Guys I gotta tell you... I am feeling mentally dry. Dry as a bone licked by the tongues of a thousand salty camels in the Sahara. (?) I don't think I have been in this place before. The strangest part about it is that I don't quite "feeeeel" dry. As a matter of fact, my mind is pretty much working overtime. I can't quite sleep at night. I sleep for about three hours and I wake up and can't go back to sleep. Usually these types of scenarios are accompanied by huge quantities of music and creative energy. Instead they are filled with staring at blank staff paper and plunking on the piano or guitar with a dead stare on my face. It is like I feel stale but vibrant, almost like that syndrome where you wake up but you can't move.
Part of this could be because Amber and I are at a big transitional phase in our lives. We don't work for the Church any longer which I must admit, is incredibly freeing, but it still "feeeeeels" like we kinda do. Sorta like when I went to college I used to sit up on the edge of my bed when I thought I heard my dad come down the hall. It took me a while to taste the freedom of sleeping in to its full savory splendor.
I did orchestrate a big chunk of the Kyrie from the rock/folk mass I am writing and that was fun but other than that, I am feeling like a big smelly trash bag. Its there, it has lots of presence but it pretty much needs to be... Now see, I can't even come up with an effective analogy that delivers the slightest scintillia of a resemblance to anything pertinent to dilemma I have found myself in. And yes, I love ending sentences with prepositions underneath.
I think it also has to do with my birthday approaching. I looked in the rear-view mirror today driving back from teaching class at Rice and saw two great big grey hairs in my beard. There they were, bigger than life, gleaming in the light like two neon flares, shot in the night sky of fate to remind me that I have not yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up. It is not that I am lazy, I work. All the time. It is that I just want to do so many different things. Like whining. I love to whine. Just like I am doing now. One should get paid for pity parties. So here I am. About to be... Thirty-mefissledissle..mumble *cough* on Halloween and I am already in a mid-life crisis.
Maybe I'll get some sleep tonight for once. That might help.