I hate shoveling. I hate a lot of things I do obsessively. It strikes me that all of the bottled feelings of compulsion to do things have nothing to do with my enjoyment of the act once initiated.
That's not why I'm here. I guess I'm feeling pretty dark internally this morning and that's part of it, the rest, well...
I don't know.
The coffee's good. the dogs are here with me in the studio. I'm silent inside. though. I could bitch and I'm pretty confident I could find those things to bitch about, but that's just not a list of things I wanna look at.
There's coming a point where I have to look at me and I can get down about that. Mostly I'm upset that the guitar feels like a foreign country lately. I can't seem to find anything on it. I don't know where to eat or shit and I could stand to do both. I'm silent inside. I want to sing.