Rain

Just after noon, dark sky. Here comes the rain. The whole house is filled with the scent. Thunder and lightening. Hopefully, it won’t strike my house with its new roof.

I’ve come in from the studio after working all morning, improvising on the piano, trying to find a new song. The one from the last couple of weeks doesn’t seem to be coming to anything. I couldn’t stand it suddenly, so tried to just play and sing and record everything, hoping some new bit would reveal itself. I’ve only listened back to about half of what I’ve done. Will head out shortly with a cup of tea to hear the rest. After the rain lets up.

Feeling distracted by the usual. I hate that I do this but can’t seem to control it. I feel as if I can be in or out, but when I’m in, everything else is harder. I would take a pill to stop myself from wanting it if I could. Yes, I’m being deliberately obscure, so why write about it at all? The answer is I can’t write anything if I don’t write first about what’s going on. My head is sick with this stuff. I’m completely obsessed. It’s exactly the same as it always gets. I hold on for as long as I can until I lose it, freeing myself to return to life, then missing it every waking moment. Hell.

I’ve been thinking about that movie with Jim Carey and Kate Winslet. What is it called? A long title. I’d like to see it again. Something Something Spotless Mind. That’s what I need. The memory eraser. I want to be free of my own thoughts. I want to not do this. Maybe I should have myself hypnotized.

It’s madness, but it passes. If I can just let it pass without doing anything. If I can wait it out until yoga tonight, then talking to Meryl after. But the time feels so wasted. And I feel terribly guilty about my inability to do anything other then spin and spin. Terrible anguish.

Okay, back to work. Back to the studio, back to the song fragments waiting to be uncovered and built upon. Just another day. Not the last chance to get it right. Although you never know. Hector Zazou died the other day. I got an email. Working with him in Paris feels like a long time ago. Now he’s gone.

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