When you just moved and you’re just like everyone else

Not that I’m talking to anything but the void in here, but still. How about an update?

It’s been a long few months. We’ve successfully moved!

My son and I stayed at my mom’s house with all four cats for a whole month while the hubby worked his new job in NC and lived out of an AirBnB (two, actually: the first rental ran out a week before the house closed, so he had to swap). We sold the FL house and bought a much bigger one in NC (it’s amazing how much house one’s previous home equity and less insane, non-FL real estate prices can get you). Both our PODS made it to NC with all our earthly possessions intact (except some of the wifi network stuff, apparently). The most exciting drama involved the moving company with our big pieces being nearly two weeks late, which meant sleeping on an air mattress and having nowhere to sit for far longer than we expected.

Thankfully, that’s all over. We’re slowly painting rooms and unpacking things. I’m looking forward to properly setting up a pottery studio in the garage.

(A much simpler mural for the art room/guest room this time around. The yellow is the original room color.)

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Writing, as you can imagine, has been challenging with all the other stuff going on. Honestly, I feel like I should have gotten SO MUCH done while stuck in limbo between houses…it’s not like I was doing anything else. But my brain has an extremely difficult time doing things to fill a span of waiting. I feel like I’m going to be interrupted at any second (because, you know, waiting), so, it’s hard to sink into a headspace where I can do creative things.

I haven’t been completely unproductive. SSP Anthology season has rolled around again, which means I’ve been working on another novella. I know, I know, I need to work on Glass Like Memories. But the Seven Strands is an old, old idea of mine…one I’m going to finish, but I’m not going to pretend it’s not a bit boring to keep kneading that mature dough when I’d rather be making brownies or something. These novellas give me a chance to make some brownies without derailing my attention for months and months like a novel would.

I’m writing a horror this time around, which I’ve never done, and honestly, I probably won’t do it again too often. I can fall very deep into my characters’ heads, and when dark, disturbing stuff is going on, it gets to me. Not directly, I guess. Not consciously. But I’ll feel off after writing, and that off-ness takes time to wear off, even when I’m aware of the reason for it. For this horror, I’m writing a deeply unreliable narrator whose mind has more or less snapped after an extremely traumatic event. It’s a tough headspace to exist inside even when my attention isn’t constantly divided.

Also, this is the second novella I’ve written that deals specifically with the aftermath of losing someone you love to death. I didn’t plan it that way; it’s just what came out in the brainstorming phase. Starting to think I have some unresolved feelings around this topic.

Et in Arcadia ego or somesuch.

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Aside from the distraction of moving, around mid February, Sleep Token started to tease new music in the most cryptic manner possible…which, to be fair, is completely on brand for them.

But how was I supposed to focus on writing when there were puzzles and morse code and geocaching and new lore and theories and enough excitement to keep me glued to the discord for hours, and, well, you get the picture. Sweet Sleep, if I could market my books like they do for their music…

I know it’s just marketing. I like to think the band is behind the ideas, and is probably enjoying watching their fanbase lose its collective shit, but I’m just a drop in that ocean of attention. They will never be invested in my reaction to their shenanigans; their marketing team sure as shit isn’t. They don’t know me from five million other fans who love them just as much.

And yet, when I get an email that says, “Have you been waiting long for me?”, something inside me still catches its breath. It still works. That’s good fucking marketing. It’s distracting, it fucks with the very real feelings their music evokes, and I hate that I am as susceptible to it as anyone else.

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Okay, y’all, here we go again with me being insufferable about this band.

Like five million other fans last week, I sat down and listened to Emergence for the first time. I didn’t do it at 8AM in the effing morning like some did, even though I knew that’s when the single was going to drop in my time zone. I’m not a morning person, and the song wasn’t going to vanish from Spotify if I didn’t rush in to listen. I chose to take my time with it.

(This will become kinda relevant later.)

I sat in a camp chair set up in our new TV room, which at the time had no couches (because the movers hadn’t shown up yet) and no TV (still in its box even now, waiting to be set up).

(Can you spot Molly lounging in the background?)

Sitting in a brand new space with brand new music cued up felt very appropriate. I didn’t know what to expect. Remember I’m coming off my favorite band of all time putting out new music that was utterly underwhelming for me. There was kind of a lot riding on this moment.

(I still can’t shake that feeling of convergence, of inevitability, that this group would have drawn me in eventually no matter what I did. I wasn’t actually scared I wouldn’t like it.)

I did like it. Immediately, on first listen, which was a relief. It did the unexpected in exactly the way I’ve come to expect from them, if that makes sense. (I also immediately tagged it as a Track 2, just from its vibes). The first time I heard the chorus, I legitimately teared up a little. I know it’s terribly cliché to claim “such and such singer speaks directly to my soul”, but…it really did feel like Vessel was coaxing me in particular out of the dark.

“Come on, come on, out from underneath who you were. Come on, come on, you know that it’s time to emerge.”

I’m trying.

In setting up this new house, I keep telling myself I’m not constrained by the necessities of the old space nor by force of habit. I can organize things differently; I can set things up better. We have the budget right now to spend money on non-necessities. I am allowed to do that. I do not have to “put up with” a shitty thing just to avoid spending money. It’s just money. Hell, I’m allowed to buy something that turns out to be a waste, and I don’t have to beat myself up over it.

(Pretty new desk! My old desk was beat to hell and back; it frankly needed a swap out)

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I did legit mess up recently.

