I discovered the Stone Roses through a personality quiz, "Which musician would you be?" and I turned out to be John Squire of the Stone Roses. Had only seen the name while browsing at CD stores before, turns out I was missing out on some nice stuff:
Otherwise, I've been spending a lot of energy in the last week or so staving off the full fetal-position depression that hits me from time to time.
There's so many things I'd rather be writing about, so much energy I'd rather be engaging in discussions that move things forward. Instead, it's forcing myself out of either a fog, or an active desire to die harder.
Had a child-care gig this weekend, which was good for setting a different tone for a while, though I could have done without the body slam against my nose, but I guess that's the danger of roughhousing. Thankfully, the kid was only seven, so I'm not telling you about a broken nose.
I have an essay I've been making headway on. My co-editor loves it. I'm at a point where I think I'm an idiot for even starting it.
Often, Brothers and Sisters grounds me on Sunday nights. Tonight, I did Brothers and Sisters at the house where I was doing childcare, and now that I'm back at home, it's just the cat and the Stone Roses keeping me from going all the way down the spiral.
I think about the value of political struggle and activism. Then I look at the environmental crisis, and "why bother?" looms large over everything.
I was going to post a very short version of this earlier today in an obnoxious diary that was an excellent open thread, but when I went to hit post, the internet connection decided to boycott.
Um, yeah. Take it from here.