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What I need is creativity. I need to swim in it. To wallow in it. To boat across its surface and dive under its waves.

March 16, 2015 1 comment

I’m sitting home alone in a quiet house on a Monday morning. It’s one of those “use or or lose it” vacation days that for whatever reason I still had on the books. So work is postponed this day. All Mondays should be so serene.

Winter seems to finally be breaking. I’ve spent the last quarter year largely trying to keep warm…wrapped in an old comforter in front of a fireplace….most of the time with a college basketball game to keep me company. Or the latest Netflix binge droning (BBC crime dramas mostly….the Brits are better at cliches than we are). What social life I’ve had has revolved around my daughters. Taking them here or there. And then picking them up later here or there. They are teens now, and starting to make their own way. I’m their taxi. I’m their catcher in the rye.

So, wake up, then that pesky 8+ hour thing that allows bills to be paid, then home. A few hours of depressed funkiness, then to bed. A very drone-like existence, actually. If this is normal for the approaching 50 crowd, it’s no wonder that number carries such a stigma.

It pretty much blows to be honest.

So, what can a poor boy do?

photo (3)I try to lose myself. Booze and pills are too obvious. They require no imagination at all. If I wanted to be surrounded by a lack of imagination I could spend more time at my job. I’m too fucking old to trust my problems to Dick Yuengling or Walter White. And besides…..I’ve known druggies…and none of them were as interesting as Jesse Pinkman. So, yea, there’s that.

What I need is creativity. I need to swim in it. To wallow in it. To boat across its surface and dive under its waves.

I need words. I need music. Dialogue. Laughter. Tears. Word hunger. Anti-boredom. I need a blank canvas….and then to see the paint being flung at it. And to slowly recognize what is being drawn.

I need guitars. Pianos. Drums. Legal Pads. Pens and pencils (and ok, word processors if that’s your thing….I mean….this is a blog so…)

I want to surround myself with people who feel the same way. If I don’t, then when I talk people look at me funny. Which is why whenever I talk at my job everybody looks at me funny. So I try not to talk.

My mind doesn’t do the normal things. When people ask me what kind of car I drive I say “a red one”. When pressed on the make and model I stammer like a terrified donkey. Twice last week I attempted to get into the wrong vehicle when leaving work. It was red. It was in the vicinity…..good enough for me.

Basic practicality eludes me. Fixing broken stuff for instance. Or getting from point A to point B without ending up in the wrong time zone. I have no idea what things cost. What my cable bill or cell phone bill is. I have heat in my house. It’s the type of heat that makes the house warm. Surely that’s the best kind? I still avoid self-service kiosks. When to use “debit/credit”. I never remember my PIN. If I write it down I’ll lose it, so I stopped writing it down.

I’ve been dressing the same way (jeans…flannel shirts….work boots….all seasons) since the 7th grade. I’m bewildered by fashion trends. I’m scared of change but will forever bitch about a lack of forward progress.

I adore solitude, aside from the loneliness.

But I got this guitar.

My kryptonite. My suit of armor. My sniper rifle.

And I learned how to make it talk.

And so when I am no longer capable of getting my point across in a one on one conversation, I pick up the guitar, and I write a song.

I’m thinking that’s the best explanation I can give as to what I do.

How many of us, if asked to leave something behind, chooses something from within the 9 to 5 window?

Not too damn many. Because for most of us, big picture, it matters not a fiddler’s fart.

It’s what we do to fight that lethargy that matters. The world doesn’t need another cubicle dweller shuffling papers with computer code. But another cool 3 minute rock and roll song?

Shit yea. That’s the business.

There’s a reason they call it “working”.

And there’s a reason they call it “playing”.

And I know I ain’t lazy ’cause I never worked so hard in my life.

You just need to get me on the right shift.

Argue with math, and you will lose.

I’ve got lots of new songs……pieces I’ve crafted this winter……guitar figures captured on my Iphone, or verses written on the back of store receipts. I’ve got melodies without words and words without melodies. I hope to introduce them and see if they get along.

I want things to change. But I don’t expect them to. So says the man who gets into the wrong cars.

Which reminds me.

There’s a new song I have…and it’s called “Got To Be the Change”

Someone falls they’re left there
Like stairs to be climbed
Seems we’re not much closer
To leaving this behind
Got to be the change
Got to be the change
Got to be the change you want…..in this world

Make it talk son.

Quit wasting time.

In a bit..

–tf

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