I woke up with Lana Del Rey’s “Tomorrow Never Came” playing in my head. The line, “sitting on the park bench, waiting for you” repeating over and over in my mind. I can hear the music, her voice. Are those words even right? Or do they go another way, I have to look it up,
No, I was wrong, the part I was thinking of, it goes,
“I waited for you
In the spot you said to wait
In the city, on a park bench
In the middle of the pouring rain”
The image is stuck in my head, and it repeats over and over. Now I am finally able to drown it out listening to Warpaint, or Sharon Van Etten. I don’t think I really like “Tomorrow Never Came” as much as other Lana songs, so strange. The reference to Elton John and with accompanying vocals by Sean Ono Lennon. The past is present, it lives on, its alive within us.
What does it mean when I get songs stuck in my head? How am I able to hear the song, the instruments, everything not just the words. I can recall exactly how it sounds as if I am actually listening to the song, how is the brain capable of that?
This is week two of me taking a break from working on my novel. I have given the second draft to a trusted friend and I am patiently waiting for them to finish it and provide some much-needed feedback. I feel calmer and less anxious this week than last, I had been itching to keep working on my novel but refused to look at any drafts or write any background on my characters. I need to distance myself from my work so I can gain a better perspective.
When I say/write “my novel” it sounds so pretentious. But when I say “my book” it sounds flat and lifeless, like it could be anything, a recipe book, a book of quotes, anything. Novel sounds better.
For lunch today, I had a wheat bagel toasted with butter and blackberry jam. I fried up some scrambled eggs and ground up some pepper and salt for taste. I drink my coffee, my thermos keeps my french roast hot for hours, the longest I’ve counted was seven hours, I think that was yesterday.
Mundane details of my day, by writing them out I’m keeping myself occupied, my mind and my constant desire to write anything.
Every morning I use my electric kettle and boil enough water to fill the french press up to the little white line that denotes ‘4 cups’. I use pre-ground organic french dark roast coffee. I have cut cream out completely from my daily coffee ritual. Did that take as long as when I cut out sugar years ago? After I noticed I went through a 5 lb bag of white cane sugar in only a couple of months. The amount of sugar I used is revolting to me now. Two to three teaspoons per cup. Cup after cup after cup after cup.
There is a winter storm warning in effect right now. It started yesterday around noon. The big white flurries coming down. The mountains white with snow and half hidden by looming thick grey clouds. I drove around and ran some errands, bought a new pair of shoes and decided to go home. Reading the road, the drivers, aware of their movements which were becoming more erratic since it started snowing, I didn’t want to risk it. Risk being on the road with people excited, aroused, or angry ready to hit the gas and plow through the snow only to slip and slide and run into each other or worse, me.
Now the snow has piled up high, at least a foot on the fence as far as I can tell when I look out the window. There is so much snow. I am beginning to wonder how long it takes for people to get cabin fever in these conditions. I think about reading The Shining. I really want to and I am surprised that I haven’t yet. Today would be a perfect day to start but I have plans.
Soon I will have to pull on my layers, my boots and gloves, wrap myself up and go outside to dig out my truck. I have plans tonight with my partner and the short drive to meet him will take longer than usual today. Can’t help but think about the movie The Thing, can’t help but think to myself that some things are not what they appear even when they look familiar. My street, the house, even my truck hidden under snow on snow, white on white. It is all unfamiliarly familiar like prescribed deja vu.
In the back of my mind, I can hear my characters, they shuffle in the kitchen, pacing. I can hear their voices begging me to let them out. I can only imagine what’s going to happen when this is over.
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
I’m going to go play in the snow.
-Alina