More recording.
And then, I return home to what feels like monotonous tedium.

Cutting up snacks. Folding laundry. Gathering the crayons from under the table.

I come home to conversations like this one:
"Mom, I'd like to be a reptile."
"Hm. Really? Why is that?"
"Because then I would be born in an egg."
(pause)
"And also I wouldn't have to go to school."

Or this one:
"Mom, can a worm marry itself?"
`Hm. I`m not sure. I"ll have to ask daddy about that one."

I get a little grouchy coming home after being at the studio, I have to admit. It is wonderful beyond words to be able to concentrate on one thing, one SINGLE thing, for a whole day.
I can sing my parts until I get them right, without any interruptions. I can make tea whenever I want. No one sits on the bath tub with me while I pee. I get to FINISH MY CONVERSATIONS, instead of having a thousand unfinished thoughts floating in the air like lost feathers.

Oh, what is to become of this double life of mine?

Just spent a week in the studio recording what will (hopefully) become another release. The producer is kind, and whips up gourmet meals while regalling us with strange stories of his rock and roll tours "back in the day". He knows all kinds of famous people and when I walk through his door, I make tea, and then place it on a picutre of David Hasslhoff, who is standing on a big stage wearing the most awful pants I have ever seen in my life, tight black with patchy black and white material on each leg and over the crotch.

Every day, I go down, like a spider, into a dark room. I sit there until my parts are done, and then I emerge into the too-bright light, squinting. It's almost 100 degrees here, but I wouldn't know it. They keep the air conditioning on, and I walk around in a sweater, with my hands wrapped around my warm teacup.

Making things (dare I say art?) is so vulerable.
Every day I have to go in and try my best while simultaneously letting go of the best, because often the best is just fantasy. Theory. The process is, at times, unbearable. I hear orchestras, symphonies, gospel choirs, horn sections in my head. But eventually, you have to let go and let it be what it is. Letting go of some grand idea is heartbreaking. But controlling it only makes you mental.

This is my struggle as a writer too; It has recently occurred to me that for years I have been waiting for that "just-right" feeling to descend upon me like a light beam from Heaven, and THEN... then I will know how to write the perfect song or the best-selling book or the great poem. This has never happened and I have come to believe that it never will. The very nature of art making is not one of glory, but of humility, and this means you have to be absolutely willing to say: "This could very well be total crap. But on I go."

Because of a need to express oneself. Because remaining silent has become more unbearable than saying it out loud.

And then, just when you've resolved to be okay with the mess, to do it anyway, something happens. And you realized it's the "just right" feeling you've been waiting for, but it only came after you'd been digging in the dirt a while, and it didn't come the way you expected it to either, it took on a different form, but there it is. You breathe a sigh of relief and realize, with finality that THIS IS THE ROAD. This is how it works. And so, at the end of the day, you see that not much of it is your business. In fact, the only part of it that IS your business is the showing up.

Some (hopefully) beautiful new songs coming soon....