It took me a couple of months to write this post. And I had to make sure. I had to make sure I was doing it for ME. That I didn’t care if anyone ever noticed it, or looked at it.
I’m a dweller. Doesn’t matter what kind. A pack-rat, a builder of caves. Take your pick. I hoard. Words, snippets, photos, audio files. Secret identities. I feel the need to control things, experiences. I dwell on it all. I make myself violently ill over it. I try to build time machines. I think how could I go back and convince Younger Me to perfect the old situation.
Maybe this is why I adore practicing piano to the point of over-do.
You get to a certain point, and you realize you have gone in a circle, like that snake that eats its tail. It makes a really cool concept—a fire installation, a tattoo that cooler people than you would wear or make neat structures of at Burning Man. But no, people like me make little private ouroboros (ouroboroi? Ouroborouses? Ourobnoceros?)
Yeah. I’m a rhinoceros eating her own tail. Sexy.
No wonder I’m squeezed into a tiny closet behind the scarves, hiding in shame trying to catch that weird thing behind my rhino butt. What a lovely rhino image.
Anyway. We are way off track here. The point is, the best way to kill an embarrassing and yet completely addictive compulsion hidden away for years and years and years of your life that you justify because you’ve just Been This Way since you were a teenager is to just Delete. Delete your bad self (not your Bad Self, but your non-functioning self).
By which I mean, go through, and everything that gives you that gut feel of “oh my god, WHY?!?…” just hit the DELETE key. On ALL OF IT.
So that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m the least likely person to sage my entire life, but when I decide to burn the bridge, I’m going to burn the whole town.
I’m going to be fifty years old in less than 60 days. And I won’t accomplish any of my Loftier Goals. Because things prevented me from doing so. It’s fine. Good thing there are more days after my birthday. Absolutes are the enemy of progress.
Drama. Ultimatums. Inflexibility. Dying on a Hill for the Sake of It. Just parts of another group of the things scheduled for deletion.
Lately, I’ve had trouble sight-reading. This is a thing I’ve wanted to fix as it impedes my ability to learn new repertoire and refresh the old music I previously mastered. And I need to do that because my hands are starting to get numb and frozen up. That could be age, which we will not speak of On This Day….. but It’s becoming a real Use-it-or-Lose-it situation.
a nice mindful blog-cloud I photographed walking
My brain can’t seem to drill down into the reading task. Sometimes, I’ll be having trouble cold-reading a piece of music, and I’ll think, “why can’t I do this simple-ass thing?” Then I’ll notice that I’m not even IN the music–not really even LOOKING at it. I’m a zoner-outer. The music reads like prose—and I expect myself to take in entire measures and lines the same way that I take in paragraphs and pages when I read. I’ve noticed that when I read news articles online lately, I can read a page of news in a few seconds, and paragraphs and keywords are jumping out at me. I don’t really want to drill down into deep reading; I’m just scrolling, getting the highlights. But when I am sight-reading a piece, I can’t be thinking like this. Because I’m not even near that scrolling skill level musically.
And as it turns out I’m not really great at scrolling level with language reading either. I read quickly, but the faster I read, the less I retain. If I really want to REMEMBER what I read, I need to slow down and really look at smaller groups of words. Savor it more, if it’s important. Like cake. 🙂 This is similar to when I first learned to REALLY sight-read music—when I was taught at music school to accompany people. I was shown how to look at an entire piece. Take note of the key, the time signature. Look at the tempo. Does it have a pickup note? Fast passages? Are there dynamic changes or recurring motifs? Any repeats or redirects? Key changes? Page-turns? (does the cupcake have too much icing? Do I really want to scarf it down in front of the entire restaurant..? Do I want to be in this metaphor? Is this an eating disorder… ugh..)
But I never seem to slow it down enough to do this, and feel I am constantly reacting to rather than ahead of the challenges.
