Category: writing

Tuesday’s Theme Music

We’ve reached another milestone, a day that ends in ‘y’. This one is a Tuesday.

It’s March 29, 2022, for those of you playing calendar bingo. Sunrise came at — ta da! — 6:59 AM. Sunset will be at 7:33 PM.

A weak sunrise was experienced, one like a cup of tea made with a tea bag that’s already serviced a dozen cups as tattered rain clouds still harrumphed across the blue. We had a few stretches of steady rain yesterday, one bit of that which hit five on the Floof Scale. I always use the Floof Scale to measure precipitation. A five meant, find cover, it’s coming down. Ten is head for high ground and hang on.

Average spring temperatures remain the norm. The digits sit at 48 F now. We expect 67 F today. Back out to weed this afternoon.

Today’s music was brought on by yesterday’s writing session. I’d been finger dancing on a kb for a while as the muses whipped my back and urged more writing, faster. Stopping for a breath, I discovered the digits said it was almost four PM. The day had slid past in a word sprawl. The neurons, catching on to my surprise about the time, began singing, “Time, time, ticking, ticking away,” repeating that chorus. They were testing me, of course. “The Last Worthless Evening”, Don Henly, 1988, The End of the Innocence, I told my neurons. To reward me for getting it right, they started playing the song, and now it’s stuck in the morning mental music stream.

Stay positive, test negative, and remain alert to what’s going on. Here’s the music. I’m gonna go treat the neurons to a cuppa java. Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday, March 28, 2022, is out of the gate and running. The sun slipped into the valley at 7:01 AM and will slip away at 7:32 PM. The temperature is a comfy 52 degrees F but the high will probably top off at 60 as rain is in the tea leaves.

No dreams were in my head this morning. It happens, but it always feels weird. Like, what happened to the dreams? Why aren’t they there?

What is there is music. Tom Jones is singing in the morning mental music stream. So are the Beatles, Who, Stones, and 21 Pilots. What’s it all mean? I queried the neurons but they’re not saying. It might all have to do with being up late writing last night. Was about to close the files for the newest work in progress, The Light of Memories, and shut down the computer when I thought, let me start this one scene so I don’t lose that thread. Forty-five minutes later, the scene was finished, and two others were started. I don’t generally like writing late because the neurons start running around like adults at a beer festival, which isn’t conducive to sleep.

The neurons have quieted. Into the silence, they’ve brought up “Fell on Black Days” by Soundgarden from, like, 1994. An interesting choice, a dark but strangely mellow tune. Used to listen to it during the SF Bay area commute. Guess it reminds the neurons of better times and places.

Here’s the music. Stay positive, test negative, etc. You know the drill. What’s that, neurons? Yes, you’re right, it is time for coffee, or, as I call it, coffee time.

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

A stratus layer mothers the sun, protecting it from our prying eyes. Theoretically, we had sunrise at 7:11 this morning, but few bright rays have slipped past the cloud shield. The temperature is hovering at 46 degrees F as a fine mist drifts and falls, but today’s high is forecast to be 77 F before sunset at 7:25 PM.

Today is Tuesday, March 22, 2022, or 03222022 in the American style.

I was up with cats last night. Another — a different — sick one, as Tucker puked and went lethargic. My wife is sleeping in another bed adjusted for her back issues. Tucker, who sleeps with me 99 percent of the nights, slept with her. I missed my furry boy and his taps on my hands and nose, and deep, throbbing purr. I asked her this morning, how he was. “Oh, he’s fine,” she said. Oh, he ate? “I don’t know.” Did he drink water? “I don’t know.” Did he use the litter box? “I don’t know.” How do you know he’s okay? “He seems okay.” That is not how it works.

Meanwhile, sick cat took Tucker’s absence as an opportunity to cuddle against me. I pet, scratched, and spoke for him for long hours in the night. His ability to eat is diminishing and he’s fading, despite hopes. Of course, I used the time to write in my head. It wasn’t the plan; the writer is always there, and the muses said, “Hey, while you’re not busy doing anything.” They’re very single-minded. My mind shouted, “Eureka,” as some new and surprising vector took shape. Of course, it must be pursued today.

A 1986 Moody Blues song, “Your Wildest Dreams”, settled into the morning mental music stream. The neurons latched onto after a few dreams. Now it’s on loop and must be released into the net so the neurons can go on to other music.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the shots when you can. The neurons are calling for coffee, threatening me with a medley of 1910 Fruitgum Company melodies if I don’t comply. So off I go. Cheers

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