I told y'all that I wasn't going anywhere today. I've managed to clear most of the new shows from my DVR. Then I was once more sucked in by VH1. This time it was the "100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs." So yeah, I just finished watching all five hours straight through.
Watching the show made me remember my love of acid jazz. Yes, I love all kinds of music but back in the 90s my first choice was probably acid jazz. It's still probably one of my preferred genres right along with trip hop.
And then of course I got to reminiscing. I know I do this because so much in my life is up in the air right now. My dad hasn't decided what to do with my aunt's property. My stepmother continues her slow deterioration and everyone says how great it is that she's still around. And I think to myself, "Yeah, it's great for you but is it for her?" I occasionally think that I am a bad person for thinking that she should just hurry up and die. In the midst of this, my company is moving. Actually this is a good thing but it's change just the same. Just like getting the promotion earlier this year. I think I've surpassed my limit of change for a single year.
It has suddenly dawned on me why my mind wants to slip back to Autumn 2001. There was loads of family deaths and illness that year as well. And I changed jobs.
The music made me think of that time because just about every Friday night I would head into North Beach and dance for hours straight. The place was a bar/club. Actually it was a bar that had a tiny dance floor. And a DJ who would come in on weekends. He would start off mellow with a little Sade but as the evening progressed, there would be stuff like The Roots and Q-Tip.
My last day of work at the Death Star, I had invited a number of friends to join me at this place to celebrate my new path. (I had been to the place once before on a date and how vowed in my mind to return.) None of them showed. I remember standing at the curb in front of the place, smoking a cigarette when the realization hit that none of them were going to show up. The window to the place was open and these two guys were sitting at the table by the window. We started talking. I told them that even though my friends had flaked, I had no intention of leaving. They invited me to join them at the table. Actually it was the owner's table but they assured me that he wouldn't mind my presence when he eventually showed up. He didn't. The place closed at two; I stayed until four or so. And then started coming back every weekend.
I still have many of the clothes I wore back then. Occasionally I'll pull out a skirt and then put it back. Too short. Back then, they couldn't be short enough. Of course, I was also ten to fifteen pounds lighter then. And yes, I know that I'm not fat. It's just that those clothes make me feel that way.
What I've realized is that I really miss that person. Sure there was a load of self-destructive behavior back then, but I also had the ability to say, "Fuck them," when people flaked. Because I've hit that point once more. Of course, I don't want to get too carried away. My mother has dumped most of the people in her life -- or they her -- so that I am about all she has left. And it gets rather suffocating at times. But I'm thinking it's time to get rid of the "dead weight" so that I can move on. I just want to be that person who didn't need anyone else. Just being somewhere was fun.