I often take this easy way out and forget to put myself in a good zone. I think this is because I live on the edge of expectation, and I expect to be distracted and pulled off focus. My life is a series of interruptions, and I think I am adapting well by being malleable or flexible–but it presents as half-assing many of the things I am reacting to. Even when I did side-projects to self-imposed deadlines, I would put myself under time constraints and limitations as a kind of test. And when I saw others take challenges more seriously and become craftier and more polished at bits of content I’d considered trifles before, I bowed out because I didn’t want to really do that kind of work there. I thought This is not why I do this. I wanted quick practicing, blogging, thing-a-day/week/month/whatever, resolutions, posts to be idea dumps, done under a time crunch. Or a public show of personal accountability. When work-in-progress or casual content became an alternative way people used to showcase polished work (as if they were that skilled when they rolled out of bed!), I didn’t want to participate anymore because it felt like I was spinning my wheels. And I felt like I would be punished somehow for being Imperfect. I didn’t want to show people the actual work it took–because no one wants to see how the magician does it, not really. Who wants to see a reality show about magicians? (don’t answer that—the answer is that everyone wants to see reality shows about absolutely everything. I realize this…)
Anyway, everything I put effort into that I wasn’t being compensated for or advancing myself with seemed like a colossal gamble. What if it didn’t pay off and actually made me look suckier than it would have if I hadn’t even tried? But after a bit I realized that this was a creatively miserly attitude. And very isolating.
Also pretty negative, but there I was—and that’s the mindset that I have also carried into sight-reading, that negativity making me fail. That feeling like I’m being observed even if I’m all alone. That wondering, “if someone accidentally looked in on me, would I be there, fully sucking at doing this?” That going into it before even a note is played thinking, “this is shit, I am going to suck! There are going to be a billion avoidable mistakes that even that three-year-old child prodigy avoided … the one that your uncle just sent you that video of, and she could read this music the day they brought her home from the NURSERY. THE NURSERY!!!”
Yadda yadda yadda.
You cannot practice mindfully if your soul feels there is no point to it because your inbox is filled with charming videos of babies who cannot talk but who can do quadratic equations while playing circles around you in charming duets with Scottish fold kittens.
I used to think this about musical improv before I knew it was a thing you could do, not so long ago. I have a good friend, and she sight-reads like magic, but she doesn’t quite grok the thought of making things up on the fly. She understands the theory. She probably gets that she’s about two inches away from doing it, just like she tells me I could/should be playing this or that song as repertoire. And then she’ll send me music that I get frustrated by that a few years ago I would have probably read well. We were in the same piano studio in college. She knows my playing. But for some reason—there’s that block I have sitting there.
Would meditating help? Would ear training help? Brain training? I don’t know. Would reading books more consistently and not getting distracted onto apps and emails and chats and streaming shows and news articles and little pull-offs like “10 reasons You’re Not Getting Yourself Focused Like You Think You Should Be?” (There are 99 reasons I should just write an article about why and finally try to get something published, hey?)
I have at least figured out that sitting and staring into space is not a Waste of Time. It’s self preservation. Something I was actually doing naturally to cope. My body was already making me meditate. Deliberately thinking of nothing and clearing my mind so that I didn’t turn into a babbling pile of drool upon the floor, I figured out that this was actually meditating. So there is that.
If I can sight-read and practice every day this week—I’m going to be pretty damn proud of myself … weird considering that even just five years ago, I used to have to promise that I was only going to practice for 2 hours, and that was it. Once I was addicted to practicing, and now, I’m addicted to avoiding focus. Life is weird.
I had a friend once that told me “you should put out your writing. It’s important.” They do not tell me this anymore. They do not tell me anything anymore—because they are gone from me, but this is what happens in life as you get older.
I have been thinking, not just about old friends who leave but about how I have grown more and more silent and small as the years pass. I have grown a bit fearful and hide-y under rocks. I still make the big plans. I am just afraid of all the What If’s.
I started doing improv. I wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t. I thought “I will write about this on this blog I used to keep.” I did not. I think I just got out of the habit. Maybe I didn’t want to admit to things. Maybe I was happy hiding in my little velvet box with my secrets.
