Morning Commute: Entry Thirty-Six:

commute fiction: entry three:
(first fiction entry re-worked. study in___.)

Sunday morning, 10 AM: wrote a vindictive dirge while Bridget out. Completely new song, first in two years.

It was a bit of carpe diem but B's absence had nothing to do with it. I was channeling gnarled up emotions towards something more useful than a nasty phone call and a few bullshit emails. The emails especially were anti-helpful; sent off into the ether to dissipate. No matter I had no "I should have said this" regrets with email. Aggressive wit just didn't translate well on the internet. B said I was making too big a deal out of the thing. Fuck, better to monopolize on it in songwriting than to attempt to erase it. So what if Lucille and her friends thought I was a jerk. I already knew that they had a lot of insecurities. I wasn't particularly interested in hanging out with them but Lucille was Henry's live-in (well, he lived with her is more precise) girlfriend; and Henry was my bandmate of four years and I've always been nice to Lucille, hell, even to her friends. Didn't B and I shell out 40 bucks a piece at Bedford's pseudo-classy birthday soiree? What the hell did I have? Oh yeah, butternut squash tomales. Henry spilled a bottle of red wine across the table which turned out to be the most entraining event of the night. Nobody else showed up. I should have gained points for showing up. Instead I was person non grata at any Lucille event. I knew going karoaking with them was a bad idea. We didn't get an invite until an hour before they left. Lucille invited Tony and his fiance so Henry invited us (Tony was our band mate). They made me out to be the bad guy from the get go. I wasn't the one who asked the Chinese decorator how she would say "saloon." You have to figure a guy who goes by "Colorado" doesn't have any class. One of his buddies shouted "hey George" when I walked through the door, thinking that would be a funny thing to say to a perfect stranger (my name btw is not George it's aq3opi2r4;q2kl3jkl). I couldn't pretend to find that funny - not that I made a stink about it. B and I out classed them so they took us as snobs. That's what it was. Anyway I didn't really care what they thought, just that Henry was upset with me for upsetting his girlfriend and her friends. And I loved Henry

When I finished the dirge, I felt like thanking all these nutcases. I didn't write songs anymore. I knew that this writer's block was a direct result of complacency which not withstanding my songwriting lull had an attractive apologia: 1) plentiful sex, 2) quality food, 3) sound sleep, 4) health insurance... I had found other means of creativity. Not long before, I heard of the Five Obstructions. It excited me. I fiddled with my old works. I had no problem using past works as building blocks for new ones. It's not like I had critics pointing out my self-derivation. I didn't even live in the same town where anyone would recognize the old material. The spin-offs didn't sound like the originals anyway. The rest of the band was in to it too. Of course it was not the same as writing a brand new song which was something, for all practical purposes, that I could only do at the hurling end of an emotional fit. I had plenty of that in my youth and now I was glad to have that sort of thing in rarified supply even while I placed high value on new songs.