Three years ago, I started this blog. I didn’t really have any expectations, and I certainly didn’t have much of an audience. And because I felt like I was always just talking to myself, it was easy for me to be candid. So, sometimes I was mean. Sometimes I shared too much. I’ve been petty and shallow and acerbic, I know. I’ve also tried to be thoughtful, occasionally even tactful, and three years later, I’m still here, still unsure about who’s reading, still unconvinced that any of this is a good idea, but still not quite ready to shut the fuck up about it all.
For me, this summer was about second chances. I repented for some past mistakes. I relived some bad memories in a way that allowed me to make them good again, and now I can set all of that to sleep and move on. The past is done, and my future is a blinding question mark, and all that’s left for me right now is to live exactly in the present, in this moment and the ones immediately after. I sleep too much, and then I drink too much coffee to make up for it, but my car and computer are both still running, I have a dog who loves me and no classes on Wednesdays, and things are good enough for me.
New video on the IM today, John writing lyrics, and it’s pretty much my favorite thing ever. It’s a quiet scene, John strumming the same chord pattern over and over, singing quietly to himself, trying to work out that one fucking line that rhymes with the other fucking line while still managing to say something valid that’s worth writing down. It’s a personal process, and it’s happening inside of his head, even though there’s a camera and Tim and Robby. There’s nothing to see, really. A pencil moves across paper, and even then, nothing’s permanent, erase it and try again. He’s thinking, and thinking is the most intensely private thing that any of us ever do. If you talk or dance or cry, anyone who’s there can see it happening. Even internal stuff, your digestion and your respiration and all those functions, all that can be monitored by someone who knows what to look for. But thoughts are private, and thinking is private, and the act of thinking your way through composing a song is still private, even if you do it where everyone can see.
This was supposed to be about MIA and how I was supposed to be going, but as of yesterday, I have an unavoidable conflict. And because of that and because of other things, I’m not going to be planning blog content in advance anymore. No more “this is what I’ll be writing about next,” because I never actually get around to it, and I shouldn’t have to. Writing is for me. Even if I intend to release it into the world for an audience, the process of it, the putting-the-words-onto-a-page of it, that’s still mine.
I’m not concerned with album titles. I’m not concerned with figure skating and lottery tickets. I’m not concerned with spectres of release dates, because I know better than to believe in ghosts like that. The thing is, when LLI was released, I felt like I was listening to an album I’d already heard. By that point, I’d already heard full versions of three songs, and 30-50 second clips of four more, and they’d already released full lyrics for the entire album, and it was like there was nothing left to discover brand new, and that sucks. So I’m not letting myself get oversaturated with any of this ahead of time. Everything, but in moderation.
I’m not good at beginnings or endings. I’m only really good at the middle of things, the part where everything is really happening. I’m just going to enjoy the ride.