I think realistically, I’ll end up going to a new place soon and letting some of these things out slowly. Not sure how, or how much. Information and stories that used to shock and terrify me have lost their potency now. Nothing seems so dire anymore or like such a big deal. So maybe put some of that shocking stuff I have written out into the universe. Who cares? I know who I am. So go to a new place, go in a new direction. I’ll probably link to that and maybe it will go up here. That means there will be posts, things to read. I do need to start getting my thoughts out more or I will go mad. I’ve been such a content hoarder. There is such a staggering amount of content that I will need an entirely different blog just to go back into the past and retroactively post things that I decided Not To Say. I will have to say “on this day, I did not post The Following Thing, and now I really wish I had said it.” Then I suppose I will say what I think about it now. Because I think remaining silent has begun to choke me.
And I need to start playing, practicing, sharing my music with people again. I used to practice piano for hours and hours every day. I did not see it as a waste of time. For a while. I didn’t second guess my songwriting or think that my singing was not up to par and I didn’t compare myself to anyone else. I didn’t care that I didn’t sound like anyone else. But at some point, I stopped playing the piano entirely. Then, for reasons known only to few—I stopped writing songs. And this weird musical malaise started happening more and more and now I’m not who I used to be. I’ve become frozen into inaction because there is too much stimuli and too much distraction and second guessing. Not to mention all the social upheaval and general confusion and where to put your effort and responsibility. That’s an entire other can of stupid worms that are all stupid.
So I’ve been living underwater—but not like a fish does. Like an unwelcome visitor that comes to a fish’s underwater house and there’s not enough bedrooms and I don’t have gills. So I’m always borrowing gills and bedsheets and drinking all the Fish Coffee. Like a fish in-law who Will Not Leave. Not like my in-laws. They’re fine. But like the trope-y ones you see on the television programs or like that Etta James song about her mother in law.
I’m not sure what I’m talking about anymore. That analogy came out of left field. And fish can’t play baseball.
So. I have to blog. No apologies about how I never blog blah blah blah. I was told by a great teacher of mine that “you have to stop apologizing.” He actually yelled it at me a few times. He moved away. Now he’s returning. He never apologized for anything he did, because he just lived his life and so maybe I should do this thing.
And just like that I began writing songs
I am weirdly in the middle of a few long term relationships that are coming apart, in different ways. I was reading an article about this—that relationships get more complicated the older we become. That when you’re in school you have your boy/girl/nakedsquirrel/bestinTheWorld-freind. And you have other friends. And you have teammates. And study buddies. And playmates from childhood that live in your street but you wouldn’t necessarily PICK them for yourself—they were friends of proximity.
We get better and better at proximity friends, I guess, unless we don’t. We start to notice that they become more diverse but also more exactly the same. We find people who reinforce our exactly-the same in the way that we change-ness and more tailored to our out roots in the dirt preferences. We decide that changing is difficult and painful and that we are going to shelter in place. And this is if there ISN’T a pandemic.
Had/have intermittently another great teacher. He’s a bit of a mysterious enigma and someone I wouldn’t name drop. Anyway, it doesn’t matter that he’s decorated and told us to read Kenny Werner’s effortless mastery even though he wasn’t even teaching class about relationships or overcoming your jazz-demons. When you can’t play or do good improv (of any kind) because you are trapped in a head-jail it’s time to meditate. It’s time to soothe the overthink. My problem was not that I’d been too hard on myself.
It was quite the opposite. QUITE the opposite of that I needed more practice and training. I needed forgiveness.
Here is a blog I forgot to hit send on this early afternoon because I have neglected my chores and other adult items.
