Dad's gone, and I still can't get this story finished.

I felt like a new man when Dad left San Francisco to go back home. Molting is the only way I can describe it. Before he arrived, I felt pretty low and empty. But after he left, I got this feeling of revitalization that I was not expecting. I stopped worrying so much about spending every moment trying to find a job, and started to figure out how to enjoy the balance of life. I've been neglecting my duties as author and not finished Ennui yet. How can I not be finished with that story yet? I started it months ago! I've finished entire sections of a novel in the time that its taken me to write this one story. And what's worse, I feel like the fire that propelled me into the writing frenzy to get the story started is not only out, I don't even remember what the damn smoke smelled like. So, with whatever inkling of imagination and memory of my original idea I can muster, I'm trying to finish it and get the next chapter of the Swimming in Circles saga going. With no Lane or Gray to carry the story, I'm quite worried that that new stories will end up flat. We shall see with the reaction to Ennui, a story that is quite a departure from my typical tales.

The visit with Dad was good---got to see a good number of sites in and around the city. It rained for the second time since I've been here, and I had a tough time concentrating on my time with Dad because the evil anxiety demon kept finding his way to my shoulder. I'll shake him yet. Sometimes, I feel like I need to use that, because it will inspire the writing process. Scott Weiland only wrote memorable stuff when he was in the throws of or trying to get off heroin. I'm listening to Richard Buckner, and though he will always produce quality work, his best stuff was when he was lowdown and heartbroken, destitute and suicidal. Now, he's married, and things are going well. Good for him. Maybe not so good for his music. Happy people maybe shouldn't make art. Because we look to art to discover that other people are feeling the same way we do.

The weekend is on the way, and though I didn't get the job I was shooting for at the Great American Music Hall, I did get tickets for both the Drive-By Truckers show and Umphrey's McGee that will take place there. Rachel and I are shopping for cowboy shirts either on Haight Street or Fillmore so that we will be ready for the Alabama Ass-Whopin' that DBT is bound to lay down. I am counting the minutes.