I woke to the sound and the rhythm of rain
dancing down on the window pane.
Comatose. Eyes half closed.
Arms wrapped up with the wounds all sewn.
-Hot Water Music “Remedy”
Is this it? Did I peel off the cast to find a whole arm underneath? Is everything better? Am I better?
I spent the whole weekend eating homemade chocolate chip cookies and watching nature shows and shows about jobs that no one will do except a TV host and poor people. I love these shows, because they remind me of my poor-people jobs and because I learn something.
I think it was during the nature show where some males were fighting over breeding rights. When one lost, they never got the chance to breed. Ever. It was somehow comforting to feel like one of those cast off, beta males. Like, “Oh, I guess that’s the natural order of things.” Of course, this won’t stop me from continuing to believe that winning this war is possible, but it’s still comforting to come in second best. Even if my future isn’t what it used to be.
It feels a little bit awesome, actually. So I made eggplant parmesan and answered school emails for four hours and went to the store and smiled at the cute girl and chatted with the no-chin, tattooed, super short, and strangely cute cashier girl about the hole in my bag of granola for upwards of a minute, blasting with charm. Not in that order, of course. It feels like it doesn’t matter if I screw up anything else, because I’m destined to fail anyways and success will be a pleasant surprise. Succeed with low expectations! Now, if I can just keep looking forward and not go through with this crazy sad hail mary last ditch self-destruct button idea I have, I’ll actually be back to normal. Better than normal. Only two years lost. Or is it six and a half?
I played piano over the weekend. I’m the only one that uses that thing anymore. I don’t have the heart to tell my parents that it needs a little tuning again. I didn’t even think about how terrible I am at piano. I just said thanks when my mom told me my improv song was beautiful. Maybe it was. Here’s a different one I recorded. The background noise is the painters working. This is one-take improv, so some of it sucks. I might use the theme if I ever get these songs organized.
I think I’ll go spend $20 for the right to send emails to women my age that look good in small pictures and have excellent grammar. Or I’ll go to sleep.