I’ve got my Naperville show mostly booked. I mean I have the people booked, there’s still going to be a lot more time spent bickering about who’s going to go over and how and what kind of time they’ll have and when they can sell merch and all that bullshit. Wrestlers are pretty annoying from this end of things.
I realized that what’s worse than having no home is having no place to go. Being a nomad is more reasonable when you’re on the move. There’s no such thing as a stationary nomad. I’ve been driving to some spots where different urban legends say there are ghosts or monsters. Which is stupid because I have no money coming in. I should just plant myself and save what little cash I have.
Part of me says “be careful, you don’t want another hotel incident”. Another part of me wants it to happen so I can smash someone’s skull in. I think it will make me feel better about Stella even though I know that it won’t.
Sometimes people in shows or books say “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about X”. I thought that was bullshit. But I think about Stella often still. And the detective. And all the people I’ve let down. It’s not good for me but I can’t seem to stop.
I listened to a book about a plastic surgeon serial killer and the super-duper gorgeous lady cop who took lots of showers that was playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with him. The big reveal was that the killer had a scar on his face and that’s what why he ran around with a mask on to drug and mutilate all these people. I suppose as a scarface-American, I should feel offended by this but that seems about right.
I listened to a wellness podcast that asked me to think about the last day I truly had fun. I couldn’t think of what that would be. I’ve had fun, I know that, I just couldn’t remember what the last time was. Then they asked me to think about the last time that I felt truly beautiful. I had nothing for that. I think they were building up to something but I gave up.
They need to work on their lead-up.