Blah, blah, blah something about concussions and Asperger's. Also, some song recommendations...
One of the most difficult things about having Asperger's is that for a large part of my life I have to pretend to be someone different. It's not an easy task and it feels very dirty. It feels as though I am cheating or betraying myself and my life; that I am not being true to my life's purpose. It's a very strange, imposter-type feeling that I carry most days. The only thing that I could compare it to is how introverted people feel and are affected by meetings with strangers. It's exhausting. It physically wears me down to behave like a "normal" person for 9-10 hours a day. I can't do it. Well, I can and do, but only because I have to. I don't have a choice. The only jobs for mentally unstable, socially indifferent, self-absorbed people are: Musician, Actor, Athlete or just plain old crazy rich person. Seeing as I'm not rich, athletically gifted (though I was a pretty damn good shortstop) or absurdly handsome, musician seems to be the only way. And I'm trying. Believe me, I'm trying. For English-speaking songwriters, there's maybe 15 people alive who are better than me. But, as we all know, talent and skill and brilliance don't amount to diddly-squat so all I can do is keep on keepin' on, Joe Dirt style. At some point, I'll tell the tale of the latest Bradley Wik and the Charlatans album, which is still on its way out, by the way. I feel like James Franco in "11.22.63" when he was trying to stop Lee Harvey Oswald, the universe was throwing everything it could at him to prevent this from happening. I'm not sure why God and the universe hate this record so much but fuck it, I'm gonna get it out there if it kills me. The world deserves it. Do I think this record will catapult me into the upper echelon of American songwriters? Maybe. But I definitely think this record will be a grower. It may not light the world on fire immediately but the songwriting will sustain it until it gets its righteous recognition. It will, goddamnit, if it's the last thing I do...
Speaking of last things, man, do these concussions last forever? The ibuprofen I'm taking for the headaches will kill me before anything else. It's been three weeks and I still can't see straight. It's like being three drinks in all the fucking time. You can see, but it's not perfect. You can drive, but it's not your favorite thing in the world. Even watching TV is not easy, and that's the fucking easiest thing you can do in the whole world. Fucking seriously, three weeks in and the only thing that works is my ears and my ability to listen to music. But, even then, my mind wanders. I'm unable to focus completely. It drives me fucking bonkers. I almost stopped listening to a vinyl record part of the way through. And I firmly believe that once you start a record, you play it all the fucking way through. It was a sobering moment where I couldn't help but realize my predicament. I hate it. I can't wait to be "normal" (or, at least, my version of "normal") again. Fuck concussions. Fucussions. Is that a thing? ("The Grinder" joke for those who watched that immensely hilarious but ill-fated show. Man, it was so good to have Fred Savage back in front of the camera).
Also, we're currently experiencing a severe storm warning. I've watched a tree fall on a car in front of my apartment and prayed that the trees in front of my living room window don't pop in for a visit. It was funny, the power went out this afternoon for a while, and I remember thinking "Shit, now what am I gonna do?" Which, is silly for a number of reasons. First, I always complain I never have enough time to play guitar/music. A perfect, non-power activity. Second, I lived for years without a computer, internet, etc. and those years were amongst my most productive and fulfilling. One of the things I hate about our society is that the more convenient and easy things become, the lazier we become. It's so much easier to sit at home and watch Netflix or Hulu than it is to actually do something that contributes back to humanity; whether that means conversing at a bar or playing music in front of people or whatever people do apart from those two things (my only outside of the house activities).
I never thought I'd love a cat, but goddamnit, I love my little kitty. She can tell I don't feel well and has made it her (current) life's goal to make me feel as comfortable as possible. Normally, all she gives a shit about is food. She's like a little fucking dog. She runs up to greet us when we come home, begs for food whenever we walk near the kitchen and love to curl up on our laps late at night while we watch SportsCenter. Living in this kind of crappy, small apartment means no puppy dog for me, but she is somehow even better.
How about some music?
SONG I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD RIGHT NOW:
Not sure if I've mentioned this one before, but, fuck, this is a song and a half:
"Cost of the Cold" - Joan Shelley
It's got 800,000 some odd plays on Spotify, and I reckon at least 500,000 of those are mine. You'd be surprised how many times you can play it in a row on the 5 1/2 hour drive to Spokane, WA...
SONG I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD EVER:
Again, I don't keep track of music mentions, so this might be a retread but this is, without a doubt, one of my favorite songs ever:
"I'll Believe in Anything" - Wolf Parade
This is one of those songs that just fucking hit me at just the right fucking time in my life. I've said it before but I'll say it again (you wouldn't be reading this if you didn't give at least some shit about what I say) that one of the most amazing things about music is that a song can mean so many different things to so many different people depending on when it wandered into their life and what they needed from it. I needed it to be my everything for almost six months, and it delivered without asking for anything in return. It perfectly summed up all the pain and sadness and hope for me and the girl I was dating at the time. I was young and molting my exoskeleton, caught vulnerable by the world before I could protect myself once again. She was on her third exoskeleton but previously had been damaged so deeply that each new exoskeleton that grew out was already in a weakened state. I hope she was able to adapt and grow a proper shell. She deserved some protection from the wild. I wasn't strong enough to give it to her at that time...
Well, that's about it. Hopefully, I'll soon be able to report without said concussion and be back to my full powers. But, until then, these may continue to be sparsely broadcast. As always, go forth and, uh... Shit, I can't remember. Well, then just go forth for now, I suppose...
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