I remember a few years ago when Seth Lanier lived in Colorado still, I sent him a copy of Bob Dylan's Live 1975 (Bootleg Series Vol. 5) - I am thinking of this because that version of Mr. Tambourine Man just played on Pandora. And I remember he posted a myspace bulletin about getting that in the mail. I loved that. Because I love attention, maybe, but because I love knowing that my instincts are right, that my dear friend would appreciate that specific collection of jams delivered in the very strange way I delivered it, definitely. And I'm happy to know that even thought I don't reserve the same time to send that same kind of ridiculous mail, I still do, from time to time, send those messages into the universe that are pretty on-point when people need them. I think that's important to consider. I do wish I knew how to set more time aside to do that. I was also crazier then, and in a time of mania. I needed to talk to anyone who wasn't around. I needed to explode. It's easier when people aren't close--- they won't judge you as much from far away. Something like that.

I worry about the people I miss, worry about them knowing that I do miss them. It's hard to keep yourself afloat with so much worry. It all just feels like selfishness. It feels mostly like I can't explain myself. Why don't you just get my brain messages? Why is that the best I can do?

Anyway, today I didn't have much to say. I was uncomfortable all day, not upset or anything. I just felt strange, like a weirdo, like I just wanted to sit at home with my dad on the brown couch and think of nothing. But I couldn't think of nothing. All I could do was actively feel uncomfortable and worried.

But then I hear that beautiful damn song. "Play a song for me." And I feel so good humming along to my favorite lyrics. And I know my dad's already sitting next to me on the couch in my brain, no big deal. And I think about the way we spend time with people who aren't around. And it's not projections or mental instability--- it's the spirit! It's beautiful communication in the mystical realm. It's believing and knowing and experiencing and refusing to judge your own self, even for just a moment. I love that music is often this signal in my life, reminding me that we're all in this together, and reminding me so often that I'm okay on my own, too. This doesn't have to make sense to anyone else, because I'm just writing this time for myself, giving myself a little something to sing along to.

And now, Me and Bobby McGee. A song I will always hear through my mother's voice in Swedish. Amazing. So good. Good night.