Hello greetings Earthlings. It has been a while. I haven’t written since LAST YEAR and I realize this. For now I am writing a gratuitous blog for MYSELF after doing reviews for the SpintunesSongwritingcontest. I ended up erasing pages of review-work because I was predictably effusive and weird and needed to purge several documents one after the other–leaving only scant scadlings of myself behind. Now I worry there are some concerned thoughts “my god, if this is the edited stuff–what must this brain contain!?!” But worrying what others think of you is sort of like a seahorse pausing in front of a mirror refusing to wear an outfit because the plankton MIGHT get offended. Not that any of these contestants were plankton. That is NOT what I am sayyyyying…… As of of elevensies reviews had not yet been posted so perhaps there are some Spintunas clamoring for my head? (LIES: Reveiws posted as of the publishing-not-writing of blog. No one surrounded house with torches and pitchforks and tumbrils). No matter. In writing these reviews, I learned some things. Some of these things I should have already known, but:
I REALLY REALLY REALLY like a run on sentence. You all are experiencing this as we speakeasy. There is no cure or hope for this. I know this about the run on AND adverbs because when I go into Grammarly (The latest incarnation of The Man but toward the populace of My Soul) or visit the Hemingway website (same but different) I get all stuffily miffed at its kind suggestions for improvement of my hot mess. #alasicannotspell #throwbackSunday
Also, I don’t really care as much as I claim to about punctuation and the Oxford comma. That bugged me a little that I let that one slip bye-bye.
I am nicely coming along as a work in progress no longer caring if people know I am crazypants. But I am not there yet and am still a bit of an Apology Aardvark.
NEWSFLASH! An egg slicer does not just have to ONLY SLICE EGGS!! Husband showed me a reddit thing about this today and my mind did the emoji explodey emotion except with less pyrotecnics and brains.
If I had to misspell anything in the reviews I wrote, I would MUCH rather it not have been “PREROGATIVE” (#MASSIVEEYEROLL, #iamasquare). If Micah who is running this thing now bothered to correct this for me, I stand corrected and should not have Said Anything.
It’s hard to finish up reviews with children around the place (we were kiddo-sitting the last day)! I should give extra points for the parents in the group!
I am far more nervous about submitting reviews than songs. My writing-writing is WAY more clumsy than my songwriting. But when I think about getting into poetry again as I used to be confident doing (saying “I am a poet”), I get the creeping skeeves.
In songwriting I myself cannot be offended by reviews. I will submit the most ridiculous experimental trash, and psychically dare you to insult my efforts. Sometimes I get served a heaping review of Justice Toast and I deserve it. It’s not nice but I needed to bring home better bacon so it’s on me. Other times reviewers tell me something useful in a fully horrid fashion but again they have given me a gift (in improv, everything is a gift). I don’t know why I am so overconfident not to feel a bit precious about my tunes. I think it’s because ever since forever I have thought of a piano in front of me as a great Shield … even if there were better, cooler piano players around me that could read and jazz improv and Play Very Quickly and all that. I also know through years of living that my songs are Ass. But I love them and so do others and I clean up nice when I want to. It’s not all dental hygiene and apology reverb. And I want to give the gift of overconfidence somehow to other people, but it’s hard to do that when you are made of strawberries, secrets, comedy, feathers, and jello. (THERE’S MY COMMA!!!)
Despite not wanting to turn reviews into a blog entry or put too much personality ridiculousness all over them—I mightily failed. They got a big vat of Ranger Den all over them and not a lot of well worded sense. At least one person requested more. They will live to regret this I am ka-certain.
I will probably talk about improv in successive reviews, after brave-ing myself up with blog entries such as these. I may do videos, you don’t know!
I might talk about music a little more deeply in next reviews, maybe even theory which I judiciously avoid doing because it feels like Hideous School Talk. But demons do not own music theory, so why not overcome trigger-y memories concerning those wilted salad days and share the hoarded dragon wealth.
The older I get, the more meander-y it gets. Oh whale (Why am I obsessed with the ocean?).
I think I miss songwriting but I have a block that is way more than three apples high. I know full well how to put on my big girl songwriting panties and deal with it, but overwhelm tends to hit me harder these days.
This is too long. Perhaps that makes it unlucky. Hahaha. We totally make our own luck. PHBTBHBHBHT, thirteen!
