I Miss Music

I miss music.

I miss music in a way I cannot explain to people who do not appreciate it, to people who do not actually play an instrument.  I miss sitting down on the porch with my guitar or bass, legs curled under me, cigarette hanging from my mouth, drink at my side.  Not that I miss smoking.. But I miss music.  I miss letting all my frustrations, anger, sadness, pain, misery, and any other negative emotion go while I strummed, sang.. or even when I played a piano.  I miss letting the feeling of the vibration of the strings enhance my happiness and joy.  I miss feeling goosebumps raise on my arms as I play something that resonates my soul.

I miss music.

I miss feeling the keys depress under my fingers.  I miss the feel of the strings as they vibrate and pop.  I miss feeling my heart beating faster and faster, as I get closer to the breakdowns.

I fucking miss music.

I even miss my fingers hurting after I’ve played too long. I miss looking up to realize a few hours have passed, stretching slowly to pop my back, and rolling my head around to loosen my neck.  I miss rubbing the cramps out of arthritis-laden hands and smiling, because the pain was worth the time I got to play.  I miss holding my bass.  I miss taking a sip of whatever I was drinking after I don’t know how much time, letting it cool my parched throat, because I forgot where I was for a long while, while I played.  I miss closing my eyes and lowering my head as I played the sounds over and over in my head, testing different notes to see what I liked best, before beginning to play again.  I miss the countless hours I “lost” while playing.

I miss music!

I miss seeing my daughter sit next to me, sometimes for hours, mesmerized by whatever I played.  I miss hearing her hum along as she got the rhythm and beat, I miss hearing her make up songs to whatever I played.  I miss seeding her eyes light up as I pulled out one of my guitars and began tuning it.  I miss her incessant questions about why I did this or that, and how.  I miss seeing her eyes light up as I started to play.

I miss music.

I miss the absolute release.  I miss how exhausted I would be after playing out my emotions.  I miss dragging myself to bed at whatever hour because I gave music all my hurt and I had nothing left.  I miss walking back inside with a flounce because I let go of all the hurt and added back to my joy.

I miss playing.

I miss my bass.

I miss being able to play for hours instead of a few minutes before I’m crying form pain, because of a severely damaged wrist.

I miss the release.

I fucking miss music.  And listening is never the same.

Love is a Many-Splintered Thing, Part 2

My last blog entry was about love.  Well, I would like to follow up that entry with an addition.

A few days ago, a Facebook friend posted this screenshot:

A wonderful example of not letting the world change who you are.

A wonderful example of not letting the world change who you are.

This screenshot made me tear up a little, because it is a wonderful example of love in its simplest most pure form.  Allow me to explain why, in light of my previous post.

We are flawed, each of us.  We are products of our environments, the people around us, how we are raised, how we are treated, the information we learn, the horrors and joys we witness throughout our lives.  But mostly, we are a product of our own choices.  We CHOOSE to change who we are based on the factors listed above, and more.  Who hurt us and how, who we hurt and how, daily nuisances and successes, et cetera.  Simply, we are the end result of what we choose to allow to affect us, and how we choose to let it affect us.

(Read more below.  It is worth your time, promise..)

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Anxiety Attacks and drowning in the ocean…

It’s funny how, being classified as bipolar, when I get stressed enough, I stim like someone with autism, asbergers, Tourette’s, etc. And yes, I’m spelling shit all sorts of wrong, and, at the moment, I could give two fucks or a shit less about that or grammatical errors. I have been having fairly intense stims somewhere around an hour. For those of you who suffer from any psychological prizes (hey, let’s call it something fun, instead of a disorder!!), you know how utterly motherfucking god damb exhausting they can be. Just…life-draining. And when I stim, I tic like a motherfucker. Scratching, rubbing my fingers, hitting myself, rocking back and forth,openingand closin gmy mouth,s ieltn screams, rapid blinking, rapid eye movement, tapping, sometimes sounds.. I get a nice lovely run of the stim spectrum. LUCKY ME. Thankfully, it’s only when I am incredibly super HOLY FUCKSHIT stressed the motherfuc out. And I have been..

This time of year is always pretty fucking tough on me. Starting at the beginngin of July through about the first week of August. I adopted a son out the day he was born, August 4th, 2004. And starting about a month before, I just………sink. I sink beneathe the waves of.. everything. Sounds, tastes, touches, feels. thoughts, breaths, leaves, colours, life itself. I have to keep busy. God damn, do I have to keep busy. I will cut a fuckin gentire yard with a god damn pair of scissors if that is absolutely all I have I can do to keep busy. Today, I rearranged my entire livibng room. That may not seem like much, but I had to vacuum and spray for spiders, too, because I have apparently gained an infestation of cute cuddly wolf spiders. Absolutely adorable, not lethal to most folks, but their bites suck big bulbous elephant balls. And I don’t like things randomly crawling on my face for me to squash. Yes, this has happened. And these motherfuckers are fast as hell. Look them up. Shoo, spider, you belong outside. Assholes. Anyw ay. This involved moving one 32″? television that is somewhere around 75-100 pounds off a 2′ high stand across the room.. rearranging 2 oversized loveseats and an oversized couch, moving two old-school studio speakers (the 4′ tall heavy as fuck type), the tv stand and putting a 42″? 75″ television back on the fucking stand. Alone. While dodging fucking spiders and keeping the kid busy. Whereupon I also found a tote I forgot about, seeing how it was cleverly disguised as a side table (don’t ask) and I found old birthday cards. And pictures.

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On this, my deceased father’s birthday, an update of importance, if only to me.

I have been conspicuously silent the past few months, and for good reason. Things in my life have, at points, come to a screeching halt, and at other times they have sped so far out of control, I wanted to yell LETMEOFFLETMEOFFLETMEOFF. This has definitely been a year of upheavals and trials, for sure.. though it has also been a year for good revelations, smiles, laughter, love, dancing, blah blah all that sweet shit.

Where to start? not the beginning this time, Dear Reader. Not this time.

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The captain of your ship of dreams..

Y’know what I’m tired of hearing, seeing people post, reading, whatever, about relationships?
“It’ll work out some day. It HAS to, right?”
Well, I’ve got your answer, darlings.
No.
NO, it does not have to work out some day. This isn’t Disney, you’re not a god damn princess, and the bottom line is NO, it will not work out for everyone.

Let me break it down for you, okay?

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Shorts….

All the positive thoughts and good intentions in the world do not make a bed warmer at the end of the day, when darkness falls and all the fears brushed aside during the day rear their ugly heads once again, screaming to be heard.

The point being..don’t ever assume what someone else is going through.  Remind them of all the good they still have, but don’t shove it down their throats.

One could say I went through and lost too much too young.  One would be correct.  But this smile is still real.

Manifesto with a Death Warrant

As the fifth anniversary of my father’s death quickly approaches (it is less than a month away), many things from the past 5.5 years are popping in to my head with nearly alarming regularity. Not all of them are bad, but they have given me pause for several reasons.. Be they times of great loss or great gain.

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