget to get another drink (next one’s on me, I promise).
In an email from a PR person, they said they’re a fan of my work and mentioned a piece I wrote that day about Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It absolutely blows my mind that people are not only reading my work but enjoying it. I have a lot of reservations about calling myself a writer or a journalist. It feels put-upon and kind of cheesy, but that is what I do. I write. I’m a writer, and it pays the bills. It’s unbelievable sometimes, and if I told my high school self what I was doing now, she would absolutely beat me up for the fact that we’re not living in New York City yet.
However, I like to think she’d also sit on the ground and watch the sunset with me like adolescent enemies in a 90s anime, quietly saying sorry, I’m dealing with a lot at home. And I would put my bruised arm around her, pet her hair, and say, it’s okay, we get better.
Me? Listening to One Song on Repeat? It's More Likely Than You Think
I'm currently obsessed with this Wallows cover of Sabrina Carpenter's "Espresso," which is already a great song but this is just so moody and sultry, I love it.
Comments