I'm returning your wings.

Today found me making, several times, a familiar pilgrimage to SoHo that I haven't really made since the summer, in turn, found me full of self-deprecation and -pity, but empty of funds for train rides. I'd made a mix to end all mixes on my shuffle; a collection of songs to chronicle the palpitations of a warped heart trying to understand if it had been dug out from fossil matter, a complete anachronism whose struggle would then only make sense, or it was simply doomed. Gradually, things actually did change. I met other people. I got promoted. I got an MBTA card. Finally, the shuffle was laid to rest on my shelf, replaced by something larger and cooler. "The world had moved on" as they say in the Dark Tower. Things had finally changed. And I hadn't really noticed it.

So I popped my shuffle on as I made my rounds today, cycling through the songs less for the purpose of listening to them and more to hear what songs were in the mix; to see what I'd assigned meaning to all those months ago. It was weird...there were clusters of songs that were clearly me indulging my own inner pity, followed by waves of embarrassingly cheerful songs aimed at perking my chin up to the very clouds that the CareBears pay overpriced rent for (I don't care what you say, BrightHeart, it's NOT centrally located). None of them meant much now, but it made me think a lot. I had been downright pathetic. Granted, no one could have jarred me from my funk by telling me that, including a future, well-informed version of myself. It was just something I had to go through.

I've been overhauling my apartment the last two days in order to cleanse myself of 2007 as well as make way for some significant changes 2008 has already exacted upon my tiny, carbon-based footprint on the world. In so doing, I found a horde of asian mustard packets from chinese takeout across the city. I forgot: I was obsessed with chinese food this summer! And I've got enough extra condiment packets to live off of for two weeks, should I dare. To salute the most morose of summers and the loneliest of falls, I made the tea that came with a long-since devoured tray of ho fun, and consumed the hermetically-sealed fortune cookie whose contents were likely intended for Rob Morrison circa July 2007.

"The guilty one is hidden in the misty copse.
Are you ignoring the signs?"

Oh right. The fucking History channel infiltrated my dessert of portent over the summer to promote The Lost Book of Nostradamus.

If that doesn't deflate my whole self-centered evening, nothing will.

My aunt came into town the other night, and I had a truly awesome time catching up with her. It's strange that her visits have served as little milestones for me: last time she was in town, I'd just gone through the breakup, and the time before that, I was just about to experience it (unknowingly, of course). In comparison to her last dinner with me, I must have seemed far more sane and together. And I heard it in me, as I spoke with her. "Wow...I really have come a long way. I'm actually managing to support myself financially (knock on wood), I feel artistically decent, and I'm pretty happy. It almost doesn't feel like me!"

But nothing has been handed to me. I've had to wrangle it all out of the mud and spray the film off just to see if it's any good to begin with. Though cheesy and depressing, I've come to terms with one concept: No one really cares that much about me. And if I put my trust in anyone's sense of responsibility, decency, or even basic ability to act like a human being, I'm being a sucker. The only person I'm in control of is me, and I gotta make sure I do help out others as well as look out for myself. To me, this isn't really depressing. Just a wake up call, and a different tack on things. And it's one I'm already employing largely without much effort. If my big pet peeves are dishonesty and being ignored, I need to pay the antidotes forward.

The only goal of note that wasn't accomplished during my two-day hiatus from the world was the sizable amount of recording I keep putting off. I'm trying to digitally log all the tape I've got on reel-to-reel, too, which is several hour's worth at least. Well, something for next Wed-Thurs, I suppose.

I've some new lyrics from Christmas that I may post next time.