I have a blister

on my right pointer finger, and it's from playing the bass for hours on Saturday. It was the most fun I've had in so long. I've never experienced anything like it, ever. Playing music for a long time, and repeating the same thing over and over is almost like drugs. I started to hear this whirring sound behind the music, and was focused only on sound. I don't know how I missed this part of creativity my entire life. And all I wanted to do for hours after that was go back and keep going, even though my left shoulder hurt -- even though my finger was swollen. It's this weird, overly intimate, yet totally alone experience that satisfied something I never knew was there.

Other than that, I went to a show this weekend with Jessica. We saw the Weeds (I LOVE THAT BAND) and then the Blow (Now I really, really love that band) and then Mirah (I liked the other two better -- she's good, just slow). I wish the people there were about 10 years older. I am gladly willing to sacrifice seeing music preformed live to not feel like "the old person".

So it's Monday morning. I have a ton of work to do for a meeting I have tomorrow. Tomorrow is my birthday and a day I care nothing about. I guess I'm realizing that "birthday attention" makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable and that I enjoy spontaneous acts of love more than obligatory ones.

I'm having a hard time writing this part, because I don't want it to sound offensive. I'm making a cake with Emmett tomorrow and am inviting people over around 9 to eat it and watch Dirt at 10. But in a weird way, it's not about me. It's about "the act" of making a cake with Emmett and it's about not wanting anyone to feel hurt about not being included. But for the first time in my entire life, I don't care about presents or about being appreciated. The most important holiday to me these days is Mother's Day. It's weird, but that feels like the only day of the year I want to feel like I'm doing okay.