Last weekend was the usual–walking, eating out, cleaning out Paul’s apartment some, generally hanging out otherwise. Then Tuesday night, my mom and I headed out to see the Psychedelic Furs.

I never win anything. Brandon’s always had the reputation for being the lucky one, and there’s an infamous family story about how when we were little, Brandon won a stuffed animal at a Mardi Gras game with pull-tab tickets and I won nothing and started crying, so all the relatives around me basically just threw down cash because they felt bad and let me draw until I won, too. And I think I still have the bear I won, which my parents nicknamed “Costly.” In retrospect, it was super nice of everyone to pay for me to play just because they felt bad for me.

But the point is that’s basically the way our lives have always gone when it comes to any sort of gambling or game of chance or contest–Brandon wins, I don’t, except once every so often. I won 20 bucks on a scratch-off my mom gave me for Easter, and I won those Psychedelic Furs tickets through a random drawing in the promo company’s newsletter. They do it every week. They list three upcoming shows and give away two sets of two tickets for each, and all you have to do is reply to the e-mail saying which one you’re entering and give your contact info. And since I like a few Furs songs, I figured what the hell.

I got the e-mail saying I won in the airport coming home from Brandon’s coot-camp graduation, and I had a logistical “oh shit” moment thinking about what to do about it being on a Tuesday night and who I could get to go with me. Honestly, I had a moment where I thought maybe I should just say it ended up that I couldn’t go and tell them to redraw for someone else, but I asked my parents–the first go-to when it comes to concerts with post-punk ’80s bands–and my mom was interested, despite it being between board-meeting nights. But I got the day after off, and we went.

I was planning on driving since it was at Mr. Smalls, which is outside of the city, so I drove to my parents’ from work. But because I hadn’t driven into the city from there in awhile and my mom’s car is bigger than mine, she felt better driving it and didn’t mind the city driving as long as I gave good directions–and that’s usually just a matter of not giving my dad’s directions, which aren’t so much directions as they are a list of unhelpful possibilities. He’s good for saying, “You can go any way you want,” which isn’t helpful for someone who’s either unfamiliar with the area or isn’t used to driving in the city. Or anywhere, really, because he does it everywhere. And I caught myself saying the same thing to Paul a few days ago and hated myself for it.

Anyway, we were gonna have dinner at this new little Italian place nearby, but it turns out they’re not actually open for dinner–they close at 5. So we went to Applebee’s instead, which I’m growing increasingly unimpressed with. It’s not that they’re bad, it’s just that it’s food I can get elsewhere better. And then we headed into the city.

I was concerned about the show being general admission standing room because since my mom had a blood clot in her leg a few years ago, she has a little trouble with it. I’d asked the venue multiple times on Twitter about seating and they never responded, which was really frustrating, but turns out they do have some balcony seating for an extra 20 bucks or something, which isn’t bad when the show’s free to being with. But when my mom scoped out the view from up there, she decided she’d rather stand and be closer to the stage. I have to give her credit for holding out. When I made a comment about it, she said, “I’m not old yet.”

As for the show itself, it was great. I was honestly impressed and didn’t expect for it to be so high-energy, but I’ve already written all about that over at AXS.

As for that Wednesday off, I spent it mostly lounging around my parents’ house. I was hoping to maybe get together with someone for lunch or something, but everyone works. Boo. But I did enjoy having a day to myself, like I always do. And one of the ways I know I’m starting to get burned out on my job is that despite having a decent number of days off in the past few weeks–including a full week off–I still don’t feel like I’ve had a vacation or downtime. That could be attributed in part to the fact that I spend some of my downtime writing articles or trying to publish my creative writing, but I doubt it. I don’t feel like I’m actually working when I do those things, and they’ve never made me feel like I wasn’t enjoying my free time, with the exception of my last few months at IYS. It’s more like the time feels like it goes by so fast before I have to go back to work.

And then there’s the fact that a few of my coworkers warned me yesterday that the supervisors have been walking by my cubicle and staring at my computer screen as they go.


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