If you do not know what the hell I am talking about because you are a reader of this blog–follow this link. Also go listen to THESE songs which I ranked (I at least managed THAT)
It sounds like I’m beating up on myself, but I’m actually sort of okay about it all. I came up in various environments where apologies were less about being apologetic and more about being an announcement that you were a person taking up space in a more than slightly orthodox way. I am still unpacking that.
1. I’m going to do a blog with 5 things and that’s it.
2. That didn’t count and this doesn’t either.
3. Haha. I’m so funny. Did you know that there is an improv game called five things? Even if you did, I’ll tell you about it anyway (even though an alarm just went off on my Wrist Cylon–who is the boss of me–and it’s telling me I need to go take my morning pills even though it is after noon!)
I digress.
The five things game is when you have one or more improv partners and you say to one another “five things! five things! FIIIIIVE THINGS!” or some other improv chant or none at all maybe. And one of the people goes (for example) “five places where you store your winter wigs!” and they point at one of the others!
The other person has to think of something on the spot so they say (for example) “ANTARCTICA!” and the crowd goes “FIVE!” or “ONE!” (I think we count up so we say “one”) and then so on: “The creepy basement!” (“TWO!”) “your mom’s hope chest” (“THREE!”) “in the BUTTER DISH!” (“FOUR!”) “in a wormhole connecting SPACE but not TIME!!” and then the others go “FIVE! FIVE THINGS!!” and then the person who named the things goes and points to a new person. Or the next in the circle or whoever and that took too long to explain and perhaps maybe I should have done a mini list or whatever. FIVE THINGS!
4. I use a lot of exclamation points when I talk about improv (!!!!!). This is because I really miss doing it live and performing it and ever since last March I’ve felt weird and off my game. Instead of just being behind on projects, now I am WAY behind on projects and WOEFULLY behind on my own and this is because of mood lameness and brain fog. Not exciting (!!)…:
5. Tonight, I stream again. This is a weekly thing. I need to get excited about this and I am on many levels except for a mild to moderate crippling fear of FAIL. Crippling fear of fail is BAD and Anathemic to improv. ‘Anathemic’ is apparently not a word but should be. It should be “anathema” but that just sounds like the scientific name of an anxiety spider. Yes, I have always known what the word means but words are weird and I wish I could telepaport.
6. My timer went off again also indicating that I make writings that are too wordsy which I could have told every hypothetical reader long, longly ago. Also I need more coffee but this is not relevant to you, to me, or to my dead basil plant which mocks me from the sad garden.
6. I am going to engage in Self Care before I stream because I am making healthy choices. We should all make healthy choices. I suppose.
7. We all have the right to turn off our phones and the internet if we want to, and that is just the way it is. I think don’t ever feel badly about that because you are the one who has to live inside your own skull.
I think this blog is linked to my Twitter. So if you are here because you clicked on a link and you do not want to be, that is what happened. I should be sorry but am trying not to be this sorry thing as much because you should only be that when it needs doing.
Someone is making coffee at my house. So I’ll keep this short.
I have decided to write this because I am going through a thing where I am taking medication that is affecting me cognitively. This has happened before, but I’m more aware of it now. I want to keep track of it. I didn’t write about it before because I thought maybe this is not funny or entertaining to people. I didn’t want to be depressing or whatever.
I’m making videos about this too, and working on other projects (like I said yesterday), but they take time and brains to edit.
I feel very slow (slowly?) ugh.
I have flannel sheets with penguins on them ice skating and roasting marshmallows. The spouse picked them out.
I think this place is not long for this world and I’m going to move it to my new place soon but I’ve been dragging about it. It’s hard to change after a decade of Behavior.
my breath could improve. but don’t we all miss hearing about my adventures with dental floss though? Maybe my dry wit bits still work. It’s hard to say. I feel like I live underwater with the strange apathetic eels. Life is very weird.
