||[Apr. 1st, 2011|12:18 am]
I competed in the slam tonight, I took 3rd. I'm late for work because of it and I dont care, I called ahead. I coulda been there already. Im doing this instead.
Just before i take the stage, no matter how many times ive performed. . .my heart beats in my chest, my palms sweat. .. i roll up my sleeves and try to get more comfortable. Im filled with a nervous energy. . .a sense of being alive i dont often feel anymore....the only times I can say ive truly felt alive in the last six months were
1. being inlove
2. being in the middle of a mosh pit, pushing like minded minds and bodies around me... singing so loud my throat reverberated with soreness, being lost in the music.
3. Being on stage. reciting my life's story. Going to poetry slams. Reading. Learning.
Im going to go to work now. I'm going to go do mundane things that bring me no joy nor happiness. I do not love wawa. I do not love working there. Im simply good at it. Its a decent job. It pays the bills and i enjoy the atmosphere and the familial feeling the company has. Its not a bad job by any means....
but i am not detailed oriented. I am not organized. I do not exercise time management. . .and when my boss tells me he's about to "blow his top" because i forgot to wipe the coffee from underneath the thermals, because i was off my game one night (god forbid i have a bad day and get lost in my head). . . .it does take my head out of the game. and i stop caring.
and right now? I dont give a fuck. If i didnt have a fucking lease. If i didnt have a fucking house to pay for. . . I would get in the car and make my living off poetry. I dont care how. I just would. because that makes me happy.