So I’m sitting in the warm afternoon sunlight, watching the world go by from my perch on the balcony, knocking back a couple of milligrams of dextropropoxyphene and caffeine, and almost starting to feel good about things! Why?
I dunno… Could it be the opiate receptor response? Probably!
Maybe it’s because the Mounties finally decided to catch their man (after more than two decades of doing nothing).
Or, perhaps it’s because I’ve found an outlet (however limited) for some of my physics knowledge, helping to answer questions on Professor Brian Cox’s Facebook page (and asking some of my own, since there are so many wonderful physics specialists there, even if they need pushing to answer the tough [i.e. extremely simple] questions!). I love to do that because in answering someone else’s question, it really makes you think about the exact details and how to explain it so that someone else will understand a little bit better, and that’s always a great workout for the mind!
Or it could be just that my Angel said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. She was burrowing through the piles of paperwork still unsorted (it’s only a year since we moved, give us a break!), and she found – and read – some of my poems. Not the one I won the punch bowl for, that was done and dusted and finished when Heather (another patient I met with opiate tolerance problems) died.
No, she found “The Craftsman”, “Songs of War”, “Hindsight” (the new version), and “If I Could Take the Sky” (which was always about Fran), and she read them again for the first time in years.
I didn’t even know she’d found them. All I heard was her saying quietly as she kissed my (infinitely small) bald spot, “You should write poetry professionally”…
Instantly, the tiny traitor in my mind started showering me with excuses and refutations, but I kept them to myself and thanked her, but she was already gone to finish the paperwork…
After sleeping on it, I figure, what the hell… I can’t finish the customer recording repairs I’ve got until I replace the blown-up computer system, and I’m not going to be able to even think about the possibility of allowing the thought to even cross my mind (let alone actually fix the issue) while I’m on the disability pension, and I’m not working at the moment while the various ‘borg bits get healed over. So why the hell not update and start writing again in the meantime?
Since I only have paper copies in my archives (thanks so much, 3Ware, for your shitty RAID controllers), I’ll post what I’ve got later this week.
Meanwhile, I need to work on a score for “The Craftsman”, probably using David McWilliams’ “The Days Of Pearly Spence” as a jumping-off point. After all, it’s his bloody fault I wrote the damn thing in the same metre and rhythm as his epic song! He owes me big time. How dare he write a song that enters my DNA when I’m just 12?
To the Keyboard! Prontissimo!