I don’t have any money, but I have these.

I’ve been feeling overwhelming surges of creativity.  It’s awesome, in a way.  But it’s frustrating because I’m too inundated with noise.  The realization I’m wasting valuable inspiration made me panic, which wasn’t helpful.  So I’m taking drastic measures to get myself right as fast as possible.  I’ve fasted today except for water and a handful of pistachios.  (I have Graves Disease, so I allow tiny amounts of fat and protein, and pistachios are perfect.)  Feeling hungry is the only way I know how to grab hold of inspiration when my head is too loud.

Earlier, I went online to look for a portable amp for my bass.  Unfortunately, I was immediately distracted by fabulous, shiny, expensive guitars (I have no business even wishing for at my current skill level.)  Tangent:  I’m almost positive there’s an unwritten rule regarding instruments.  The finest ones belong to the most skilled players.  It’s like a musicians creed or something.  If you step up to play, and your instrument is so beautiful, every artist in the vicinity gasps, you’d better bring it.  I’ve not actually witnessed an instrument being confiscated by a better musician, but I suspect it’s happened.

I’ve had a recurring dream in which I acquired a Stradivarius violin.  I carried it with me everywhere because I wanted to hear how it sounded in various environs.  Then I ran into another violinist who admired the Stradivarius and asked if he could play it.  I always say yes, and he plays it so beautifully I begin weeping.  It ends there, but I awaken with the heaviness of loss each time.  I cry because I’ve never heard anyone play so well, and also because everything within me knows it’s his violin.  /Tangent

So anyway, I didn’t find an amp.  I guess I don’t need one.  😂  I have no idea how much time I spent drooling over $15k+ guitars, but it was fun.  I’m glad to know they exist.  Then I practiced my drums, guitar, and bass.  I’ve discovered I have to slow down on building endurance with my drums.  When I get tired, I get sloppy.  When I get sloppy, I get blisters.  So I practice for an hour, then move on to the next instrument.  I practiced on my acoustic guitar for a while, then my bass for about 20 minutes.

I’ll practice it longer when I learn some music.  For now, I just do scales, a few riffs, and done.  I decided on using my index finger first but ended up using my middle finger because it felt more natural.  It resonates so much it made me start feeling a bit numb.  I love the deep sound.  I’ll be glad when I can play faster.  The riffs in my head need me to hurry up and improve my skill.

I’m going to stretch outside after my run in the morning.  Here’s something you might not know:  Literally touching the ground with your bare feet can help silence the noise in your head.  Not cement, I mean grass or dirt or sand.  You’re welcome, says Ms. Literal.  😂  I’ve never been in the ocean, (and have no plans of ever doing such a thing.  Release the Kraken.)  However, I think it’s an even more powerful means of accomplishing the same thing.  The best part is you don’t have to get in.  You can watch the waves, or listen to them, and smell the ocean air.

The Badlands (and other former seas) work especially well, too.  I spent a lot of time as a teenager laying on the purple ground looking up at the pink and orange rock formations.  I didn’t understand why it called to me at the time.  I just knew it was the only place I’d found where I could experience peace.  I have a shitload of poems about The Badlands from that time.  They’re funny to read sometimes because I don’t remember ever being so deep.  I was so emo.  😂  Oh yeah!  A full moon is also a powerful means, (but you have to actually go outside.)

I can’t even tell if I’m inspired to paint, or compose, or what.  It’s like having an itch I can’t scratch.  But I need to stop focusing on the problem and get back to fixing it.  I’m off to meditate.  Stay hungry, my friends.

 

You cannot buy half a can of soda

I went downtown to the vigil for Heather Heyer.  I’ll remember her forever.  I didn’t stay long.  The Depression Monster is thrilled I’m no longer taking Prozac and is just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.  I’m going to disappoint him.  I can feel sad without sliding into depression.  It’s been an odd day.  I did a freestyle rap about racism earlier, (and it astonished me.)  Mostly because I don’t rap.  Ever.  It was good, too!  The rhymes kept flowing out of me!

I just kept saying whatever came to mind, and hearing it at the same time, and thinking, “Yes! These are the words!”  I started getting louder (Me! Being loud!) and could feel the knot in my gut unwind a bit with every rhyme.  S. was sitting there watching me, looking stunned.  I was so excited, (and so many other feelings at the same time.)  Then I laughed really hard because The Muse is back.  Huzzah!

