confession: i spent an hour searching for music to accompany me today. when nothing from my established collection sounds good in my ear, i look for something new. sad songs and tangos show up in my recommended searches. after surrendering the search from needing to work, during a second hour of defaulting to youtube’s recommended mix for me i heard a cover of etta james’ “damn your eyes” and realized the song i crave today is zap mama’s version of the same which led me back around to mighty sam mcclain which i usually save for after work, but today flows best if i begin where i usually end. music takes me where i need to go.
confession: yesterday i spent several hours in a tattoo shop listening to death metal that characterizes that environment mixed with william shatner covering pop songs in show tunes style. while the needles were working ink into my arm, i focused on the sensation of vibration instead of perceiving pain. fifteen minutes after the needles had completed their task the pain began because there was no more vibration to focus my attention.
confession: my tattoos increased by 250% yesterday but the new one looks like it has been on my arm as if it were the first from twenty years ago, belonging more precisely than the rest.
confession: there’s a reason i don’t write the letters i telepath to exes. i don’t think they’d be well-received, which isn’t to say they wouldn’t be appreciated and read with gratitude, but i don’t think that sending those letters would be constructive for the recipient because i think my words would be misconstrued. my letters might be read with hopefulness for what might be in the future and i don’t have hope. i have relief from letting go. writing “i’ll always love you” is a letting go for me.
confession: i bought a box of mismatched christmas cards yesterday for $.50 from my favorite thrift store to send ironically mid-year to people who dislike christmas as much (well, almost as much) as i do.
confession: last summer’s revelation was “depression is so sad.” i’m not depressed anymore but the sadness remains. i carry the sadness in a larger container ten months later. i’ve lost more. i’ve grieved much. my heart has grown. maybe depression is the fallow season required for the heart to grow large enough to hold accumulated sadness with extra space to create the next phase of living, breathing, and loving.