Since the semester ended I have been sick. Twice. My body is decompressing. Or emitting. Or simply weak and tired after nine months of teaching.
After two semesters where every moment of my life had to be scheduled, the freedom of summer presents its own problem: I struggle to maintain a routine. I don't mind temporary aimlessness, but something about it scares me. Call me A-type, I guess. Or focus-driven. Or death-conscious.
During times like this, I don't write as much as I'd like.
Instead, I make music.
The process of creating and recording music is controlled chaos, which is what I need to help stave off the blues, and to assist with my emergence from the gauzy cocoon of constant obligation into the dangerous beauty of three months off.
Here is my latest therapy song. It is part of an unfinished 3-song EP inspired by a week's worth of Sister Bar and reverb and pilsner.
After two semesters where every moment of my life had to be scheduled, the freedom of summer presents its own problem: I struggle to maintain a routine. I don't mind temporary aimlessness, but something about it scares me. Call me A-type, I guess. Or focus-driven. Or death-conscious.
During times like this, I don't write as much as I'd like.
Instead, I make music.
The process of creating and recording music is controlled chaos, which is what I need to help stave off the blues, and to assist with my emergence from the gauzy cocoon of constant obligation into the dangerous beauty of three months off.
Here is my latest therapy song. It is part of an unfinished 3-song EP inspired by a week's worth of Sister Bar and reverb and pilsner.
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