I’m deliberately not writing down the lyrics because obviously, they’re for someone else, (a rapper, duh.)  I’m just thrilled they passed through me on their way.  It. Was. So. Awesome.  (I don’t even listen to rap!)  I’ve gotten bits of songs in the past, but never this strongly.  If you’ve ever observed how experienced musicians can create music spontaneously together in jam sessions, you’ve seen the river of inspiration flowing from The Muse.  Jam sessions make me so happy I could cry.

I’ve received other hints she’s back, and am trying to be wise about it.  Naturally, I want to drop my life and go compose some music until I collapse from exhaustion.  Instead, I redid my schedule to allow a set amount of time each day for creating music.  See Alison adult.  (Takes a victory lap around the playroom office.)  I’m reading The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy.  It was mentioned in another novel.  I’m enjoying it so much I’m off to continue.

P.S. Here’s an update on the quilt in progress.

 

Hey! I got the body of a taut, pre-teen, Swedish boy.

I’m going to redesign my blog soon, so this is fair warning.  There’s a good chance the new design will closely resemble the original.  Visual anchors are important to me, so I don’t stray willy nilly.  I’m aiming for visually appealing without being overwhelming.  When you spend as much time on auto-pilot as I do, things flow more smoothly when there are no sudden changes.  I’m at the point where I can tell the Prozac is no longer present in my system at a high enough concentration to work.  I thought I would celebrate this moment, but instead, I’m proceeding with caution.

My intention has evolved to remaining off the drug permanently.  I’m at a different stage in life where my priorities have shifted since my last summer Prozac purge.  Things that weren’t even on my radar then are now significant.  I think this is what’s led to being careful.  I’ve mocked the amount of thought, and energy others spend on arranging for sex.  It’s been an inside joke with myself for years because my complete absence of libido (thanks to Prozac) made it seem ridic and primal.  I’m not laughing anymore.  I’m kind of freaking out.

I’m trying to focus on how thankful I am this is happening now, and not when I was younger, and far, far more gullible and impressionable.  (Maybe just one far.)  M. is more mature than I am.  Shocking, I know. 😂  I’m happy with this fact because he’s a good teacher.  I’m learning how to be in the moment when in the presence of others.  The universe has this lesson on auto-repeat, so I’ve conceded, (finally.)  I’m certain I wouldn’t have survived being a kid with today’s internet.  Zero doubt, because any kid with a debit or credit card is an adult online.

I’m actually pretty amazed I’m still kicking it, to be honest.  (And a little smug because I die hard.  💪🏽)  I just had an urge to create a video game that teaches people how to be safer online.  (Suppresses the urge to begin a coding marathon.)  I’m not very confident with this topic, but don’t know how to dance around it very well.  My libido is back, and I forgot everything about being a sexual entity.  I’ve lived for years without having it, and it’s like going to bed and waking up as a teenager, the sequel.  (Except I involuntarily make a noise when I get up now, sometimes.)

So I’m kinda freaking out, but on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the worst… Kidding!  I’m only mildly freaking.  Memorizing Seinfeld has its uses.  I know the script for the worst case scenario, so it’s all good.  M. has a good attitude about it.  Not many men would continue dating a woman who made him sign a No Sex Ever contract, (on the third time hanging out.)  At least not many of the ones I’ve met so far.  I doubt I’m the only one who uses this method, though.  It’s efficient.

A lot of people just want to have sex and are doing the rest of the date to be polite.  It saves time to know these things up front.  I know about hookups and friends with benefits.  It’s more shit that used to crack me up.  Suddenly, I get it.  I’ve been giggling all day because lots of jokes that weren’t funny (to me) at the time are hilarious today.  I’m tripping on how much of an influence sexuality has on perspective.  These are all the things most people probably noticed when they were teenagers.  Or at least over a gradual transition.

Just one more thing to agonize over when deciding whether or not to take Prozac, I suppose.  Everyone’s mileage will vary to some degree.  It’s solidified my decision to refrain.  I’m tripping and experiencing things I forgot existed, but I’m certain I prefer being the sexual being I was born to be.  I also prefer being friends with The Muse and hated being in exile.  I regret trading my creativity and sexuality for a comfortable, stable numbness.  I realize now it was necessary initially, but not permanently.  Any further use will be for stabilization only, (which is unlikely considering how long it takes to reach a therapeutic level.)

Whew.  Okay, I’m calmed down now.  This is no big deal.  Aside from a slight decline in productivity, I see no cons.  I’ll be glad when I can go for more than ten minutes without realizing another new implication.  I can’t really afford to be more scatterbrained.  Also, it’s occurred to me that Stevie Nicks probably has lots of fans who lust for her.

