whittling

I didn't wake up until almost 2 p.m. today. Was up till about 4 or 5 a.m. last night. Today has been an absolute waste. Part of me is saying there's no such thing. A waste of a day. At least not in these times. Part of the reason I came home was to lick my wounds. Sometimes that means doing absolutely fucking nothing at all on a Sunday. I've basically been on the couch with my dad, on the computer, while he watches old westerns on t.v. We don't say a whole lot. He'll make a comment, I'll nod in agreement, he'll crack wise, I'll give out a chuckle. I continue to sit with him and the computer.

Kevin and I went to a show on Friday night. Shawn was back from tour and playing at this house over on Van Buren in Iowa City. Turned out to be Alison's old house from when we dated. It wasn't as strange as I thought it'd be. I used to be able to tie significance to just about anything. I used to do a lot of things. Kevin and I didn't seem to have much fun. We kinda sat in the corner and ignored everyone, Shawn was in the requisite coming-back-from-tour-and-I-don't-want-to-be-in-Iowa foul mood, and the atmosphere was just off for the whole thing. I felt like we had just crashed a slumber party we weren't invited to. I mean, I had a lot of friends there - but vibe of the night was not mine, it was full of boredom and cock sucking. Kevin and I got out of there before the last "band" played, right after Shawn's band, Wet Hair, finished. Apparently as Kevin and I were leaving Shawn was getting dumped. Awesome night all around.