I’m here, and it’s early in the morning, and for most people where I live it’s a holiday. But as Rocky once said, “It’s Thursday,” and that’s how I look at it as well most of the time. If only Bison had attacked Chun-Li’s village on Thursday, then I could meme the hell out of today.
Now yesterday . . . no meming going on, but oh, that was not a good day. Because I have depression, it’s often necessary to gauge a day on a scale of good to bad. Yesterday was bad, really bad, extremely bad, double-plus ungood bad. I was unable to do much of anything but stare at the computer screen, play games, and think about how bad the day had become. There were any number of reasons for this: weather, body dysmorphia, lack of hormones, just hating my lot in life–name it and it was probably rolling about in my head at some point.
The bad part comes when it cripples my creativity. I had a few hundred words written earlier in the day, but after that I couldn’t stand to look at the story. Every time I’d look at it, I didn’t want to deal with the damn thing. Sometimes I snap out of that, sometimes I have to kick myself in the ass to get me to move.
Yesterday I sat and sat for hours, well into the afternoon, before I did something: I went looking for music. And I found a couple of things that helped pull me out. First, The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society, which is one of the most underrated albums of all time by one of the most underrated groups of all time. Lovely little pop songs of around three minutes each to help get you out of a funk. Then I slipped into The Kinks Khronicles, which is a collection of their singles and B-sides that was released in 1972. (Do you realize there are no such thing as “B-Sides” anymore? Or that most people have no idea what they are these days?) One of my favorite songs, Waterloo Sunset, is on Khronicles, as is another favorite, Victoria. It helped immensely I could hear that both these close together.
After all that I threw on Aoxomoxoa by The Grateful Dead. I’m not a Deadhead, but there are times when mellow yet somewhat experimental tunes is just the thing to pull you out of a spin, and an hour of that album did wonders. In fact I’m listening to a concert the Dead performed at Winterland Arena on 11 November, 1973. It’s a three hour concert, or as some people might say, one of their shorter ones from that period. (When the Dead performed at the last show at Winterland on New Years, 1978/79, they played for just over six hours.)
In the end it all helped. Later in the evening I started writing, and by the time I finished, some time around ten-thirty PM, I was over fifteen hundred words, I’d closed out my last scene, and started the next one–the visit to The Witch House. Ooooh, spooky.
I’ll return to The Witch House today. Why?
Hey, a girl’s gotta write.