deeplyshallow // pedal steel

pedal steel

I had one of those dreams last night.

You know the sort that I mean. It is so terrible, so cataclysmic, that it takes all of the good will and feeling that you have built up towards yourself during the past week and sets it on fire. Then it waves the burning scraps in your face for the rest of the day. Everything is soured, there’s soot smeared on the windows, and you wish you could wipe it off, but you think that if you did, you would only see the bad dream replaying itself on your lawn.

There has been a sick nervousness settling into the pit of my stomach all day long. It isn’t passing. I got up early and ate at the Shanty, hoping a complete breakfast would ease me a bit. It didn’t. I’m not sure what to do with myself for the rest of the day. This isn’t the sort of thing you can escape. You can only wait for it to pass, like a kidney stone.

That doesn’t mean that it isn’t a beautiful day here, because it is; the right shade of gray to the sky where it breaks through the trees, the right chill in the air, the plank fence in the backyard dark with a morning damp that probably won’t pass for a few more hours. I am listening to a live album that Hem released without telling me; finally I get to hear them play “Sailor,” and it’s rich with pedal steel, warm and liquid. It is only making me sad.

When I finish the morning’s obligations, I think I’ll head to the gym. The numbness that comes with exercise always helps a little, and I generally feel better afterward. After that, maybe I’ll just sleep the day away. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do.

For the first time in my life I am facing down all of my free time with the knowledge that it need only be spent how I choose. For the first time I am not stuffing the things that I want into a drawer for later attention. But now that this time is mine, I don’t have the first clue what to do with it, or with me. It’s been so long coming, and now what? This weighs on me, as if I have to make all the right choices now, or I’m somehow risking invalidating everything. No room for mistakes. The pressure I felt before has only shifted positions; now I have only myself to blame for it, however, which is somehow worse. One awful loop, my life.

Update: It’s evening now and as is the way of the world, things look much better now. Maybe it was the workout, or the the smoothie I had afterward, all bursty with protein. Maybe it was the five-spot I gave to the presumably homeless dude on Marsh Street. Could be the sweetly sad Hem songs I’ve been listening to all day. There is also the prospect of a late night drive to who knows where, probably with some In-N-Out fries along the way, any minute now. An hour ago, driving down the 101, a heavy blue SUV pulled alongside me and matched my pace. I thought I noticed a white blur, so I glanced over to see the passenger holding up a piece of cardboard that read HONK IF YOUR HAPPY. I tapped the horn without thinking, and they sped up the line to the next car. Beeps and toots accompanied their drive until they were out of sight. I pressed my horn again, because I hadn’t heard it before, and sure enough, my kickass Jeep came with a seriously pussy horn, one more befitting a pink little girl’s bike with a flower basket on the front and handlebar streamers.