to the outside, the dead leaves, they are alone

It's official, I am buried. I have not made it out of work before sundown once this week, and I just cancelled a dinner with my pseudo-bro PG on Friday night, because I wasn't sure I would be able to make it to the 9 pm reservation. Last night, I had insomnia for the first time in years because I could not calm the anxiety about everything that needs to get done this week. And some time tomorrow evening, I have to flip the switch that will channel all of this current energy towards more important work this weekend.

But, this too shall pass. When I am buried, I do not die. I bury myself in a blanket of soothing sounds, I throw myself a wake, I write myself an elegy. Is this too morbid? Sorry. Sometimes I can't help it.

See, I was all prepared to rant, to rail against the system, to verbally flail at the notion of feeling stuck. But I do not feel stuck. Truth takes time. Besides which, I have iTunes. I opened it up like a kid might open a music box, the kind with the rotating ballerina.

But with better music. DeVotchKa. Come on, it's fun to spell and say. Listening to this music is kind of a sign of the progression of the week. I started out guzzling hard rock, the kind of rock with a bombastic guitar intro. And here I am politely sipping theremins, violins and accordions for comfort. Fuel to start a fire, and a cool breeze to prevent the flames from burning the whole place down.

And dreams. Small, but buoyant. Buoyant, but defying inherent gravity. Little bubbles so heavy with hope that when they burst, your heart might break.