Up in the Night ….

Last night I was up in the night. It was a warm night. The wind chimes were moving and the sky was clear. I played word games on my phone. I watched a video about birds of the southeast. I felt very awake. Much more awake than I do when the sun is out and there are things to do. I started writing a poem. I looked out the window at the sky. There was a very low, bright star right above the treeline. Was it a planet? Was it Mars? If I had telescope, it seemed like I could see the surface of Mars, it was so bright. But I didn’t have a telescope. I listened to the sound of the house. The fridge, the icemaker, the air conditioning, the fan. I felt strangely happy, but also lonely. I wished a thunderstorm would pop up and the girls would come running downstairs like they did when they were little and then everyone would be awake with me. I thought about my “career” - I hate that word. I always have. If it’s not used sarcastically then it’s not used correctly. I thought about it tho. My “trajectory” - was it correct? Should I be darker? Should I point myself towards music at the emotional crisis point? The intersection of drunk and unrequited love? It all seems rather undignified for someone in their early 50s. Should I study the keyboard ? Yes I decided. Should I be a “wind-up merchant” and the next time I do an interview, should I say “I embrace A.I. - I love it actually!” And come up with something to say like “it’s the will of the collective consciousness and besides it’s gonna be in everything from now on.” And make it seem like I understand it and work WITH it and not AGAINST it. No. That’s not me. I hate everything about it. I hate the way the dumbass music sounds. All MP3-ish and tinny and lame. Should I buy a 30.000 dollar Fender Telecaster? Like the one stolen from my dad in the 80’s? Would that reset the balance for my soul and my Karma? I could tell Lillie it’s a good investment. Would I feel a sense of confidence when I picked up the guitar then? Like I knew what I was doing, and I wasn’t just some lucky dilettante. The Esquire would prove it, cause nobody plays one of those if they don’t know what time it is. It’s a quarter past BLUES. It’s 4:20 AM. The girls will be up in 2 hours. Should I just stay awake and start cleaning the kitchen like someone who’s Adderal is wearing off? Should I make some elaborate breakfast dish that takes 2 hours to make and when the girls come downstairs it’s amazing and they are like “WOW! You’re the best dad ever!” And then I smile and say “Nah. It was nothing.” While they dig into some Swedish breakfast pancakes with sour cream and lingonberries. Then after they go to school I can fall asleep for a couple hours… No wait the housekeeper is coming and I don’t have a tip for her. Should I go to the ATM now? I could slip out and see what the pre-dawn streets are all about these days… who’s out at this time? E.R. Doctors? Nurses? School teachers with a personal fitness passion, out jogging before they have to get to school at 6:30. Should I go to the studio and start my new album? No. That seems too hard. Should I read some political pundits on Substack and really get myself worked up and paranoid? That oddly ends up being the one I pick. It’s strange because, reading this now, it’s clearly among the worst, if not THE worst option. Why does one choose the worst option sometimes? Because at least, it knows who it is. The worst is unapologetic. It stands for what it is. It makes no excuses for itself. It’s like “Look, the data is out there. I will kill your slowly. You pick me and you are playing with fire.” And I say “well you know what? I do pick you so there! See if you CAN kill me because I don’t think you can. I’m too optimistic to be brought down by the clown show of politics.” But then I lose the battle and I lose my optimism and I suddenly want to be asleep. I look at the weather. Clear, and it’s 11 degrees above the average temp. Damn. I think for a moment that climate change is real, but I push the thought away before it takes hold. Will there even be a world tomorrow ? Will the sun come up? Or will humanity just say you know what never mind. It’s all too much. I know. I had some green tea in the studio for my throat when I was singing, and that’s what’s kept me up. I must remember to not drink green tea in the afternoon. It’s hard to remember all this stuff, but I’ll add it to the list. Do I have early Alzheimer’s like my dad? Is that why I couldn’t remember one of my good friend’s name the other day? Am I stressed? What do I have to be stressed about? I’m lucky. I have a nice family and a job that I love and people in general like me. I get to use my skills as a musician and a writer. I’m living the dream. But I don’t have a plan or a retirement plan. I don’t even know how much money I have. Do I have enough ? Will anyone want to write or work with me when I’m 64? Should I take psychedelics again? Am I unnecessarily sober? You know those types: “None for me thanks! I don’t need anything other than the heady cocktail of reality! Just the scent of jasmine gets me high!” - that’s never the guy you want to be. But I don’t think I want to be on drugs really. It’s too much emotional baggage. Too many stimulants. I’m already a ball of neurosis. I’m the Woody Allen of Americana. I overthink overthinking. I feel a yawn. Yeah. I might be able to sleep now… let’s give it a try…