I've been asking myself what it might sound like if I wrote songs and sang them, my own words and music, my own voice and play. I have to admit that I'm not sure. I don't know what it would sound like. I think it might surprise me, but I don't think it would disappoint me. Not much, anyway. I think I'd be pleasantly surprised and intrigued. Having lived through all these years in all these places with all these people has affected more than I realize, I realize. I've always assumed, I think, that I am something other than my life. But I'm not. I bet I'm not. We'll see. One day, maybe, we'll see.
I have to punch in because I'm doing clockwork. I'm paid timely. Sitting at my desk, my thoughts speed secondary, but the day creeps hourly. Straining toward the future, I am present tense. When it's overtime I punch out, my mind slipping through the nightshift, becoming myself again. Before long the sky is less daily and I am retired. Colliding with the bed I hit snooze. Bedtime passes quickly, though, and too soon light pours heavy through the window. The prospect of new day dawns on me, and I go into morning. Time to put my clock face on again. I think I need a daybreak.
If I ever sing my song I'll share it with you. If you don't like it, pretend you do. I'll be able to tell. You're not that great at pretending. I'll appreciate the gesture, nevertheless.
Hello, friends. It's a new day, but don't worry. It won't last forever.
Later. Love.
