It was very early in our relationship when Earl discovered that I had a habit of sleepwalking once in a while. We still lived in the apartment and he found me standing in the walk-in closet of our bedroom. I was just standing there, seemingly asleep. He gently guided me back to bed, made sure I was tucked in and then went to back to bed. The next morning he asked if I remembered standing in the closet; I had no recollection of any of the event, but I told him that I have been known to sleepwalk once in a while. My mom tells of another favourite pasttime I had as a kid; I would shout out but be completely asleep. She’d check on me and I’d be making fighting motions in the air and be yelling about spiders or something. I wouldn’t let her turn off the light.
I still sleepwalk from time to time. Earl usually finds me in front of the window looking at the sky. Like before, he guides me to bed and I don’t remember a thing.
Apparently last night I added a new twist to my occasional nighttime activity for this morning my friend Greg alerted me to an e-mail I sent him shortly after midnight last night. The contents of the were a bit babbly and somewhat corresponded to a dream that I remembered having. I noticed that there were a lot of typos (something I try to avoid) and a strong element of incoherence in my dreamy prose, but apparently I was aware enough to compose the e-mail and hit send.
It would seem that having a computer near the bed is a dangerous thing.
It has done wonders. I haven’t snarled or yelled at or bitten a customer yet this week.
A couple of people have asked why Julie McCoy and I give them the same story I outlined in the previous blog entry. I also add that if I was just a tad bit gayer, at this very moment I’d probably be a Julie McCoy on a cruise ship somewhere. Not that I think that being gay has anything to do with being a cruise director, well at least the kind on a ship, but it probably would lead my path in that direction.
One of the things that I never seem to remember but always seem to realise is that if I don’t formulate a blog entry by 7:00 p.m. at the latest on any particular day, it’s most likely not going to happen. I don’t know why this is but I suspect it has to do with the fact that the creativity just falls out of my head at any random moment after I belch out my dinner. I daydream of brilliant, I tell you _brilliant_ blog entries and then I never write them down and then they fall away into nothingness. So I end up either not writing a blog entry or writing a blog entry about not writing blog entries.
I think one of the things that is affecting me tonight is that it is 84F at 10:20 p.m. It’s friggin’ hot. And being that this is usually a cold part of the state, there is no air conditioning in our house. I’m going to stick to the sheets all night.
Perhaps as I steam I’ll come up with something witty to write in the middle of the night.
One thing that I have noticed over the past couple of weeks is that I am undergoing a definite change in my taste in music. Whereas I have always been a fan of 80s stuff and anything new that is danceable (house and trance music), especially being DJ SuperCub and all, these days I am being drawn to tracks from the mid 60s to the mid 70s. For example, as I plonk this blog entry on my iPhone keyboard, I have listened to:
“Help Me” by Joni Mitchell
“Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Tommy James and the Shondells
“Feelins” by The Grass Roots
I am loving the honest musicianship in these tracks. There is very little in the way of electronic augmentation. Well, the technology on the track is used for effect, not complete replacement of a need of musicianship. The electronic stuff doesn’t attempt to cover up a deficiency, it enhances a natural talent.
This is all a complete 180 from cranking up a deep trance track and engaging in an E-like experience. I’m
curious as to the cause of my change in attitude with music but I must admit I’m enjoying the trip of what I’ve been
Now I’m listening to “One Of These Nights” by The Eagles. It always used to remind me of being a kid in the back seat of my Dad’s muscle car. Now it reminds me of a certain warm Nebraska night when Earl and I were in search of a hotel. I just remmbered the town in Nebraska: Scottsbluff. That has been bothering me for weeks.
There are two traits that I admire in people. Actually, that’s not quite accurate; I admire many things in people but there are two primary traits that I truly enjoy. One of them is charisma, which I consider to be a natural extension of self confidence. Not all self confident people are charismatic but most charismatic people are self confident. Let’s face it, some people are over confident. I don’t mind a touch of cocky (and we all know that I don’t mind a dash of arrogance) but I don’t care for self absorption or assholishness. Charisma though, that makes me swoon.
The other trait that I admire in a person is a lack of inhibition. I enjoy people that feel the freedom to do their own thing without reservation. It’s a trait I wish I had but in the back of my mind there’s something, though I can’t identify what it is, always holding me back even if it’s just a little bit. My throttle is usually at 3/4 power, sometimes I ramp up to 7/8 but I rarely cruise at full speed.
I don’t know why I have this touch of inhibition residing in my makeup. I’ve analysed it six ways from Sunday for the past 40 years but have never figured out where it comes from. I guess that’s not entirely accurate either, there are certain events in my past that hit home: in grade six I was described as “weird” by a couple of classmates. They said that after I performed in a school production of Battlestar Galactica. I guess I took “alien” too close to heart or something. I don’t know why that bothers me, I am odd. Today I celebrate that. But once in a while I have that little barrier I put up to keep my psyche safe.
I have a friend who used to perform in various talent shows in the area. Her singing voice is good; she can carry a note, she can stay within the key of the song and she has a good sense of rhythm. Would she make it on a Broadway stage? No. But when she gets up there and does her thing she puts every single drop of effort she has into her performance. I admire that. I always hold off just a bit. “What if they don’t like me?” Perhaps I’m afraid of failing and reliving that moment when I sang my heart out for a recital in college and I was told that I would never make it as a singer. I think my performance inhibition comes from that battle scar. I should strive to move beyond that.
Tonight I found myself singing Abba tunes as we left the theatre at the end of “Mamma Mia”. I started singing softly and slowly but surely I sang loud enough for the large group of elderly women to hear me. I didn’t want to intrude in anyway, I wanted to express my joy from the movie through song. And so I sang. No one said a word, good or bad.