tiredIt's not always about the words. Sometimes it's just about settling in and putting my thoughts, my life somewhere outside my head. For the past couple of days, I keep thinking there's something on my mind that I want to write about, but when I stop to write, it doesn't come out.
Heard USE's "Vamos a la Playa" from the 12" on KEXP yesterday afternoon. I'm sure it's played before, but this was the first time I'd heard it. Made me very happy—they've been rock stars all along.
Did a little thinking in the walk here, though I was distracted by the half-conversation of a woman walking parallel to me across the street as she spoke loudly into the mobile phone attached to her ear (Tangent: will the possibility of quiet for the rest of us be ever marred by the incessant noise of those who cannot bear a moment alone, quiet, and still? For so many these phones are umbilical cords, feeding them a diet of constant chatter and keeping them from ever learning to enjoy the solid food of a deeper reality. Their brains must be mushy and soft. There are so many worse things than being alone—living in a desperate scramble not to be must mean a state of constant underlying fear.). Realized that while I can honestly declare that my life is good, it has been some time since I was abidingly happy. I have trouble imagining it. There are moments of happiness, many of them, but my default mood is weary, distant, and a bit sad.
It's about God, ultimately. Always is. That, and maybe I need to listen to some Al Jarreau.
