2003-05-05 9:47 a.m.
This weekend I did something crazy—something I never ever do.
I didn't go to any parties. I didn't go on any day trips or weekend trips. I didn't stay out late with friends. I didn't go to a concert, go shopping, or have an adventure.
No. I stayed home instead. That's right, I stayed home.
It feels so foreign to me. See, I'm always on the go. My life is full of active ing's: moving, running, building, doing, traveling, talking, shopping, and so on.
I mean, sure I hung out with some friends. Karen and Selina came to spend the night Friday. Preddles and Trisha came over Saturday night. Bobby and Michelle are coming over this evening for dinner. It just feels so weird to entertain guests at home—at the place where I go to occasionally sleep and pick up clothes. I never hang out at home.
To me, home is the place you sleep and change clothes...if even that much. It is definitely not the place you hang around, chill, loaf, or whatever people call it these days. This whole big, beautiful world is begging me to come and probe and violate all its innumerable nooks and crannies. Why would I want to stay home when there are so many places to see and things to do?
But, I resisted my nomadic ways and pretty much hung about the house all weekend. I cleaned up my room, talked on the phone, took a nap, cut and colored my hair, did laundry. I even got to finally finish the write–up of my interview with the Norwegian death punk band Turbonegro.
The calm and sedentary weekend felt strangely comfortable, even enjoyable—like I imagine it must feel to lay on a couch and watch television. Not that I would know, though. I haven't really watched television since I started to really focus on my guitar playing. I started to play guitar 17 years ago. Guitar ousted television about 14 years ago.
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