I could have woken up today and done laundry. I could have woken up today and cleaned my bedroom, my bathroom. Instead I woke up today and went to lunch at Benihana, my local escape, wasting an early sunday afternoon in sake and silent internal existential debate. I feel I'll be procrastinating living until the day I die.

And that's not to take anything away from Benihana, which has somehow become my weekend lunch haunt of late. John, my favorite chef, was there, a great guy, and the only teppanyaki master I know who will go out of his way to make my meal special: special in the sense that everytime he cooks something for me, I invariably state: "you guys should put this on the menu." John's not Japanese (not that any Benihana chefs are Japanese these days) but he has the art mastered. Maybe I like him because he's a skinny white boy who cooks circles around all of his pompous compatriates. It gives me hope.

Whenever John cooks for me, I order a sake with two cups. I pour myself a cup, and leave one at the edge of the table, within John's reach, but still looking like mine. And somehow, John manages to empty the cup three or four times throughout the meal. He puts it back right-side-up, and I refill it. He puts it back upside down, I don't. It's sort of a surreptitious battle with management ... will they catch him drinking with me? He keeps on talking about how I'm gonna get him fired. He doesn't seem to mind.

Benihana's also cool because it's one of the few places you can show up by yourself and not feel too stupid about it. It's a great place to meet people, not in the singles sense, but just in general. Today it was an african-american couple on their way home from church. We talked about their daughter and how she's finally realizing that money and position (she always wanted to marry a "rich doctor") has nothing over a good soul. It was refreshing for me to hear, though quite guilt-inducing in light of my own struggles to make my way through the complex game of Corporate America.

And I fucking hate the game. But I need to play it, and play it well. Otherwise I shall live in poverty. Unless, of course, this band decides to take off...

Thursday night ... band practice. Everyone showed up tired. We started running the setlist. Middle of the third song, IceDog throws down his sticks, tells everyone to take ten minutes and come back when they're ready to sound like something more than a "Ramada Inn lounge act."

He was right. We sounded like shit. The energy level was low. During the break, Casanova starts talking about quitting the band, which kinda set me off. But I didn't say anything, and just let my temper flare up within its me-imposed constraints, just waiting to play again ...

We came back and played better. I was pissed and having a temper tantrum on the B-3. By the time of my solo I was nearly pounding with my fists. I closed my eyes and let the negative emotion flow out, feeling nothing but the music. The song ended. There was an intense pain up and down my right thumb. The upper 'A' key on the organ was broken in half. The band was staring at me like I was nuts.

I _am_ nuts. Fucking deal with it already.

It was a damned good solo though.

My thumb is still purple and swollen. I have trouble typing, opening beers, and lighting cigarettes. Other than that, I'm sure it's just a minor bruise.

Frankly, my ear (kinda visible in today's pic) hurts more than my thumb. I've been too busy (doing what, I ask) to follow the correct aftercare instructions for my new piercing. So what. I take good care of nothing in my life. Why should this be any different? It's just me.

But that's just it ... it's so much easier to start from nothing than to start from where I am at right now. Maybe that's why I'm showing up late for work, talking back to my boss and any executive that'll listen, spending my money freely despite the fact that I'm seesawing on the fulcrum of debt, driving around with no car insurance and a soft-suspended drivers license due to the non-payment of a Marina del Rey jaywalking ticket -- I'm setting myself up to lose everything, pushing myself closer and closer to the brink of ... I don't know what it's the brink of.

Yes, it's a dangerous game I've been playing, and it's starting to scare me. It's not as frightening as living my life the way I've been living it, but it's scary nonetheless. Scary, and stupid. It's almost like I don't care, even though I do, but what is it that I care about?

I'll eventually sleep on that question.