Playing catch up...

Last night, I went to bed at 11:11, my magic time. (Ask me about that later.) Slept for 7 straight hours. Got the lord of the manor off to work, cooked up a formidable stack of pancakes, and went back to bed... for an hour and a half. Ahhh. That felt good.

Haven't slept much lately; always having been an 8-9 hr. person, getting 4-6, and that not necessarily all at once, seemed to be catching up to me. Yesterday, my new, improved picking was not too hot and I couldn't type. (In truth, I barely type at my best!) These events made me realize, "I'm tired!"

I've been losing sleep by spending a lot of time the past few months catching up on other things. Kind of ironic, but, my dreams.

Music is just me. It's a base of reality. It's a therapy. It's intrinsic, natural. I had a revelation back in March or April. I know, sounds lame, but I looked at a friend and said, "I'm a musician!", like it was some big discovery. Kind of was, though. I never acknowledged it before. I "played" or "loved" music; I "love to sing", but I have never said "I am...". The larger component of the statement was the inclusion in it of an acceptance. Music is not only me, it is OK; it is helpful, acceptable, fulfilling; a gift to me and to others. It's not a hobby, it's a state of being, a life. And it's OK, it's good. Man, talk about "the best things in life are free"; and free, I have become. Feels like being born-again, again!

It's kind of a bucket-list thing; for the past year, I have been contemplating what I would do if I could simply do what I love, (under an assumption that you will be good at doing what you love,) and it was sitting right there. Don't know that it was invisible to anyone else. It just somehow wasn't OK, to be a musician, a writer. It wasn't conventional, instant money, a "practical" life. It was just my "artsy side." Guess what? I don't have another side! And, it's my good side, too. How many hundreds of times do you have to hear, "you have a beautiful voice!" before you believe it? Welp, yup, apparently about that many, in my case.

So, having been hit by a ton of bricks and a ray of light, I am juggling them at an insane pace. True, they're not really bricks; they are words; all of the words I have been ignoring, all of the melodies I have never recorded; tons of raw material that is pouring out like a fountain. I didn't realize how prolific I seem to be until someone expressed amazement. After saying nice things about a recent offering, someone curiously asked how many songs I had written since April, and seemed to think i was really cranking; I guess! All new to me. So, I am a victim of songwriting on steroids, or something. No, I don't take them, just vitamins. But my brain might be on something; it's kind of doing it's own thing, like it just got it's first car, a driver's license, and a $1,000 gas card.

In truth, only about, I think, 9 or 10 are in sharable condition. A number of them are still only a set of well-metered rhyme on paper, not having been happily joined with music to mama's satisfaction. I have, at last count, 7 varying sized notebooks going, some nearly-filled, with observation, thought, lyric, lines, ideas. Zero to 60 in 4 months, or something like that.

It sure is fun.
It feels like home.
I suspect my enthusiasm is probably annoying people.

Fortunately, the most important person is agreeable to all of this. My dear husband, better-half and quietly supportive advocate, anchor and adoring fan of whatever I am, isn't complaining about my obsession. Except, he says I need to sing louder and need a louder guitar. (We'll have to work on that request!) He seems to be ok with my new lifestyle, including the wonderful people, the meetings, the late nights, the unfinished house work. At least for now :) In fact, it's his idea that I post this entry, 'cause I wasn't gonna.

I've gone from being a person who couldn't ever get enough sleep to one who forgets she needs it. I've gone from demonstrating a level of timidity in almost everything to one who is probably out-there forward. I hope the moderation is never complete, though; I will be very happy to only come down about half-way from my crazy high. I know it won't always be this way, but so far, playing catch up is, literally, the time of my life.