This morning, I walked into work against the wind. Fitting. It will be a miracle when I inevitably get through today.
For valid reasons that will remain secret, I stayed out too late last night. It makes me, today, less than a model employee. Luckily, my laziness over the years has bred an unmatched efficiency, and I’m better on my worst days than many are on their best. Everything that needs doing will be done. Call it arrogance—I call it spiteful ego that, unfortunately, for today, is entirely necessary as a survival measure, or at the very least, a protective one.
This morning, in the mirror, I thought I looked hollowed out.
Black coffee. Blueberry yogurt. Out the door. Four hours sleep and poor consumption choices the night before be damned. Eyebags and all. I made it on time, too.
Last week, I wrote about how the problems that ail us were going to persist regardless of who won the election. I’m reminded of that as the drought in Connecticut persists, and brittle windswept leaves crack at my feet like winter skin from the seemingly ineradicable dry.
Short paragraphs today. My thoughts are few and disparate from lack of sleep. More coffee and the girthiest banana I’ve ever seen are doing little to alter that.
Friday, I played one of the best gigs of my solo “career,” if you can call it that. I tend to avoid using names or specifics in these things, usually to maintain a bullshit schtick of contrived mystique, but Friday’s show was so good as to warrant a direct shout. Factory Underground down in Norwalk is a really cool spot, and I was so lucky as to be given a tour of their multiple recording studios, their live rooms, and obviously the lounge where I and two other talented folks played. They even set us up in a green room, which I’ve experienced only one other time, playing at Higher Ground in Burlington with Carbon Based. Of course, back then, I had a panic attack in that green room and proceeded to play the show in a sort of post-panic stupor, but that’s a story for another PJ.
Maybe the banana helped after all.
The irony of that statement is, of course, that immediately after I wrote it, the cursor blinked at me for half an hour as I sat here wordless.
My album “On the Breeze” turned one on Monday, about which you may have seen me post. I hope it’s a testament to continued growth that, on the rare occasion I listen to it, I’m typically filled with a mixture of nausea, dread, and nostalgia for the era I worked on it. If I look back on what I’ve done before as an artist and don’t feel a tinge of shame, I wonder if I’m really growing.
That said, a few special people reached out to me yesterday to tell me how much they enjoy the record, which is proof enough for me that I’m not shouting into a void. It’s also proof that perhaps all the negativity that often swirls around my head re: Myself isn’t the only data to consider. So for that, I thank you—you know who you are.
Album two is on the horizon, but there’s much work yet to be done before it becomes anything other than a glimmer in my eye.
Other than all that, it’s just another day in paradise. A good day to walk against the wind.
matt nilsen 