So I’m thinking ‘2020 is not really worth a blog post from me,’ and that’s probably true but I have these thoughts and they’re blog thoughts. Not tweet thoughts and definitely not Facebook post or Instagram and certainly not tik tok or whatever. I don’t know. I just wanted to write a bit. I’m just in a weird angry headspace of surly to be around. I don’t want it to start infecting people that I deal with artistically, so I suppose I have to kill it where it stands while I can.
I’m doing this thing where I’m streaming musical improv with this guy in my improv community. I’m stressed while I’m doing this because I’m out of practice at this and it’s not at all like riding a bike. Especially for someone like me with a few subtle (but still needful-of-management) extenuating brain circumstances. I don’t advertise the things that make musical life more difficult for me—but if I don’t do extra things and make allowances then life indeed does get more difficult.
There’s a hard Suck Factor to it. In this case, I’m out of practice because I’m used to there being an audience for the improv. Some back and forth. Chemistry. Repartee. I can see faces, I can make adjustments. I remember almost a decade ago I could understand the abstract reactions of people who had online opinions about my musicianship and I could process this, I had to learn to let those opinions go. It took me a long time to come to terms with not being able to game them away. But I rejected that way of being and live theater has been my mode of being and doing. This new shift into ‘what are they thinking on twitch if I stream?’ or ‘how many followers do I have watching?’ or ‘if I stream this performance where I make stuff up on the spot on Facebook will it be ruinous?’ It’s hard to have bravery and hard to not think of yourself so preciously that you talk yourself out of going out there. You have to have nothing to lose.
I wrote a song during this pandemic called ‘This Is Fine’ but it in fact was not at all fine.
It doesn’t matter if you’re the best. There is no question ‘should you be doing this?’ You obviously can do it so you do it until it works. So I’m trying to kill all this pride and these questions and hangups so I can work again. That’s what worked before and it’s the only way it’ll work again. When given an offer you enthusiastically agree and double down on it and do your best even if the best you do isn’t good enough. Repeat until it’s better. So I’ll keep streaming every week until the suck stops for as long as I’m welcome to. As others have done before. That’s what happens when you stop practicing certain things. Don’t even want to talk about the state of my drumming, my guitar playing…
And I’m behind on more than a couple projects. And I owe people work I said I’d do. And I’m having some health problems that are awkward to talk about and no one wants to get into that stuff anyway. Because there is really only one health problem on the world’s plate and that’s The Health Problem. I mentioned this in the stream—that I feel curmudgeonly and whiney but there is nothing really to whine about. If you are a person with privilege then you feel bad feeling bad even if you feel bad. It’s a hole of Suck, you see. This accomplishes nothing for anyone. And I took the pandemic personally because I felt I was doing so well—personally. I was happy, getting along just fine and looking forward to so much. I had slight burnout and a small amount of theater fatigue and I needed some redirection but I had/have zilch to complain over. But when it all hit, of course I thought “of course this is happening to me..now!” not realizing this disrespect his entails when I have my life and—if not stellar health, then at least functionality and a shot at improvement within my own control.
This is a depressing blog about nothing and I know this. I wanted the first write back to be funny and lighthearted but there’s nothing lighthearted about this stupid year except that we might not have a planet exploding into flames. Wow. It’s weird because I’m writing this and there are literal sirens screeching down the street blocks from my house. This happens a lot all over the city. Probably in every city in the whole frickkin world though. I just notice it all the time now and really notice every time I improvise that it’s almost impossible to fit lines into meter and rhyme. I need to try harder to be a better ray of sunshine, but I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing. Flarg and all that.
DH
ps. Also, whenever I make up songs and get stuck, I don’t know why I keep doing bad improv about this tall basketball player I liked from the seventh grade. I think I lose my way somehow in an emotional sinkhole of awkwardness. I hope this guy never hears about it because I always say his whole name when I mention him. Ugh. What a mess.
I decided to link my blog to my Twitter again so just LOOK OUT! You finally will get to find things out about me! My apologies if this saddens your eyeballs.
