Driving home after returning Second Son to college today, lost in thought, I suddenly realized that I was driving in the wrong direction, and had been for 10 miles.
The thing is, I don’t even really know what I was thinking about, and it’s a road I know really well, so I still can’t figure out how it happened.
And then I wonder if I’m trying to tell myself something.
Sarah over at Redamancy Lit recently posted a link to this song by Fiona Apple*, which I just happened to have been listening to on and off a ridiculous number of times over the past couple of weeks trying to decipher the words.
Every single night I endure the flight Of little wings of white-flamed Butterflies in my brain These ideas of mine Percolate the mind Trickle down the spine Swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze That’s when the pain comes in Like a second skeleton Trying to fit beneath the skin I can’t fit the feelings in Every single night’s alight with my brain
What’d I say to her Why’d I say it to her What does she think of me That I’m not what I ought to be That I’m what I try not to be It’s got to be somebody else’s fault I can’t get caught If what I am is what I am, cause I does what I does Then brother, step back, cause my breast’s gonna bust open The rib is the shell and the heart is the yolk and I just made a meal for us both to choke on
Every single night’s a fight with my brain
I just want to feel everything
So I’m gonna try to be still now Gonna renounce the mill a little while and If we had a double-king-sized bed We could move in, and I’d soon forget That what I am is what I am cause I does what I does And maybe I’d relax, let my breast just bust open My heart’s made of parts of all that surround me And that’s why the devil just can’t get around me Every single night’s alright, every single night’s a fight And every single fight’s alright with my brain
I just want to feel everything I just want to feel everything I just want to feel everything I just want to feel everything
My heart’s made of parts of all that surround me.
The thing is, sometimes I’d just rather draw a hot bath and fill it with mineral salts and sandalwood and pitchouli and stay there until I’m a raisin; or maybe even just hide under my bed and not feel anything.
Too many questions —
Am I doing this right?
Do I have a right to ask for this?
Do I change this or accept it?
Why is it so hard to have, and keep, everything I want?
Do I even want everything I want?
Every single night’s a fight.
Every single fight’s alright with my brain.
*She’s way too thin. Her gorgeous face and haunting eyes look just gaunt and haunted now. Can we help her somehow? She’s just so incredibly talented.
Not exactly what I expected, but kind of cool anyway.
Also not contributing in any way to any sense of inner peace or enlightenment. I’m just walkin’ around like almost everybody else, more questions than answers.
I like that understand, and learn, and something, and better, seemed prominent.
Not sure where murderous came from. That doesn’t sound enlightened at all.
Construction projects and too much work to do/too little time to do it is getting me down.
But, even on a cloudy day, I’m trying to keep my eyes fixed on the sun.
[Posted this shortly after my dad died; was reminded of it last night when Second Son brought up something about Cage the Elephant and I may have even earned a few coolness points* by not only knowing about the group, but could reference a song/video I liked.]