Okay, not actually wasted, but this song speaks to me on many levels.
But I’m near the end and I just ain’t got the time
And I’m wasted and I can’t find my way home…
Currently sitting in a Chinatown Starbucks — aka blessed land of “oh shit my phone is dying and I know neither where I am nor where I’m going” — and trying to figure out, you know, my life.
Or at least next week.
(at least I have no keys to lose in the middle of Chinatown this time. Thanks, Montreal.)
I’m staying with my friend in Oakland ’til Sunday, I believe. The practical thing to do then would be to have dinner/drinks with another old friend Sunday evening, then catch the 10pm train back up the coast, landing in Seattle Monday evening, settling down to rejoin the real world and feign adulthood again.
Practicality, of course, is not a thing of which I am frequently accused, and the combination of the words “settling down”, “real world” and “adulthood” fills me with a deep and abiding sense of dread.
I may spend Sunday night at a hostel in SF proper, recharging my introvert batteries with a night of faceless anonymity, and hang out in the city Monday til the train. Or I could take the bus to Sacramento or some shit, but does anybody really go to Sacramento on purpose unless they’re specifically trying not to be or go elsewhere?
(Which, I mean, well, it applies.)
Or carry on past Seattle to check out Vancouver, though if I’m going to be landing in Seattle semi-permanently, that kind of smacks of prolonging the inevitable.
Or, of course, I could always merrily give my savings account the finger and buy another two weeks on the train or a plane ticket to Milwaukee or Dublin or fucking Saskatchewan or some shit.
Note: this is probably a bad idea.
Note(2): this makes it no less appealing.
Still I can’t find my way home,
And I ain’t done nothing wrong,
But I can’t find my way home.