mewzy mew

Mewzy Mew is the name I would like to call a band. It is a nickname I made up for my cat and that suddenly became my own name and Michelle's too as a result of our fluid usage of nicknames. All the names can be applied to anyone in the house: boo, booze, baze, babes, babsey, mewz, mewzy, mama, etc.

Tonight we're going to visit Mewzy's sister and her gf in Philadelphia. Apparently they own a condo and that fact gets Michelle thinking they're farther advanced in life then we are. But that's not necessarily true. You know I think it's best to travel lightly, for as long as possible.

What I want to really talk about today is this documentary I was watching the other night with Michelle about Kurt Cobain. It was just random footage of Washington and Seattle set to his voice, talking about his life. Michelle liked it. I thought he seemed like a nice enough, regular person, but after awhile I thought, "Enough. Enough about you and your life. Stop whining and being obsessed with the past and stop bellyaching and making excuses for your addiction." I probably got annoyed because it reminded me of myself. I have to take into account the fact that he was really young while taping it and most of his observations sounded like typical, depressed-teenager-commentary. This is what I think happened. I think he was a talented guy who loved music. Then the world began to devour him in the way it chews up anything tasty. Then, he got addicted to drugs... and that was the end of him. He could have gotten treated for the stomach ulcer or whatever. He could have gotten treated for depression. But turning to drugs to ease all that... ugh it's such a common fucking stupid choice, all around. People ask, but how or why did he kill himself? I think that the drug addiction compounded the other, treatable problems so that suicide was a totally reasonable response. Predictable. Damn, I hate drugs. I think if he would have lived, he would have made some better albums.

I think it's possible that I could write a hit... some kind of hit. I believe in hits, and anyone with a developed ear knows right away when they hear one. Some people try to fight the candy-pop-culture of music by refusing to acknowledge the power of getting it right... they just write boring and ugly songs and pretend nobody likes them because the audience is too commercial. It's true that if your ear isn't used to certain genres like punk rock, you probably aren't going to like any song in that genre, no matter if it's great or if it sucks. But there's no point to producing albums with filler anymore. If the song ain't it, just don't even play it. In some ways, I'm so happy that I will never "make it big," because that requires you to play your shit over and over, way past the point of hating it. I can't do that. I do not have any songs in my life that I never got tired of. That's why I'm always open to hearing new music. But artists want career stability. That's where they go wrong and keep writing songs that are never as good as their hit. Once you depend on music to pay your bills, your fire goes out. That's why artists should hope that they die in obscurity. I don't know.

Over the past few years, I have developed a slight addiction to rx pks. Typical, huh! Common! Even Cindy McCain was addicted to Vicoden. I have never been that bad and I almost wouldn't label myself as addicted, but clearly I am, as demonstrated intermittently, over time. Over Christmas, I stole half a bottle of my mom's pills, and I was so freaked out by my own behavior that I ended up telling her about it in order to clear the air and make sure I couldn't do it again. She asked me to replace the pills, which was pretty strange. Like, how? She couldn't believe I had already taken them all (like in one day, mom). Then she wanted me to pay for them, so I sent her a five dollar check and she cashed it. I thought that was weird too, but I just wanted to be on good terms. The thing is, I really do not want to be or sound like a whiner. Everyone starts taking pain killers for some good reason or another. In my case, it was menstrual cramps and pain in my foot/leg. I don't want to be obsessed with my own little pains. But I am... like most singers... somewhat of a narcissistic mess. Obviously, this is complicated by the fact that Michelle is an addict. More than anything, it brings her down if I don't walk the straight and narrow. I also don't want to let myself be hollowed out, which is what my therapist said that drugs do (she said it last night). I don't want to give up on natural happiness.

So, I was outside my work building smoking a cigarette just now, and I thought, God, is it possible for you to help me want to find happiness and peace through sobriety? Is that something worth asking God for? And then I thought, God can't help at all with addiction because it's totally chemical. It literally changes your brain. So that was depressing.

Cycles. Why is it that even if you know something is a cycle, it doesn't help you recognize the part of the cycle you're in, and even if you can recognize it, it doesn't make it feel any less real. Like, right after a night of smoking weed I wake up in the morning and think I never want it again. Then two days later it's a craving I submit to. Total fucking bullshit!

We're headed to Philly tonight. I'm sorry that I'm not a perfect angel. I don't know what I'm gonna do. Tomorrow is Valentines Day. I got Michelle a white hoodie, white button up, white undies, and a white teddy bear (and some candy and chocolate). Obviously, it's the theme of purity.