Emily Dickinson would bake biscuits when the poems wouldn’t come. My creative process is not particularly clear to me; I write more when I’m very happy or very upset – the November before I split up with Paul was a veritable creative ferment – and there are two kinds of songs, easy and hard. The easy ones come out, chords and lyrics and choon, all in one easy go. Everything else has something missing; gets shelved; gets worked on; then one night I finish it. I mostly write songs after dark, but not always. I quit writing, and singing, almost altogether when I was on Prozac for four months, and the eight months afterwards getting the stuff to clear my system was pretty much a dry hole. So I guess I have to be a little crazy to write songs. As for writing on a sheet of paper, the rest of the time, pick a topic and point me at the internet; I can write about pretty much anything that isn’t actually advertising, because my attitude toward advertising is so disrespectful. Except Blast-Eeze, the Laxative Coughdrops. I did write a jingle for those, but that’s only because they are an imaginary product. (There… will be… a brief hi-a-tus…. then… the mentholated… flatus).
Tamara just called and cried off for this afternoon – she’s the videographer I work with. I’m not in fabulous voice today so I was just as happy about that. We’re re-skedding for next week. I was supposed to be doing Buy Me a Beer, but some other time I guess. Maybe I could work on something else… or just swither on things. I think Jeff would like me to clean my room again, but he’s too polite to comment.
Made Jeff french toast and deli bacon for breakfast this morning. Now that’s creativity.
Got out of bed and out the door rather faster than I wanted to this morning; I heard bloodcurdling screams coming from the alleyway and learned which house it was coming from and banged on the open front door (they had put a waterfall on their front steps, I still can’t figure that part out – why run water down your front steps?). A button-cute eight year old Asian boy answered and in perfect Canuckistani said, “Hey mom it’s a housewife!” Didn’t know whether to slap him or burst out laughing. Anyway, it was just kids screaming, and then their parents yelling at them in some language or other – maybe Vietnamese – but after Brianne Voth, it doesn’t pay to sit on your ass when you hear screaming in this town, so maybe I looked stupid but that would be no stretch, and at least those neighbours know that if something doesn’t look right some nosy cow with a cell phone will turn up and poke around, not always a bad thing. Note to self – next time tell Jeff you’re leaving the house….
Zow. That’s the biggest jumping spider I’ve ever seen! I just had to leap up and grab pictures.
Since I have my afternoon free now I’m going to text Katie and ask her to come over for the movie that Jeff rented for her….
I know it will confirm my reputation for being terminally lazy, but I’m so glad I got the day back. I’m not burned out, but I’m crisssp around the edges, and this should really help. Back to bed and maybe do some reading, you know, with a book.
