Something I can't name

Just got the kids to bed, and now I'm sitting here, running the musical gamut. Yep, everything from Joe Cocker and Johnny Cash to Sisters of Mercy and Type O Negative.

Before you ask, no, I'm not depressed. I'm actually in a pretty good mood.

That being said, I can't figure out what I'm feeling right now. I think the closest I can get is "reflective" (no, not the bright-orange kind), but even that's a stretch.

I really don't know why I'm writing; maybe I just need to keep my mind occupied. It's been a long time since I let my brain really open up onto a piece of paper (or a screen, for that matter) Maybe this is just relieving the pressure. Frankly, I'm way too afraid of my own mind and what would come out, should I give it free reign.

Anyway, smile again.

There're fifty voices doing fifty things in my head right now (including the one who's singing along to Joe Cocker), and it's really an effort to focus on what I'm writing right now.

Maybe it's a sign that I'll start writing again on a semi-regular basis (god help us all). Then again, it could just be me needing a few hours of solid sleep. Either way, I'll take what I'm given and run with it.

Joe's singing Elton now. Kinda disturbing. Come on reader, name the song, if you can.


The question I keep asking, and the question that never gets an answer, is "Why do I keep doing this?" Why do I keep writing? Frankly, most of this stuff is senseless crap, and the rest is just me rubbing my ego on a couch cushion, trying to get my jollies. Yeah, people tell me they read this. My readership has grown to a whopping three people.

Yet I keep trying. Keep hiking a leg up and rocking back n' forth, trying to squeeze one more out.

Fuck this. I'm off to bed. Night cats n' kittens.