"Like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably and without method."
~Stranger Than Fiction
It was an interesting weekend. Not that it was really so different from any other weekend. I guess I just had a lot weighing down my brainpan. I have a couple of near n' dear ones who are going through some harsh stuff right now and being the quasi-empath that I am, it's painful to me as well. I'm never so frustrated as when everything in me wants to help and yet, there's not a thing I can do. So, all of that culminated in me writing a new song (Let Me). Frustrating in and of itself because I wonder... what the hell am I writing all these songs for? No one ever hears them. I don't know what to do with them, where to market them. And without sounding pious and overly audacious, I think they're decent tunes - decent enough for someone to make into something and play on the airwaves. Yeah, sure, it feels good, and that in and of itself ought to be enough, right? It's a nice way to expel some of the soul gunk. Still... *sigh* I'd love to be able to parlay any or all of it into an income. I don't need to be rich and famous... just give me enough to keep the cabin paid for and warm, with a bit left over to buy kibble for the kids.
If it was just me, I'd say, "Oh, I'm just bein' Barb." Turns out it's not just me. I spent some time this weekend talking to one of my friends, a guy who's currently on a tour of duty in Hell - it's kinda like that bus ride in the movie Speed... ain't no slowin' down and no lettin' anyone off. (Why? Because, much like the Dennis Hopper character in afore-mentioned movie, his ex is screwing with him just because she can. But we won't go there.) This guy, who even in the midst of the fractious fray is funny as all get out, writes very well - swear, our email exchanges read like a Coen Bros. script (in fact, you've seen some of his bits on my various Friday Lists - ain't sayin' what). He's also a talented artist, musician... very much a kindred. Often our conversations (whether serious or sarcastic) center around, "What the hell do we do with all this talent?! Why do we get to give birth to all these baby birds if not to let 'em fly?" We've yet to come up with an answer, collaboratively or individually.
Dunno, dunno... and I'm just rambling now... using this blog as my whippin' post. I guess all the mental anguish isn't for naught. I tend to get busy when I can't handle the brain overload. I hauled a big ol' bunch of wood this weekend - stocked the cubby next to the stove, loaded the bins chock full. I cleaned. I took Sneak Dawg for a long walk in the new snow (yep, got s'more o' dat), threw snowballs, and breathed in the beauty of my woodsy wonderland. It helps. But I still had to get up this morning and come to work. I know, I know... just like everyone else, so quit kvetching. I'm not. I'm happy to have a job. But I've got to believe there's more to having all these creative ideas and viable outlets for them than the mere pleasure of doing.