I’ve sprinted upstairs. I feel decadent, dirty … ashamed. I feel like a liar, and a cheat.
I’m having an affair with an online songwriting competition. Again.
I actually had stuff all planned out. I wasn’t even going to WORK on this until later tonight. I was even going to work on my List of Things To Do. THAT used to be an addiction. Making lists. I would be oozing all over THAT.
Maybe the trouble is that I have an addictive personality. Whatever I am into, I am stuck like jam to and it is impossible to pry me off. If I am interested in you, for the week, look out. You’ll be completely overpowered. You won’t know what hit you. You’ll be my new fad. Until I am distracted by a new Bright Shiny Object.
Am I really that person?
The song has mutated into something dark and angry; developed an unlikely antagonist. The lyrics getting too long – the secret lair developing caverns. It will all have to be trimmed. The clutter is starting to look like the piles of crap in the bedrooom, the laundry. The stuff that needs doing while I mix and move lyrics around making my next move – working my sixteen hour days … lies UNDONE. Orchestrating stuff that doesn’t get relased because it isn’t perfect yet. Honing piano parts. Making setlists that look like perfectly clear martinis with olives floating in the triangular glass.
I can’t even explain what I’m trying to say here. I haven’t blogged in a while. I get really into my skull. I have felt kind of alone, a bit lately, with the writing.
I am too shitty a housewife to also become a shitty songwriter. Me with my issues and all.
I feel manipulative. This blog is on Twitter. I feel like I’m covering my ass, because I have people who are pulling for me. But who’s pulling for the wife, and who’s pulling for the musician? And then there’s the thing …
Do I have time to be putting out silly videos that are … well, silly?
I’ve been looking at the way that other people do their videos, and it’s time to up my game. The only problem is that I can’t tell if I’ve developed some kind of a low-fi style that I need to get better at, or what. I don’t know. If that’s the case then I really need to figure it out.
I’ve got some stuff cooking, regarding that. Stuff involving other people.
But that stuff really involves me ALSO becoming a much better Austinite, and a better housewife, and a better friend, and a better live musician. All of which …
I suck at. Becuase I would much rather have an affair with competition after competition, waiting for my husband to leave so I can stop folding underwear and sprint upstairs to butcher my third draft of lyrics and strum the same four chords and work on the eighth version of a piano.
This is Not Healthy.
My name is Denise, and I’m ………
Ack. I think I am just feeling really angsty, and I am maybe trying to work myself into a good organizational place. Maybe trying to use my audience (you know…. the VAST SEA of you ALL … … to motivate myself into HappyFunDenLand, which is a place that I have Just Made Up and which makes me use Inappropriate Capitals in my Sentences like a Freak.
Oh, isn’t it Joyous! #thisisn’tworking.
I do actually feel a little better. I shouldn’t complain about my husband. He is long suffering, and brings donuts.
Twenty Shiny DXets to the first person who ever tells me that sometimes, I have to suffer too, and that sometimes … OCCASIONALLY, it is SOMEWHAT feasible that even though yes, he is EXCELLENT and AMAZING and that SURE, his RIDICULOUS SIDEBURNS are filling out, I can sometimes suffer too, and Mike can be Tough to Take … and that I am not the only Problem Child in this Relationship.
I do not need saving today, and I do not even need to be a hero to save myself.
… we’ll be fine.