I dreamed of vultures.

(Photo: BohPhoto)
I'm a huge John Darnell/Mountain Goats fan. Have been for years (and years). He's one of the few artists who can really carry a live acoustic show, since he's smart and hilarious and we all love him. Last night Ben and I cursed the fact that the show was moved from blocks away from our house to about 5 miles away, but the trip was worth it. Ben even got to shout out, "make us cry!" Which John heard, and even later commented on. He also sang about a third of my favorite songs.
"I'm gonna get myself in fighting trim,
scope out every angle of unfair advantage.
I'm gonna bribe the officials.
I'm gonna kill all the judges.
it's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage."
Oh, hell yeah.
Naturally I sat there and realized that I haven't been motivated, like really motivated, to do anything lately. Where'd all my fiery anger go? Don't you dare say it disappeared at 30. I need to run angrier, campaign angrier, feel determined. Cause more damage. Because not all damage is bad. It's the Steppenwolf problem. Screw contentment, I wanna go break something.

I ran fast this morning.

Audrey's tiling our kitchen, a fact that I forgot when we invited Ben's Mom over for dinner last night. We threw a quiche together and called it a day. I'm a half-assed daughter-in-law. We'll just have to make another attempt at it.