The Depression Monster has me in a Full Nelson. (I had to use Wikipedia.) I’m no longer able to ignore him, but I’m flipping him the bird. I’ve learned studying Stevie Nicks requires a commitment of sorts. You have to accept the fact it’s going to hurt sometimes, or you have to move on. I didn’t even need to think about it. I like earning my passage into her world. It’s calmer. I also like how it doesn’t matter that I’m out of sync in time.
I’m on the second documentary now. It’s called Stevie Nicks: In Your Dreams. I’m at the point where Katrina happened. Fuck. I wasn’t ready. You can tell Stevie directed and edited. It’s raw where it needs to be, and soft where it’s not. I suppose this is a trigger warning. Pause when you see the first hint of Katrina coming next. It will be obvious now. Make sure you’re in a safe place to ugly cry. Get tissues and a few bottles of water. Round up your pets, and your favorite blanket. Then take a deep breath, and hit play. You’re welcome. (I do this because I love you.)
This hasn’t happened since I spent hours listening to Amy Lee (Hartzell) sing, Hello and Like You on repeat, while I wept with her over losing our little sisters. It’s a good thing I eat intensity for breakfast. I never thought I’d say that. I’m so used to people telling me I’m too intense, (and having it sound like, “fuck off.”) I’m glad it keeps proving valuable where it matters. I slept on Tuesday night, so I should be good for a while. I started writing my short horror story last night. In hindsight, it may have been better to do it in the morning.
I learned some secrets about fear years ago. It has a ceiling. There’s nothing beyond scared shitless. Further, I discovered there’s a limit to how long you can remain terrified. I’m sure with practice you could extend it, but for most of us, it’s a relatively rare event. It’s intense until you run out of energy. Then it’s surreal. It stays surreal while you recover a bit. Then it repeats a few times, like a chorus. But it has diminishing returns. Your initial level of terror is greater than your fourth course. Eventually, it just becomes hysterically funny.
Don’t look at me, I didn’t create these rules, I’m just reporting them. This is how humans process prolonged fear. At least the ones who don’t pop straight away, that is. It’s not good news, but I believe it’s better to know up front. I hate surprises. So anyway, my point is I’ve learned how to cope with fear. I don’t flee at the sight of it. It’s a bitch, but so am I. And you can refocus your eyes, I’m done giving myself a pep talk. I plan on writing more tonight. Last night I wrote two pages, then deleted them and started over. I thought about an outline, then didn’t create one. Finally, I wrote two better pages.
Creative writing clearly had a far greater influence on my writing than English Grammar. I love rules, except where creativity is involved, at which point it reverses. Rules are for one type of thinking. Creativity is for the other. They don’t mix. Mixing them should cause profound halitosis. That’s how serious I am. Incidentally, when my orchestra instructor tried to tell me how to feel about Beethoven, I noticed he had funky breath. (I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m far more impressed by irony.)
This is the closest I’ve ever leaned into my blog. I’m incredibly impressionable, so it’s likely Stevie Nicks’ influence on me. I’m becoming a little more open. I didn’t see any of this coming. Despite the tears, I’m having a fabulous time. It’s a little like following a rabbit down a hole if you know what I mean. 😉 I have a long night ahead. I’m off to get to it.