Avant Gardener has been running on my laptop, phone and whatever device I use to listen to music too for days now. But why can’t I let this song go? I wanted to include the song in a list of different songs. But I couldn’t come up with a proper topic I felt worth talking about. I must have played this song more than a hundred times since I came across it in the monthly Birp playlist. And after hours of listening it is starting to make sense why I keep it on repeat.
It is 4am on a Saturday morning. I am tired and a little drunk. I spent the last three nights in a row at various parties and I am longing for my own bed now. The nights are still cold at this time of the year. I am getting lost along the trails of thoughts wandering through my head. I must have seen every streetlight in this city about a hundred times. I’ve seen their reflections in puddles of water, seen their nicotine yellow play the backdrop to warm summer nights, seen them blurring into silhouettes and patterns as I watch them through taxi windows. Somehow they are comforting. A sign of home and all that. But when you walk back home all by yourself they tell you something else too. They tell you how lonely you really are out here.
Gordi is whispering Courtney Barnett’s words into my ear. This is not Australia, I don’t really care about gardening, I live in a concrete city. In a one bedroom flat without a bloody balcony, a kitchen, a little room for my washing machine and an even smaller bathroom. How on earth would I understand what it’s like to talk about that to your neighbour? I hardly know mine. The only constant being the moaning during sex I keep hearing on a fairly regular basis from next door. So why have I got this song on constant repeat? It cuts my throat. It just does. Tears keep welling up as I take a few more drags from my cigarette.
I’m having trouble breathing in
Bloody yes, I do. The only new years resolution I really meant was that I promised myself to take it slower this year. You know, less drinking, less smoking, less nights in dark and dirty pubs, clubs and bars. Now that I’m in my late 20ies, I’m living alone in a big city. Most of my friends are becoming their first kids, minimum is they moved in together with their significant others. Me? I feel like I’m smoking like a chimney, I didn’t stick to what I wanted.
My hands are shaky, my knees are weak. I can’t seem to stand on my own two feet.
I am not an unsuccessful guy, I’m pretty sure I’m good at what I’m doing. But is this really what I wanted? Are all the hours talking to people and countless hangovers worth it all? Was it the right decision to make music my full time job? Recently I started doubting the decision I made years ago and I never did before. It makes me uncomfortable going into the office every morning not knowing if my heart is still in it.
The paramedic thinks I’m clever cos I play guitar
Hooray to me, I have successfully blagged my way into the music industry, something I really wanted, but I feel like losing control. I definitely didn’t envision myself being were I’m at right now. I want to have what my friends are having. But apparently I’m even too stupid to have an affair. The world feels unfair. I know that I am moaning too much, that it is a common thing to have doubts every so often.
I’m not that good at breathing in
I know what you mean. I feel you. I have forgotten how to take a break. I’m sitting in front of my door and I’m sobbing. Thanks Gordi. Thanks Courtney Barnett. Thanks Avant Gardener. I needed that.
Header Pic: Lisa Businovski / Facebook
