I should be writing music. There's a perfectly good set of intervals in my head and they're starting to swim in patterns I can see - or at least what I call "see". It sounds a visual thing, I know, but if it could be easily put into words I'd be a novelist or some other kind of wordsmith, rather than a composer, an explainer.
Just got in from a walk to the local smoke shop - which also serves as a very overpriced grocery store, full of items obtainable much more cheaply elsewhere. Milk and cookies (well, Fig Newtons) for more than eight dollars.
The moon is clear and bright, high above, almost directly overhead. Its glow is aggressive and full, a rich vanilla disk floating in a dark velvet cloak, the lining pocked with stars.
I wish I could go back out - I probably will when I 'm done with this.
The difference between where I was one year ago: the start of my Orchard experience - and two years ago: my first realization that LField wasn't the heaven I thought it was - and three years ago: when the motor of my fear and loathing first began to spin - all of those differences define the distance I have moved, the places I have seen and left behind.
Four years ago? Arguing with superintendents and band parents.
Five years ago? Opening a new school and not even aware that I could do and feel so much more than I was.
The moon has always been there. It circles the Earth, it circles the Sun, the aspect of its face grows and wanes and grows again. It changes, it is the same.
I am the same way. I change by becoming more what I have always been, deep down inside.
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