It's a hot August night and I have trash and recycling to take out; then I have dishes to wash. It strikes me that I am doing Night Work, a la the new eponymous title track from the latest Scissor Sisters opus.
I have since completed said night work, and I am humbly trying to articulate what exactly I am feeling when I listen to this music. With all that seems to be off-kilter with my life plan, the music seems to soothe me. I can happily dowse myself with Dawn and scrub sponge mopping up Rice a Roni from yesterday's blase effort at dinner as long as I have Del, Jake, BabyDaddy and Ana Matronic rolling around between my ears.
More realistically, my medication for my abhorrent sinus infection seems to be turning me into a daytime pariah, hating sleep in all its incarnations. I have consistently had a two a.m. bedtime for the past week or so. I think my mind is more expanded and stimulated at this witching hour.
It's at this point I become simultaneously introspective, retrospective, and prospective, all in the same synaptic second. That is why I sat down to see what lexical treasures I could elucidate from my heightened sense of self.
Of course, this is all a chemical delusion. I am in a delirious funk of tambourine and tango, and the fleeting feeling of joy is ever so much closer.
I guess that's all for now. My iPod battery is wearing down and I need to plug in. Cheers to chasing the dragon, even if in reality the dragon is a disco diva. It takes one to know one I guess. Ta-Tah.