On Prozac, this information wouldn’t have occurred and probably would have led to my feeling concerned for her safety.  Off Prozac:  Duh!  See what I mean?  I’m more adulty today than I was yesterday, (it is now.)  Yay.  And because I’m a kind person, I’m going to stop tripping out loud.  You’re welcome!  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.

This woman hates me so much I’m starting to like her.

I just realized I haven’t watched anything but Stevie Nicks documentaries and live concerts on DVD in a while.  Typically, I only allow myself to listen to music when I’m exercising because it’s the only way to get me to do it.  Lately, it’s all I do in my free time, but it hasn’t been long enough to mess up my exercise bribery scheme.  Whew.  (I don’t have a Plan B.)  I guess tomorrow will be a long run, and that’ll be my only music fix for the day.  I’m going to listen to In Your Dreams by Stevie Nicks, and The Open Door by Evanescence, and Tuesday Night Music Club by Sheryl Crow.

If it plays longer than my route, I’ll keep listening while I stretch.  I’m already looking forward to it.  I’m going to feel like Wonder Woman.  I’m off Prozac for the rest of the summer.  Or, I guess I should say until it snows.  So who knows, but as long as I can run outside.  I don’t like to run for more than an hour at a time on the treadmill, but I can break it up.  After my fall last winter, I’m too paranoid about falling again (on the ice outside in the snowy weather, where my imagination has assured me in advance I’ll die miserably.)

Note:  In my particular case, if I eat wisely, and do four hours of cardio per day, I feel exactly the same as when I take 20mg of Prozac per day, (minus the side-effects.)  If I do two hours of cardio per day, I’m uncomfortably close to frustration overload 24/7, but I can survive.  Less, and things go downhill quickly about two months after my last dose.  I’m weird.  Don’t try this at home.  Besides, finding out how many hours of exercise it takes per day to be the best me possible is exactly as fun as it sounds.  So do what’s right for you.

The thing about Prozac is this:  It interferes with creativity, sex drive, and for some people, appetite.  In my case, no sex drive, (and I started taking it soon after I realized I even had a sex drive.)  If you don’t know your sexual identity yet, don’t take Prozac.  I was a late bloomer.  I thought boys were gross until I met my ex-husband at nineteen.  If anything, it decreases my appetite when I’m initially adjusting.  It also makes me extremely sleepy for the first few weeks.  Others become overeaters for the first time in their lives.  It’s mean like that.

I want to turn off my Muse-repelling force field known as Prozac so I can do some artwork and find out the rest of this melody that keeps haunting me.  I don’t have it as bad as some.  I can ignore the urge to create if there’s something I’d rather do.  The Muse is a gentle whisper in the night for me.  For some people, she’s also a bitch with handcuffs.  But they’re usually outstanding at what they do so it might be fair.  I’m not sure how much choice they have in the matter.  They’re probably too busy being awesome to care.

I’m feeling balanced again, thank goodness.  You’d think after years of coping with PTSD I wouldn’t get so freaked out every time I hit a rough patch.  Nope.  I freak out every fucking time.  I imagine it’s like being in a fire.  No matter how many times it happens, it’s always alarming.  Plus, I think my mind lets me keep most of those times in short term memory.  Yay brain.  I finally let M. help me adjust my drum kit.  It was noticeably leaning because I loosened something I regret, and it just happened.

I was still playing on them after a few adjustments (without fucking with the rack.)  Now that M. helped, I’m a bit blown away by how much difference it makes.  It was worth the kick in the nuts to my ego.  I got over myself immediately after I started playing.  I’m starting to get pretty good.  I’m almost confident enough to start creating my own beats.  I only lack the practice hours.  My stamina is better, my timing is my strongest skill, and I rarely drop sticks anymore.  The part on my fingers where I lost the skin before getting gloves is calloused, but it’s barely noticeable (compared to what strings do to fingertips.)

I’m so happy to be feeling better.  I got busted singing twice today, but I tend to do it constantly when I’m happy.  It’s almost as good as the relief I feel after passing a kidney stone.  It’s a shame they can’t bottle the post kidney stone feeling and sell it as a drug.  On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing you have to suffer intensely for a while before you get to experience it.  It makes it addiction-proof as fuck.  I just cracked myself up.

I’m off to finish deep cleaning the carpet while listening to the rest of Al Franken, Giant of the Senate from Audible.  I love him.  I probably look silly laughing for no apparent reason every few minutes, but it’s excellent.  It’s helping me cope, and teaching me a lot about politics (in a way that doesn’t make my eyes glaze over.)  I forgot how powerful humor can be in learning.  If you want my full attention, make me laugh.  It’s my favorite thing to do in the world.