Author. Writer. Editor. Fool.
I have the house to myself for a few days, which means my usual schedule has been replaced with slothful behavior. I’m okay with that, I think I’ve earned some down time, but I think it reached a breaking point yesterday when … How do I say this? When I realized I was sprawled out on the couch, in my boxers, watching South Park and eating an obscenely huge bowl of pudding. Instant shame. Not shame enough to put down the pudding, mind you, because pudding is delicious.
This summer I’ve returned to something I discovered last summer. Something that had me relaxed in a way few things get me relaxed. Painting. Some brushes, a bit o’ canvas, a cold drink, and music while sitting outdoors in the sun, looking over the water and getting lost whipping that brush back and forth. It’s very, very easy to wind away an entire afternoon like that. The problem is that I’m awful. Just downright awful. Like, reallyreallyreally awful. And you know? I’m okay with that. I’m okay with that because I’m not doing it for any reason other than to relax. And there sure are far worse ways to relax. So painting is what I’ll do.
Time can go to hell. Or more specifically, the lack of time that seems to exist around me can go to hell. Right to HELL. I don’t ask much of this world. As little misery at work as possible, some time with friends and family, some relaxation, and the opportunity to pursue the projects I want to pursue, whether professional endeavors (“Stuff Every Husband Should Know“) or hobbies (recording music or doing comic anthologies). But there isn’t time to squeeze it all in. This stacks up with that is piled onto that other thing, and pretty soon you’re tearing your hair out, picking priorities, dropping things that aren’t all that important to you, and just hoping to escape with a few shreds of sanity —…
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When recording music, self-indulgence is a huge sin — and one I commit time and again. Can’t help it. It’s not like it’s musician wank. I’m not anywhere CLOSE to a good enough musician for that. It’s sound wank. Noise, big sound, layered drones, guitar feedback. Stuff no one wants to hear. But I like to hear it, so I do it. So anyway, I’m recording a new X-Sweet album, right? And X-Sweet tends to be my more traditional musical project, what with me singing reg’lar ol’ songs and all that. I’m not claiming it’s good, as you can see for yourself, I’m just saying it exists. I like doing honest to goodness songs, but I’m objective enough to admit my guitar soundscapes are far…
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Three paces, then four, then five, and you’re in the middle of the road, watching it stretch out in either direction, no cars for as far as you can see, just blacktop and you. And somehow, it manages to make you feel freer than you’ve felt since you were 12 and were allowed to ride your bike around the neighborhood on your own; like nothing in the world can contain you. It might be a remnant from childhood. The unspoken knowledge that you’re breaking a Rule. That you’re doing something you’re not supposed to do. After all, you don’t just walk out into the middle of the road. That’s dangerous. We all know this. And you certainly don’t just stand there. You cross quickly and…
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