Why is it that I've had constant streams of thoughts needing recording all day, all weekend, and now, when I sit down to flesh them out, they've deserted me. Maybe it's that I don't know where to start. Do we ever really know where to start, though?

It's this feeling that I'm constantly hoping will visit, and stay longer on its next trip. This feeling of complete contentment, quieted joy, comfort in my place in life being temporary and mutable, tender cheer at friendships that sustain neglect and can grow from small chunks of time here and there. I'm relaxed and stress-free, but with a tinge of apprehension for tomorrow's complete change of all that. Tomorrow's going to be like the first day of school's nerves and worries and wishing I were five with my mom picking me up at three.

Forgive the lack of structure...

Live music seems to simultaneously blank my mind and fill it with warm, rushing, gauzy swatches of thought. Seeing the Fray and Dave Matthews in concert Saturday was a singularly amazing experience. It felt as if my heart was just about to leap out of my chest for the immensity of the emotions it was overflowing with. The combination of my IA at my right, and the songs that have served as the canvas for many of my hopes and dreams over the past year, made me want to cry. Me! Cry! When's the last time that happened? Cry, just because there was no other way to release the pent-up feelings inside, no constructive way to get it all out. It's as if there was an overactive silkworm inside, stumbling over itself to draw out each experience, each pain and joy and rememberance and word, and weave them into some cohesive ball of EMOTION that I could spit out. I like feeling, sometimes. I like feeling human, with depth to my nonsense big words and thoughts. I like feeling most when I'm removed from my own reality and so the feelings don't hurt as much. When the music is there, filling in all the crevices that were chinked away by my dad and depression, it seems as if everything's going to be ok; I could almost believe the songs would last forever, that this elation could last forever. But then the stage goes dark and we exit the arena, leaving our dreams unrequited in the massive space reigned in by concrete and plastic seating.

Both talking with IA about his mom and grieving and loss and perspective and having just finished the memoir "Long Way Gone" reminded me, yet again, how I can't expect life to wait for me to get around to doing all the things I want to. Need to. Why it's always got to be now or never. Why I really need to get around to forgiveness.

Anyway, that all made sense to me. That's all I'm going for right now.