Actually, I’ve been working on a kind of lampoony, passing-the-buck, disclaimer song. It’s pretty droll. I like that word, ‘droll.’ Why does it feel like Christmas?
Maybe Santa Claus is droll? Or his elves? Maybe I should move on.
Except aaaaaaaaaack. I actually have already written a poem that is exactly the instructions for the next song title and challenge. Weird. I don’t think it would have made it through, not for a second–it’s way way too oblique. But it satisfies it for me so I will maybe set it to music if I am booted out of here. It’d be my first Nur Ein shadow, at any rate.
My gorgeous handwriting, hello kitty notes, and favorite tiny game on a mug. I work real hard, kids. Go team go.
I am not going to get too into doing more song contests because I have to set up in other ways. Already behind on other projects and am panicking-but need to find a deadline-centered work ethic which feels different from “Be here at this place now at this time” which is calendar-like and something I understand. I understand gigs better than projects.
Grow up, self.
I am writing comedy right now and I am noticing the key to doing this is thinking of it like music, with rests and breathing and dynamics.
I am way behind because I have actually been writing music. But this is actually because I was doing standup so one thing being good for the other is a success story.
I am blogging again too so this is also a success.
I decided to stop blogging and go back to writing comedy. Because of work ethics and all. Later, I will be giving dating advice to friends–which I am in no way qualified to do for so very, very many reasons.
This was when we parodied Cats at the Long center for Over the Lege.
My brain is fried. I feel like lava does when it has broken up with someone. You want to explain but you really can’t go back now, can you?
I have to finish writing a stand up comedy routine, of all things. I do not feel very funny today, or even silly. I open my mouth and this strange whiny noise comes out.
I have not worn makeup in many a moon so I found a mascara-laden portrait of myself which I took in a dressing room.
I like when I practice piano but I will go on and on with that and it’s not really constructive the way I do it, like I’m trying to board an enemy ship.
I’m concerned about my hands because they go numb a lot and I don’t know why. I’m trying not to over-do the elderly schtick.
I do miss working the way I used to and I miss the theater.
I miss doing musical improv. I didn’t think it would happen. Maybe I will do some soon. You can do that over the internet and you can even do it with other people. I just haven’t been wild about trying with anyone in particular–and I know that this is really on me.
I’ve been making random font photos in instagram but I think I’m just doing it to be a jerk.
I have a person who is annoying and I have complained about this person before. Apparently they are on facebook again, taking credit where credit is don’t. This should be like that Far Side cartoon. Like acid off a duck’s back?
I have been way too caught up in old mentalities. There are so many of them to choose from. They make me dusty and unfunny. I do not think to speak in funny accents and it wouldn’t occur to me to put on a jaunty hat. I wrote about important things before but I also did so while I was reading far too many news articles. I think coming across as stodgy for the sake of stodge is not very important. No one wants to wade through a lake of word brick. I think I have strong opinions about this.
I sound like an old movie that did not make the list of better podcast options.
I have a new fear of the old vampires. Not the sexy kind either.
If I’m out of the contest that’s all fine. I need to get used to the fact that the thing about a list of things to do is that it has items on it and that one ought to do them.
I’ll just fix my song in a leisurely way and do things that are the most important as the priority. Move toward what will get me paid first. Song contests feel good and you meet deadlines but you are not getting money to do this. Of course, if I did not do all the things that did not give me money, I would die in obscurity and no work would be done at all ever.
have actually been putting things up on the internet more than I used to so there is a small line of credit going into my self-satisfaction pig bank.
I have most assuredly been drinking too much. I am most definitely too old to be doing so. I’ve never even been that much of a drinker. But beer tastes better when you ought to stay home. Hey! That’s on an unlucky number! :O
Gardening is more difficult for some people than for others.
Don’t even ask about dental floss. It’s insane to speak of these matters.
I think this blog right now is meaningless. But I don’t care. I need to start just doing things for myself or I am going to disappear.
Philosophy with Fries 