Time is a fiddly bitch. Even when I start to think I have a grasp on events, I soon realize or remember that thing that does not matter in the slightest, but changes context around the future.
What am I on about?
As people who follow me on Instagram are aware, I have charted out most of my music career. Mostly, I am content with how it all has come together. Mostly, I have an idea of the flow of things.
As I think harder about things after I have my notes “complete”, I remember little things that have no bearing. I start questioning when big events happened. Sure, I have dates for recordings and CD releases, but should I actually ignore that big showcase we did? If I do choose to talk about it, do I actually remember when it happened?
For example, I played with The Dillinger Escape Plan moderately early in The Twin’s career. Part of me wants to say that it was our fifth show, part of me just wants to refer to it as the first show in Guelph, Ontario, and yet another part of me wants to glaze over it and make it a “not a big deal” moment.
I am having a very hard time not five years. One would assume that five years is nothing in the grand scheme of things: and you would be correct in thinking so. Unfortunately, The Twin performed close to 600 shows in that span. We released 2 EPs and 2 singles. We played about 20 different venues, and that does not include doubling up on certain places.
That also ignores any additional work that I did in music over that time period. I performed on Eudimonia by Livestalk & the Bodies, did a couple shows the wind up All Cut Up, an that was all on top of going to college, dropping out of college, becoming full-time (then manager) of a local store, and still trying to maintain some semblance of a personal life.
At one point, I was doing damn near 80 hours a week trying to keep up with everything. I am not bragging, not even a humble-brag, when I say that. I was stretched so thin and I was so tired: no wonder I died!
A part of me misses aspects of being that strained. I was rarely bored. Yes, I was behind months on things that I loved, but I barely had enough time to be bothered. Now, I spend most days mapping out projects that may-or-may-not get done, writing (then deleting) my next book, and starting helplessly as my family and dogs lose their minds. All said, I probably spend 80 hours a week working on things that you will never see, now.
Fuck-knows that my bank account doesn’t feel accomplished.