Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Bluesday.

 I recorded Rushmore yesterday -- it's the only Wes Anderson movie I haven't seen. Alec and I were supposed to watch it this evening after everyone else had gone to bed. I went to the store on my way home from work and got snacks, etc, and was totally stoked to hang out with my youngest bro. He was in bed five minutes after I got home, leaving me with absolutely nothing to do.

It's times like this when I realize just how much time I spend by myself. During the day I usually just hang out in my room, as its stifling 85-degree temperature is infinitely preferable to Dad's taste in television. (Pawn Stars, Operation Repo, military specials on the History channel...) And I'm usually alone at work, too. There are maybe seven solid minutes of time when I'm occupied during the show -- beyond that, I'm just waiting for my next change -- and I'm the only backstage crew member who isn't on headset.

I promise I'm not whining or complaining; I have a pretty active social life, too. It's just interesting how often I'm my only company throughout the course of day to day existence.

It makes me wonder if I've subconsciously started some kind of self-imposed exile. Because the past, what, seven-and-a-half years have been kind of rough for me. And that's not just because I've been a teenager/young adult and life's hard for everybody at that age. It's because I've made some phenomenally shitty choices and have had relationships with some phenomenally shitty people.

ANYWAY. The point is that I can understand how my brain might be encouraging me to squirrel away based on things that I've experienced.

I probably shouldn't spend extended amounts of time thinking this late at night.