My "I paid way too much for it" copy of Grant Hart's out-of-print acoustic CD, Ecce Homo, also helped by arriving in the post on Friday.
Saturday, I went and had a long, excellent visit with my friend Sue, and I brought my drum to show her, and we also spindled, knitted, and talked and talked and talked, as we have not had a chance to in a long time. I cherish this woman. We struggle with some of the same issues, and I know after sharing some of my troubles with her and learning I'm not alone, I feel so much better, like I can go on, the moment after my dreams have died.
And have they really died?
On my bad days, yes. I can't see past the bad day gloom and doom. It's hard to find anything that really helps in any obvious way.
On my good days, I feel differently about everything. Today, for instance, after Friday's wallow, Saturday with Sue, and Sunday dealing with a waterbed that had sprung a leak, I came home from work and sat down and wrote, in a blitz, an eight-page short story. Inspired by a song of Grant's, it began to come to me this morning while I was sitting amongst my tools and wires. I hoped it would be with me still when I got home, and lo and behold, after an hour or two, it was. I am very happy with the end result, though I know in a few days' time there will probably be a bunch of things I need/want to fix.
But for now, the story pleases me, the repairs to the waterbed have held, my bedroom is neater than it has been in months, and I feel pretty darn good.
Grant, even though you'll probably never see my blog, I still want to thank you for "Flexible Flyer." Food for thought, and catalyst for a story. My arse has been saved by music, and my response to it, yet again.