spin cycle

i'm just sitting here in this sty, strewn with half-written songs.
taking one breath at a time; nothing much going on.

replace the half-written songs with dirty clothes and unopened junk mail. it's 607 st. paul st. not that there's really nothing going on; there's lots going on. life is busy as always, yet i feel static. despite working a full-time job, directing a short opera at peabody, and singing regularly in church, i feel as if nothing is actually happening. there's a difference between being busy and getting somewhere.

perhaps it's because i've forced myself into suspended animation, my coping method for living with t. the cycle continues: breakfasts get eaten, dinners get cooked, rehearsals happen, books get read, and the hours pass, each one bringing us closer to august 1st. most of the time it's bearable, but sometimes the veneer cracks. it's during those times that i have to stand back and think, what the fuck am i doing? then i have a good cry, piece myself back together, and start the cycle again.