It may not be an historical event for anyone but me, but we all have times like these, don’t we? There are things that mean the world to just “me and me alone.” Today I had one of those events. And whether anyone else cares or not, I am recording it here for my own sake.
Today, I made eye-contact with this man:
The one on the right
I’m one drop closer to the end of my bucket list.
There are mornings when I float in a sea of imagination, of blessed inspiration, where the shadows are in 3D and I even take a picture of them in hopes that the lens will pick up on that which my feeble, caffeine-deprived brain sees as magical.
There are nights–normally attached to those same mornings–when music presents itself in the muddle of my sleep-deprived brain as truly the most penetrating thing on the planet. Those are the nights when the guitar solo at the end of Comfortably Numb can move me to tears.
And my muse can move me to sing.
Do you ever have one of those days?
I’m here. I’m always here. But aren’t we all? Where else would we be but here?
Here, for me, is usually my living room couch with my laptop on my lap. At least when I’m at rest. And by ‘at rest’ I mean working, because working on my novels, whether writing or editing is right up there with relaxing with a good book. I may call it working but to me it’s nothing like work.
Back to the ‘here.’ There is a marked difference between being here and sitting next to Alex than there is being here when he’s at his dad’s. I’m afraid, most of the time, to allow myself to concentrate on my work. There’s nothing worse than being wrenched out of it by someone demanding something of me. It’s like laying down for a nap when you know the phone will probably ring. What’s the use?
Not only that, but the difference in noise is also a factor. When I’m alone I can put my music on–when I’m writing or editing it’s always the Japanese band, Buck-Tick–but when Alex is here I’m usually listening to him sing. And by singing I mean a long, drawn out single note, because he’s Deaf and doesn’t understand that singing means more than one sound. The good news is, he can watch TV and play video games with the sound off and he doesn’t know the difference. At least I don’t have to listen to Dora the Explorer all day long.
So here I sit, now trying to decide if I should take the plunge or just give up on the idea of working for the day. It’s stressful not to work.
Especially when Buck-Tick is playing.
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Weekends alone are never long enough so I decided this one was going to be dedicated to that which I have no chance to do during the week or when the kids are here: I worked on my manuscript to the exclusion of all else. My bum is numb from sitting in one spot and my neck aches and it feels great to have made it a third of the way through this stack of papers which now have scribbles on each one of the ones I’ve been through. I still have so much work to do! But I figured if I didn’t start, I’ll never end.
My internet-free weekend has been freeing, in a way. No checking every few minutes to see if I have comments, even though I haven’t been anywhere at all. Aside from my JusJoJan 11 post on my fiction blog last night (and I was feeling it, let me tell you) the only thing that has been going on.. and on and on on my laptop are Buck-Tick videos. They are who I write to and Sakurai Atsushi is who inspires me to write my main character – Stephen.
So that’s it. I have to hit the publish button now before I’m tempted to edit. I think I may do a stream-of consciousness post once a week. What did you think?
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Now normally I’m not the vindictive type. I usually just let things go. But before my backdoor neighbour has a chance to move out (which she will any day) I’d love to be able to give her a little present in the form of a song.
Here is my letter:
Dear Natasha,
When I met you and became friends with you we had in common the fact that we both have children. You have six of them, which you repeatedly pointed out were little angels, I have a normal teenager who tends to swear (what teen doesn’t?) an autistic teenager who has tantrums, and a Deaf child who wants to be friends with your kids.
I didn’t really notice there was anything wrong with you until you commented on the fact that you’d traveled all over the world but would never go to a country like Japan because they weren’t Christian there. 
After a few weeks of summer break that year, and after having lent you all my DVD’s that teach kids how to speak American Sign Language in a fun way, you gave them back to me, saying that your children weren’t interested in playing with my son (they showed no indications that they felt this way) because of the way he showed his enthusiasm for actually having friends his own age by looking into your back yard and screaming with delight when he saw your kids doing something fun. You then went on to explain to me that I needed to teach him how to behave himself… after all, you didn’t have any problems making your kids behave.
So, Natasha, I leave you with this song. The heathen I am. And a big nakayubi to you.
No love,
Linda
To my readers: Please note, when (and if) you listen to this wonderful gem, the chanting at around 2:19. Apart from the fact that I can imagine myself singing along at the top of my lungs exactly the way Sakurai Atsushi belts it out from on top of the table on my deck, my teenaged son and a few of his friends (if I have my way) would be trudging slowly around a bonfire in my back yard, fully cloaked in robes with pointy hoods. Please also note that the lyrics don’t matter. It’s the thought that counts.
lindaghill.com 