Wednesday, September 3, 3:01p.m.
I rub my eyes awake and instantly realize I’m in a bad mood. Sweetheart is already awake, and I am unreasonably irritated that we aren’t cuddling right this second. In an instant my heart melts when he says good morning, and we have lazy morning sex. As soon as we finish I start crying, overwhelmed with stress realizing I have absolutely no plans for the day.
Coming home has been a weird emotional ride.
After six months of waking up with a mission (write this article, do this interview, get a ride to the next town, play this show) it is incredibly disorienting to be back in a place where I need to find some way of sustaining myself long-term, financially and politically. I am prone to over-dedicating myself, failing to make time for books, music, and the people I love, and so I am fighting not to get ahead of myself.
That said, for months I have been excited to get home so I can start organizing with a community of people I trust and want to build relationships with. But there is so much injustice all around us, it’s really know how to start. Do I want to keep fighting commercial development at the Gill Tract? Do I want to fight to reclaim the Albany Bulb? Can I stomach spending another day in Albany? Or should I focus more on fighting on-going gentrification, police brutality, and militarization in Oakland?
I’m overwhelmed, so instead I’m mostly isolating myself on my boat, practicing banjo in my underwear and eating Mac N’ Cheese.
Primarily, what I want to do is figure out how to make a living without getting a “real” job. I love working. Actually I’m kinda a workaholic. But you can’t get paid to fight capitalism, and that’s the kind of work I’m interested in doing, so for the moment I’m trying to busk as much as possible and look for weird gigs on craigslist (let me know if you have ideas!)