Today I went into a cleaning frenzy. I rolled my pants up and got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen tiles. I lifted every piece of furniture and removed an entire family of dust bunnies from the living room and released them into the wild so they can roam free.
I took a break and went into the studio for 4 hours to work on three tracks for the album.
-open wide
-follow me home
-Marlboro Man
I have reached the extremely nit picky phase where I will focus on one tiny thing that bothers me. I am making mole hill mountains...lots of them. I'm worried that I'm missing mole hills...that some will slip through and I will be crucified for them.
After the studio, I called my mother to tell her how much I appreciate her pushing me out into the world and feeding me until I learned to hunt and gather on my own. I also apologized for being a horrible son who did not send some sort of pastel hallmark masterpiece accompanied by daisies, carnations, and other mother appropriate flowers.
I have somehow bruised my hand. At 3 am, I was on a pier in a drum circle with earthy hippy people wailing at the top of my lungs as the ships passed by. I got very intense with the drumming and I think this might be the cause for the bruise on my palm. I can not think of any other palm heavy activity that I have recently undertaken. I did attempt some sort of bastardization of breakdancing which only someone of my pastiness could muster. I was in a "dance off" on a rusted metal light boat, the location of my friend, M's very happening birthday celebration. This was my only contribution to the day other than sleeping and playing guitar.
Well, I bought a new mop, the kind you use to swab a deck. I love real mops. They make me feel like a lunchlady or a kick-ass janitor at a Midwestern middle school. ya know. I feel like I could ask someone for their hall pass or slop mashed potatoes onto a plastic tray with an ice cream scoop.
photo credit-Carrie Thomas
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