The kind of month where all that gets me out of bed is excitement for the work I’m going to do.
The kind of month where my exercise routine gets shorter instead of longer.
The kind of month where the phrase “I wish I was writing more music” becomes moot, because music is what I breathe.
The kind of month where I visit my doctor twice because I’m so frigging tired. The second time I bring printouts from the Thyroid Association of Canada website to challenge her interpretations of my blood test results and am granted (after much hemming and hawing and a lecture on seasonal affective disorder) an increase in thyroid meds.
The kind of month where I sit at my keyboard every day and realize that soon I’ll have to buy more stave paper.
The kind of month where I take my pills diligently because without them I feel like a Victorian neurasthenic.
The kind of month where I am at the same café enough times to begin to recognize the regulars and their chosen seats but each time I go I am meeting with a different person about a different project.
The kind of month where caffeine is actually a necessary drug, not just a pleasant buzz in the morning.
The kind of month where I reacquaint myself with my MIDI setup after years of only recording vocal sounds.
The kind of month where I finally begin to feel like the work I love to do is possible again.
My Locker Room Epiphany
How Finding Nemo Gave Me Hope.
The House that Built Me.
A Curse for This Town; What a Beautiful Town
Words to Places; Scents to Memories
Move Around - Around - Around - Around
Why I hate going to public pools and the beach.
Spring and Such