Break the habit, because self destruction is oh so romantic

Exactly one month ago I found myself sleeping on the floor of what used to be known a few years back as the PoorBoy Records office, and is now known as my mother's workout room. It's funny what a few years can do. Shelves full of CDs and T-shirts have been replaced by a treadmill. The desk I used to spend way too much time at has been removed in favor of a yoga mat. The couch I used to sit on until 3 or 4 in the morning, assembling promo packs while drinking coffee and repeatadly convincing myself I was completely sane is long gone, and a weight bench has taken it's place. Laying on that floor takes me back to a time when I thought I was going to change the world. I thought my little record label with 4 releases was going to take off, and I thought that was what I was going to do with my life. Oh, to be 19/20 and naive again.

I've come to the conclusion that I used to be a lot happier. Only 2 short years ago things were so much better. I was in a band that was picking up momentum, selling records and doing some light touring, my record label was almost not losing money, I was working in a screen printing shop with one of my best friends. I was broke and lived in a shitty apartment with my chain smoking drummer, but I didn't care. I was happy. As far as I was concerned, I was on top of the world. Even when it all came crashing to the ground, I hardly noticed. I took a new job that was giving me 50 hours a week and showing me a future. I had my sights set on Chicago. I burried myself in work and didn't give myself the chance to notice that everything I had cared so much about was over.

Then the promotion came. My paycheck doubled and I was offered a company apartment. I took it. Most of my music gear ended up in storage. 50 hours a week turned into 90+. I don't think I was happy anymore, but at least I was too busy to notice. I made enough money to get myself almost out of debt, and then my boss resigned. My new boss let me go without warning. Before I knew it, I was jobless and homeless all in one day. That same day, I found a new job with another screen printing shop that allowed plenty of overtime. I spent the next few months working from the time I woke up until I just couldn't stand anymore, actually sleeping at the shop on more than one occasion.

Then came the move to New York. Things finally died down enough for my head to stop spinning, and for the first time in almost 2 years I started to realize just how bad things had gotten. Since then I've gotten an awesome job, made some great friends and started a band that has some pretty good potential, and for all that I am very greatfull, but I just don't feel the same anymore. I'm not as excited by life as I used to be. I don't feel like I need to change the world. Dissent has been replaced by apathy. I've become everything I swore I wouldn't. I'm just working and paying bills and drifting through life. There's no passion or ambiton anymore. Most days I don't feel like really I have a reason to get out of bed.

The long and short of it is, I've let it all catch up with me, and I'm depressed. The probelm is I don't seem to care enough to do anything about it. After watching everything I worked so hard for fall apart, I just feel like a shell of my former self. Today I found myself listening to music that, only a few short years ago, inspired me to keep trying and fighting no matter what, and now it only reminds me of those feelings, and at the same time tells me that that time in my life is over now. That ship has sailed, and I missed it.

One thing hasn't changed though. I still stay up late convincing myself I'm completely sane.

Surviving is my best revenge

Old habits are back and as annoying as that is, staying up until all hours of the night doubting myself and questioning everything just feels like home. I'm so glad to be out of PA but I miss Philly. It never really clicked anyway but there was a short time where the R5 was my lifeline, Prospect Park was where the party was and center city seemed to reach into the sky forever. There was an even shorter time where I was homeless in the DC suburbs in the summertime, and that was in all honesty both one of the best and worst times in my life.

Then there was last summer. My band and label fell apart at the seams and I buried myself in the 9-5. Then the 11-7. And finally the 7-7. 90 hour weeks are a great way to get your mind off the fact that everything you believed in and worked for and dedicated yourself to crumbled in a matter of days. The best part is finding yourself jobless and homeless in a matter of minutes.

I recently returned from my obligatory mid year crisis trip to Chicago, where I saw the closest thing to Screeching Weasel I'll ever see. Logan Square already feels more like home than anywhere else I've ever been, save for the back of a van speeding down some unnamed highway in middle America at 2am. Riding the Blue Line is an unexplainable bliss. I would gladly live in a city where I didn't need a car. I want to disappear into a tiny apartment high above the street and write. I want to spend less time wishing and more time doing. I want to simplify. I want to distance myself from obligations and responsibilities and just live. I want freedom.

The funny thing about 2AM is as the world sleeps I'm planning my next move and nobody knows. And that's just the way I like it. The reality of it is I never gave up I just gave in. At the end of the day I'm still trying, I'm still believing and I'm still surviving. And that's all that matters.

I'm going nowhere fast and I'm never coming back

It felt like the right time for a new blog. More to follow soon.

For older entries, visit http://johnnyhero.blogspot.com