Night Songs

I sing in my sleep.

Here I am, 55 years old, and learning something new about myself.

I called my sister for verification. Yes, she tells me, I sing in my sleep. I also talk, hum, and make odd noises. She thought I knew… but, how would I know what I do in my sleep if no one ever tells me?

I must be happy if I sing in my sleep. Maybe not… lately, I’ve been waking up Janis Joplin singing “take another little piece of heart now baby” in my head, but sometimes it is Stevie Nicks, Train, or the Black Crowes, could be any song but usually somehow reflects whatever is going on in my life at the moment.

Maybe I’m just humming or singing along to an audio memory in my sleep; not much different than humming or singing along with the radio jacked up while cruising down a highway.

Oh, do I miss my sweet baby, that Chrysler LeBaron two door coop convertible… hell, I miss that rusty old Bronco II as both those rides were fun to drive. My last car was a PT Cruiser. It was okay… but if I am ever able to drive again, if I ever buy wheels again, the top has got to drop. That’s just how it is.

IF? Now I’m dreaming. My ride these days is the WRTA bus on an E/D pass.

Reality bites… but, tell you a secret… you can choose the musical score for your own life.  What’s your theme? Got a background tune? What’s the soundtrack of your life?

It is YOUR choice… you can sing “woe, despair, and agony on me” along with the boys on Hee-Haw OR picks something that might actually help you get through whatever you are going through.

My personal favorite? “Roll with It” by Steve Winwood. Thanks for reading.

 

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Art Therapy: Words to Wind

Please keep in mind that “art therapy” is not fine art. This was a practice of sorting words out of my head. Some are audio memories (other people’s words) and some are stray thoughts and some are fragments of song lyrics. So whatever popped into my head and I felt like writing it down, it is there… I did learn that gouche paint has a wonderful matte texture and it is not really compatible with those fine tip ink pens. It was the first time that I’ve ever used gouche so OH WELL, lol. I don’t know if you can zoom this up to read it, but then that really doesn’t matter.

Straight up, there are parts of it that I don’t like, which not so coincidentally, consists of words I’d like to purge out of my head. Hummm… suppose as an art therapy exercise, this type of drawing is beneficial.

Thanks for reading!

Perfectionist?

I feel contentedly subdued today, as in “quiet and rather reflective” and NOT “depressed” if you check online dictionaries. A peaceful calm has settled over my nest and I am energized as in revived, able to take on tasks postponed far too long, such as scraping the old paint off the old bathroom tiles. That has been on my “to do” list ever since I moved into this place.

Am I a perfectionist?

Words echo, circle in my head, audio memories in other people’s voices: if you are going to do something, do it right. If you can’t do it right, there’s no sense doing it at all. Rip it out and start all over. Learn to do as many things as you possibly can and learn to do each well, someday you might need a loaf of bread. A is for average. Three strikes, you’re out. Trained by the best to be the best. Error free, hit the mark, dead on. Precision, precise, perfection?

It’s not a piano. Precision not required to build a crude crate. Nor apparently, to paint apartments. It will take hours to scrape down the tiles, days because I am in no hurry. Whenever I go in there, maybe scrape a little more. I’m doing it because sloppy workmanship drives me nuts. Yet, it is par for the course. Another echo: not everyone does things like we do.

I think I am a perfectionist when precision is required. That’s a given… as a tool & die maker, I worked to close tolerances, often plus or minus a tenth. That’s ±0.0001″ for those not familiar with the lingo. So yes, I am a bit of a perfectionist per training and conditioning. I definately expect more from myself than I do from others, especially if I know that I can do better. But not about everything… not everything is a piano.

What I am asking myself today: how much tolerance do I allow myself and should I work on loosening that up a bit?

Well, I can’t be too much of a perfectionist if I have lived with THIS (see photo below) for damn near a year.

Thanks for reading!