It’s perpetually night in my little nest. A guitar is never more than an arms length away, and two cats are always willing to curl up against my body under the sheets (though never together); some days it feels like these are the only things I need in the world. Perhaps I’m little too comfortable here, where I can watch the snow fall out the window, and seldom have to venture out of my comfort zone.
I’m constantly starting over. Throwing away a page so I can have a blank canvas. Losing another friend to adulthood, then finding new ones in the most unexpected places. Riding the oscillations of a sine wave.
The only thing that’s constant is how much Byron is growing, his paws and tail having surpassed Dolly’s in girth many months ago, and I can’t wait to see how big he’s going to get once he’s fully into adulthood. I relate to my friends only when one of the cats is afflicted with acne or herpes or an upper respiratory infection, and I have to play mother to a kitty who can’t fight the sickness by themselves. Dolly has been especially sensitive lately, and needs a lot more attention and affection, still jealous of the new kitten in the house.
Lisa keeps me sane nowadays, a role she’s partially taken over from John ever since he became a dad. She’s the voice of female reason in my life, the only excuse I use to watch great movies now, and the one who talks me down from drunken e-mails to ex-girlfriends. But sometimes I need more than half a Lisa and half a John, cause not everything can be solved by a stolen conversation or burying your face in a cat’s belly.
I’m learning that life goes on, whether you’re ready or not. You can only control so much. This realization is the reason I don’t worry about the future anymore, even when it feels like I should be worried.
I’ve also discovered that my writer’s block hasn’t been due to a lack of things to talk about, but the fact that nothing I write is satisfying anymore. I’ve lost my reason. The only thing I’ve fallen in love with lately has been my set of extra-light chrome flatwound strings, cause they have such a crisp sound off the nail, but maintain a warm, austere overtone.
I used to go to bed and dream, but nowadays, my mind is empty. I don’t know what to make of it all anymore. Can’t figure out if I’m standing on a crest or trough.