I bought Louder Than Life tickets when they went on sale, because Sleep Token, and also because there are a lot of other bands playing that I wouldn’t mind seeing. Committed to a hotel room and everything. I had jitters that entire day, because I hate spending money I might not get back if anything goes wrong, especially when I feel like I’m competing with a bunch of other people for those same slots. Coordinating travel makes me nervous. Going to a thing I’ve never been to before makes me nervous.

Then they announced their tour, and Greensboro was on the list. That’s less than an hour from my house; you better believe I was getting in on that. I managed to get a ticket in the presale. It’s not a great seat but it’s not terrible, and I am apparently damned lucky to have snagged one at all. The prices were insane; had I not gone into the sale with the knowledge that they would be, I would have balked. I didn’t. It’s just money. I’m not a failure of a person if I make an impulsive or extravagant purchase from time to time.

I didn’t double-check the dates until later.

The Greenboro show is happening literally in the middle of LTL, which makes perfect sense, logistics-wise, for the band. KY and NC are only an 8-hour drive from each other. However, that means I now have a set of very expensive, more or less non-refundable tickets to two events, and I cannot physically attend both of them unless I watch ST’s set on Friday night, hop in the car the next morning, drive 8 hours to catch them in NC, which would make me miss the rest of LTL cause I surely ain’t driving back to KY for Sunday and then back home. That’s absurd.

I’m going to have to pick one and miss the other.

And unless I pick LTL and manage to resell the Greensboro ticket, I’m going to be out several hundred dollars no matter what.

I should have noticed the date conflict before the presale. I should have waited to jump on LTL in favor of seeing if they announced a tour. Shoulda, shoulda, shoulda.

It is what it is. I have five months to assess my options, see what money I can get back, maybe even find better seats for Greensboro if any pop up for resale. At the very least, having tickets to both gives me time to decide which I truly want to do. (I’m not as young as I used to be. LTL always looked intimidating. As much as my heart wants to be close to the stage, the notion of having a spot to sit down, to not have to queue for hours, to have time to acquire merch…but I’d be out the LTL money. Ugh.)

Time in which to weigh options is a goddamned luxury in this fandom. I wish it could just be me sitting in a camp chair, taking in a new song on my time, on my terms…but the moment you get involved in anything that involves literal millions of other people, you can’t wait or you miss out. You have to take the risk that comes with impulsivity.

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The symphonic metal scene in the States has spoiled me. It’s niche, which means it’s comfortably popular among its fans and practically unknown to anyone else. On one hand, that means legit big bands like Within Temptation hardly ever fucking tour over here, and when they do, it’s like four cities (inevitably NYC, LA, maybe Atlanta, and I dunno, Denver or Chicago or some other random-ass halfway point). Conversely, it means when someone like Nightwish or Epica or Delain or Eluveitie comes across the pond, they aren’t playing huge ass arenas that sell out in minutes. I don’t have to commit to tickets the instant they go on sale. If I want to see the band up close or want a shot at catching a pick, I simply show up a few hours early and am almost guaranteed a first or second row spot…but really, nearly any spot in the venue is gonna give you a pretty good view. I don’t think I ever paid more than $60 or $70 for said tickets.

Bet all the Swifties are laughing at my whinging ass right now. “Oh, you sweet headbanging summer child.”

(The Ritz venue capacity: 1, 114. I’ve also seen Nightwish at Jannus Live (capacity: 2000) and the House of Blues (capacity: 2,500). Bands like Epica, Sabaton, and Lacuna Coil play at similar-sized venues.)

I guess I’m feeling some kind of way again, about liking a thing that so many other people like.

The Sleep Token presale gave me flashbacks to the days when Hanson was big. I was 13. I wanted to go to a show in Orlando, and I distinctly remember only being able to get nosebleed seats despite calling in the moment they went on sale (this was pre-internet days, shut up, I’m old). I could not, for the life of me, figure out how people got front-row tickets for shows like that. I legit tried. I would have paid the premium. I could not get them. There was too much fucking competition.

Now here I am again, competing, and I hate it.

It’s profoundly unfair that Sleep Token’s music has the power to touch me so personally when I cannot buy or luck my way into the privilege of even seeing them at a distance where they don’t look like ants, simply because there are so many other people exactly like me, affected the same, wanting the same. They have 5.5 million listeners on Spotify. They sold out an arena tour in literal minutes. I don’t even try to acquire merch designs I like anymore, because they’ll inevitably sell out before my indecisive ass can decide if it’s really worth it to spend the money.

What the hell is my meager affection, in the face of that?

Oh, you like them, too? They broke you, made you cry, changed the way you think? Like they haven’t heard the same sentiment from every mouth of every person in every arena they’ve played just in the last year. Good for you. Get in line.

It makes me feel…diluted. Like what I feel is insignificant, lost in the noise, noticeable as a single raindrop in a thunderstorm. Or worse, I’m a cog in a colossal marketing machine, another starry-eyed wallet waiting with bated breath to pounce on an offering, all cynical on their side when it’s so very not cynical on mine because I was asked, so sweetly, to come out from underneath who I was and I’m trying.

I’m trying.

Maybe part of becoming someone new means I should embrace a little more impulsivity in my life. To feel like I’m allowed to want things, to pursue the things I want, to mess up and make stupid decisions in the pursuit of what I want, because Sleep knows I’m not getting any younger and I can’t take any of this earthly shit with me. Might as well spend the money and enjoy it while I’m here, you know?

I’m glad they’re popular. I’m looking forward to singing and crying with thousands of fellow fans at whichever show I end up at. They deserve all the fame. I just…get reminded from time to time that I’m neither special nor unique in my admiration of their work, and my ego gets its beak and feathers in a twist about it.

I’m also selfish, and like anything I love, I want it all to myself.