Today I went home to the West End Estate to see dear old dad. He's doing just fine, and him and I decided baking ribs for lunch and then both retiring to our own most favoured couches for an hour and a half long sun nap was the best course for the afternoon. After we rose we went for a lovely walk on top of the hard frozen snow fields with the dog, sharing thoughts on current issues as well as how our lives were this week. I made the decision to polish my horridly salt stained jump boots to start my somewhat productive day and I found that performing such manual tasks allows for the mind to free itself and reflect.
I realized that my 2013 so far has been a very odd and special one. That I've had revelations, if you will, in terms of what matters and what doesn't, and what should or should not be allowed to trip you up.
I rang in the new year at my best friend's house as sore and shell shocked as can be due to being battered by an oncoming vehicle while I was walking across the King Edward/Templeton crosswalk completely legitimately in broad daylight, miraculously rising to my feet and actually being able to stay on them. The mental trauma will probably be engraved for a while, but the fact is I am the same man, and I am thrilled. I don't feel like getting into the details, but everything went well and no the man did not just drive away. This experience left me in an odd state for a while but I made some key decisions that don't really bear well with me but I knew I had to make them. It put into motion some projects I have always wanted to do but somehow never found the motivation for.
I moved on to brushing my dog, a task I'll never know if he actually likes to have performed on him. He's very hot and cold in his old age, I find.
At this point I realized that incident forced on me the choice to self record an EP that I may have been writing over a long time. I've always written things down whether they're outputted as single sentences or full songs, but I decided to man the fuck up and compile all my "works" and realize I actually have a shit ton of material to work with as well as the gear to make it sound somewhat listenable. I've already started, and regardless how it turns out I'm pretty stoked. Whether or not I've got talent I really do not know or care, nor do I write that to try and find reassurance, it's just something I really enjoy doing. Singing, strumming, songwriting. SSS.
I don't know, you get the idea that there really is not a whole lot you need to be frightened of, and that most things you are in fact scared of are constructs of your imagination and take one small push to pass through them unscathed (well, relatively). I am by no means saying I'm fearless. God no. I'm terrified of whether or not that next drink means I'm going to vomit everywhere or whether or not that assignment I submitted makes the difference of a pass or fail, but it's more knowing that once something happens...it's happened. It brings on a potentially sad revelation that maybe I am not an interesting person whatsoever, simply a completely average individual who has had interesting things happen to them. The question of whether or not that is really a bad thing. It presses onto you that asking a girl to have a drink with you really shouldn't come off as a monstrous ordeal or having a drunken lunatic threaten to break your nose is now somewhat totally laughable ("somehow I doubt you punch as hard as a car", type of thing).
I go now and start a fire in the fireplace for my dad to a)heat the house for the night before I head back into the city and b)show I'm not totally useless.
So in the end what have I come to conclude? That 2013 will probably be just fine. That what happens, happens. That I'll get around to doing what I truly enjoy and hopefully spend it with the ones that make me feel just fine. Gilmour is proving to never disappoint.
Do what you like! You'll be alright!
Whatever comes my way, I shall encounter it while wearing a fine ass pair of boots.
And for fuckssakes look both ways.
Keep the memories in your bones.