I’m not sure what’s inspiring my current mood, but all I want to do today is to sit quietly and listen to old Cat Stevens records. I’m guessing this sort of thing would be frowned upon in the office, but it sure would be nice if it wasn’t.
I’m not even feeling sad or melancholy today, these are usually the moods that make me want to listen to folk music. It’s just grey out, you know? And it’s Friday, and I’ve got trouble stuck in my head, and I think it would be nice to have some brandy and hang out with Oliver and listen to music.
I’ve got plans tonight though, so it’ll have to hold until after dinner at the very least.
In the meantime, here you are. It’s a present for your Friday. You’re welcome.
I love you.
PS I just bought your newest book and I’m really looking forward to reading it.
PPS I should have gotten it at the library though, shouldn’t I? Crap. I’ll go there tonight, and check out other stuff, promise.
Let’s talk about music
Because music is something I like.
Take for instance The Watson Twins covering The Cure.
Or this band Tennis
I’m going to see them in Barcelona in May, they wrote their album while they were on a boat trip. That’s nice.
Or Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. My friend Heidi sent me this when I was in a bad mood one night and it cheered me up.
See it’s not all sad times with me, as long as I’m judicious in the application of musics by the likes of Joanna Newsom, The Mountain Goats and Nick Drake
I’m having a slightly weepy night tonight. Drinking wine and listening to Joanna Newsom. Rereading old blog posts from the last couple months, trying to coax myself into writing something fictional. Not having much luck. My mind keeps going back to the one last bottle of MGD in my fridge. I should just drink it. Make a ritual of it. Pour a little out in the garden. But it’s just another end, and I’m tired of things ending.
This day started out better. Jeremy and I went to yoga. This is something we’re doing on Saturday mornings now. Using the time to meditate and grieve while also doing something healthy and good. Then when we got home, I cleaned off my desk and read some of The Artist’s way. I did Morning Pages this morning for the first time in ages. It was good to do them again and I will do them again tomorrow.
But this all goes in stages. One minute you feel normal, almost, and functional, and the next you just want to sit on the floor and have a cry. Worry not, I’m in a chair right now. I havent descended to floor crying yet!
This is a strange time, and while I’m dealing and coping, I still feel a few steps behind, or just out of sync most days. I think that’s probably normal, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
So yesterday I was slicing some potatoes to make vegan scalloped potatoes (yeah that’s right, vegan. And they were good too. Veganomicon is a great book, you should buy it, even if you, like me, are something of a carnivore, although lately I prefer the term Flexitarian) when my knife slipped and ran directly into the ring finger on my left hand. I felt a moment of pure panic, even though it didn’t hurt, and held my hand up waiting for the blood to gush. BUT, much to my amazement, there was no blood! My brand new callous, born of all that ukulele practice had saved the day!
And the callous on that finger is the smallest. Why, I bet I could chop off the entire tip of my left index finger and not notice a thing (which is not to say I’m going to, just that maybe I could. Probably not, though.)
So, thank you G chord, I know I’m always dissing you, and your cousin the E7, but clearly you are like Mr Miyagi. You’ve trained my fingers to be tougher than ever. I should probably go look up the chords to one of the themes from one of the Karate Kid movies in your honour. You’re bound to be in all them, seeing as you are everywhere.
- Take up smoking again
- Drink more booze
- Sleep more
- Curse at least once every sentence
- Blaspheme regularly
No, I’m only kidding. I’m not making any resolutions this year. Any changes I’m making in my life are already in progress. Pronouncing them at the start of a new year just puts too much pressure on.
New year’s resolutions are stupid (except for yours) I prefer to keep New Year’s like they did in the olden days, as an excuse to drink too much and dance to pop songs, while wearing a silly hat, if available.