The pacific northwest is cold. Not just cold, I mean really-motherfucking-cold. Yeah, you can layer; I'm wearing two hoodies right now and sitting in front of a space heater, but I haven't seen the sun in a week.
I've been having these listening parties with my new roommate Jonah. We sit around and drink and talk about our favorite records. He plays songs by the Doors on my harmonium while I drink whiskey and try and remember if I even like music. I met every member of Botch and These Arms are Snakes last week at a show. Steve Snere gave me some good references for a job at a bar they all work at. But it's still cold and I haven't seen the sun in a week.
The shoegaze band has come to an almost complete stand still, but I still write the songs. Wednesday is my birthday and I have fifty dollars for two weeks because the economy has put my sales job in the shitter. The frustration seems to be growing with fewer outlets, like a river and a dam.
January is just around the corner. The semester is starting at a school I won't be attending. The money changes hands as the memory grows foggier. I almost couldn't remember if Excruciation had ever gone on tour tonight. I think about home.
It's still cold, but January is sure to bring the sun.