Existential Anxiety

The existential anxiety of not knowing where I belong, or what I believe about home or really where I’d go if I wasn’t going where ever the fuck it is I’m going… which is seemingly everywhere and no where.
Working on making a plan for the next 5 months that involves driving around America, playing music and meeting new people. I have no idea what else to do with myself and I’m still not totally sure this is what I should be doing.
But, well, I’m already doing it. Booking shows, spending hours and hours on the internet contacting complete strangers, not getting a lot of shows booked. Getting in touch with old contacts and making plans. Writing emails to the ones I hold close that say things like “I miss you too” and “I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but I’m coming to find you”
It’s already been 5 months since I left “home” and I really don’t have any idea what home ¬†actually is? A neurotic space where I can pace and wonder and worry and build my mind up to a million concerns?
At least I know I feel better, in most ways, when I’m in motion. But for some reason, I always have this strong feeling of longing. A deep loneliness that can’t be soothed or pacified. A confusion. A misplaced heart that beats irregularly.

Somethings change, somethings stay the same.

Some people will be missed and some people do the missing.

Where do we go from here?



December 31st, 2016
11:58 pm:
Peter farts.


January 1st, 2017
Peter says, in a false dismal sounding voice “happy new year” from the couch.
The stench of 2016 still lingers in the air.
I hope 2017 smells better soon.

Peter and I go for our last smokes of the 21st century.
Peter says “Tonight was perfect, exactly what I wanted for New Years Eve.”

I point out to him that he started 2017 by smelling a fart from last year.


January 1st, 2017
I’m sitting in my room laughing so hard I feel like I might have an asthma attack.
This year is gonna be hilarious.
It’s time for bed.

Directionless Danger Ranger

A rambling update:

Last week, on the 13th, my kitchen boss texted me:

“It’s all good, we’re fine, everything is fine here.
We have you strictly “on-call” for the rest of december…
it’s fine were fine fine fine every thing is fine it’s all fine”
(not the exact wording)

Effectively cutting my hours and screwing me over for three weeks of work I had budgeted for.
Illegally changing my work scheduling.
Knowledge is power, they say. So, I’m pretty powerful, I guess?
Because I know that it’s illegal to switch me from a “scheduled” worker to “on-call” with out a weeks notice, minimum. He technically owes me a weeks pay. There’s more technical shit about it. So, what is knowledge and power if it sits idly in your brain and you don’t brandish it like a weapon?


“Useless information!”
a voice echoes from the back of the room.
The crowded amphitheater in my mind sits silent.
Another voice calls: “Tell us more!”


Really, it’s like when you want to break up with someone, but they break up with you first, and you’re only really heart broken because they cut your lawn about it. (I can’t actually relate to that analogy, other than in the case that my boss broke up with my employment and I was gonna quit… so… uhh…crocodile tears.)

For the most part, I’m insulted. It was really shasty and disrespectful.
His business partner (and wife), who’s front of house manager, told me at the staff party last night how amazing she thinks I am, how she’s really happy she’s gotten to work with me, how much she appreciates me. Will I please come back in the spring?
No, but Thank you Alix. It’s nice to get feedback. Thank you for the respect and appreciation I deserve.

I lit off some fire crackles in the through fare out side the restaurant. Alix tried to give me shit for it, but she was really drunk and started laughing. I couldn’t take her seriously. I wish I had more crackles, but I only had two. Two different people gave me weed, I have a weed collection now. Highlights of the party.

At any rate, I’m done my intense working meditation, it actually started to feel good after a while. I don’t really know what to do with myself, and I know it’ll take a bit of re-adjustment to get back into the wandering life of an unemployed thinker like me.
I’m done my slaving in a kitchen too, fuck kitchens. Fuck kitchens forever.

I’m fricken free.
Semi retired.
Directionless Danger Ranger.

I ran away to Tofino for 5 days, then ran back to get shit done. I don’t feel very rested for a person who just stayed at a resort (fancy shit, yo). Now I’m looking at the rest of December and I’m lost. What should I do? Will I be sad to be without for christmas? or will it not matter? Every year is a gamble.

All these days to fill until I leave again to go east and then back west. Then maybe south? Maybe, i don’t know? Maybe some excitement?

Gotta be home for my birthday though! PDad says he’s making me lasagna, caesar salad and garlic toast.
It’ll be a right fuckin party.