I am a sucker for music, the ups and downs and beats and rhythms make me incredibly happy. Music tugs on strings that sometimes I forget I have, pulls at bits of me deep down that make me giddy and sappy and weepy and stupid (in a good way), all at once. Parts of me move, parts of me breathe, parts of me sing.
Today the music is moving over me like water, I can almost feel it on my skin; I have to say, it’s a pretty cool feeling.
It is equally as frustrating when I have heavy thoughts swirling around in my brain, and my little heart is so swollen it could burst with emotions that I can’t properly describe, and someone can say what I’m feeling with music. And I think “God, why couldn’t I get that out?” Then I launch into how I am disappointed with myself because my feelings are not so complex that they can’t be described by some cookie cutter song that’s vying for the top 40. Then I get sad because we are not unique snow flakes, and then I decide Kumbaya because awwww we’re not so different after all! Unity! Common bonds! Group hug, everybody! That’s all in the span of about 30 seconds.
The only problem is, when met with the ability to create, it’s a little daunting. If I could read and write music, I wouldn’t have any idea where to start making music. Like writing…I would love to write for a living, and when it’s just rambling on and spewing out the thoughts I am kicking around in my brain like tin cans, I can type and type and type. When I try to sit down and try to write fiction, I cannot think of anything to say. To me, sometimes limitless possibilities are limiting; when I have to the ability to choose anything, to create stories and characters and beings and places out of the ether, I freeze up and cannot choose anything at all. “You mean I can write anything? Uhhhhhh……” and I just stare blankly at the screen, my little cursor blinking on the white page…..waiting..
Steeped in dulcet tones,
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, why can't I do that
, woe is me
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