Winter Blows Through my Coat

I promised myself just three minutes ago if I could sit down, open iTunes and listen to If I Could Give All My Love or Richard Manuel is Dead by Counting Crows, I might be able to mellow out a little. I don't think I've heard it in over a year, but sometimes you crave music like food. Or crack.

While I was brewing up some 6 PM coffee, a few thoughts occurred to me:

I don't write enough.

I don't read enough.

I don't exercise enough.

I work more than I'd like, and I spend a fair share of time with my family, but mostly my time is consumed with doing absolutely nothing.

Then I think to myself, how can one do nothing? It makes sense, but on the other hand it doesn't.

The other night Alyse rode up in the front seat of my car a few blocks to the pharmacy on the corner. I had a burned CD playing and for the first time she heard the song for which she was named. Incidentally, it was the MTV unplugged version which is probably the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Seriously. If you ever do me a favor in your life, please listen to that song, that version in its entirety.

When I go back and read blogs past, there is a nuance in my writing that slightly annoys me; that annoys me slightly--whatever. But I don't know what it is. Do you? Maybe for so long, I've mistaken being insightful with being overanalytical.

Last night I had a dream I was the captain of a trash barge.

Then I think to myself, can someone really overdo something? At what point does doing something transverse the threshold of being done into the realm of overdoing?

"Don't try to feed me, 'cause I've been here before and I deserve a little more..."

I'm not on a Counting Crows trip, I just forgot my iTunes library is currently not set to shuffle. But now that it's come up, if you've never heard the Across the Wire (VH1 Storytellers) version of Rain King, I suggest giving it a good listening-to. It gets staggeringly beautiful, particularly around the 3:20 mark. The piano at about 4:13 still makes me close my eyes when I hear it. It's probabaly the most subtle thing I've ever come to appreciate about a song.

A couple of years ago, Aaron made me listen to Cold Heart of Stone by Frank Black & the Catholics. I haven't been the same since. I don't know how such a depressing song can make me so happy.

I don't remember just now what it was I sought to edit in myself, but somehow it became mentally intergrated as instinct. I guess if I'm collecting life lessons to pass on to my children, one would be about being careful when teaching yourself how to view the world. When the times comes, I probably won't explain it very well and they won't understand it.

Whatever it was at the time, I thought it was pretty smart.

But I don't think I like it anymore.