I'm sitting in my apartment alone this afternoon. I indulged myself in a Woody Allen movie as I ate my oatmeal and bacon (a very contradictory meal -- heart-healthy aside very, very un-heart-healthy.) Now I'm sitting here, telling you things.
This last week I've been having visions of quitting my job. The better things get with my music, the more letters from people interested in signing me, and putting me on publically sold mix-tapes, and playing shows headlining crazy famous singer-songwriters, the more my inane, tiny job feels like sandpaper to my skin. Like a car alarm going off outside my window, while I'm trying to sleep, yelling and screeching, "you're still not there. Try harder." Sometimes I want to scream back. I am, I am. What more can I do? But I know I won't get an answer, that's for me to find out.
I don't know how I got myself into this mess of five shows in one week. I must not have been paying attention when I scheduled them, two months ago. Or maybe I was so flooded with a sense of well-being, at being well-booked, that I thought I could "handle it." But with the recent promotion, and all these bills I have to pay, it only makes it that much more stressful. I wish I was in contact with more musicians around here, but no one really lives in Orangevale. I feel like, if only I moved closer, I'd have such an opportunity to spend time with other people in my scene and field. Maybe I'd feel more supportive and less cut-off from the big picture...but we've signed a year-long lease, and we're about to paint, anyway.
I'm in a deep rut of dissatisfaction right now. It's not that I'm not writing...I am. And even though my new material is met with applause and great feedback, personally, I think it all sucks. I think most of my music sucks, actually. Maybe it's my own insecurities. Maybe it's me just trying to guard myself from becoming a super bitch. I've seen so many old friends fall into that mode and never come out. I never want to assume that I'm better than anyone. The second I get into that mode, I know it'll only come back to bite me. And no one is turned off more than a know it all with delusions of gradeur.
The other day, I went to San Francisco to play a show at Amnesia with Carly and Rachel. I wish I could have stayed to collect from the door...I have a music video and rent to pay for this month. It's very nervewracking to not know if you're going to make ends meet. I hate it. But anyway...
As we drove along, Carly and I were talking about hipster labels. I said I didn't know what she was, and she said she liked that. I asked what I would be, and they both laughed, and said, "You are indie, indie, indie. But not in a trendy way, you're just really old fashioned. But you don't try too hard about it. That's just how you are."
And I guess they're right. I drove to San Diego, and made Matt listen to my mix tape. I filled it with Neil Diamond, Simon and Garfunkel, Tom Petty, Jason Schwartzman, Louis Armstrong, and Ella Fitzgerald. And as I yelled the add-in lines for "Sweet Caroline," ("So good! So good! So good!,") Matt turned to me and laughed, "Seriously. I think you were born in the wrong decade."
Maybe this is why I've always felt a little isolated. I feel like I have a many great things in common with a time that doesn't exist anymore. And everything I write is just an expression of my yearning to find somebody, anybody, who yearns for that kind of time as much as I do. The simplicity and the optimism of it all. The stripped-down, organic sounds. The simple stage shows. All the crazy dresses...
And for the record, I didn't "copy" any of this innate old-fashioned-ness from anyone. You can ask my mother and our family friends, I've been obsessed with that all since I was a very little girl. I don't need someone else's creativity to spur me on, I've got all the inspiration I need in my bookcase and favorite thrift shops. And to hear someone saying something as acrid and petty as that, anyway, is absolutely ridiculous. Their own insecurites are showing. How embarrassing. ;p
Why can't I just be there already? Why can't I just wake up and write all day? Go to the studio and play around with organs and autoharps until my little heart is full and happy, and then get in my little bus and play shows all over the world? I long for a little gypsy life. When will it happen for me?
I am aching for a dream.
