You know how sometimes you find yourself unable to get anything done unless you can somehow manage to find that one stinkin’ thing that you’ve been looking for? You start out with the best of intentions – “I’ll just grab a glass of water and pop in a new CD and then it’s down to business”. So down you go to the kitchen for a drink and a fill-up, and after a quick stop to answer the kitty-toy-in-the-food-dish appeal to the kibble gods and another to liberate one of those poor, neglected rice krispy treats, it’s back up to the studio with 12 oz. of agua in one hand and a marmallow-y treat in the other.
“Now, what do I want to listen to?” You start with the pile that’s developed there by the CD player. “Nope, nope, nope…God, no. Let’s go through the big stack, shall we? No, no, no…why is there so much Sarah McLachlan in here? Did I buy all of those? Is this my CD? This one must have come up from the basement…a refugee from the Amazing Husbandini’s collection, I’m guessing.” The rooting continues…and you can’t believe how much money you’ve shelled out over the years for discs full of music that you currently have no interest in listening to. Then you realize that you have something specific in mind.
“Yes! A little They Might Be Giants would really hit the spot right now. Where is that CD? These all used to be alphabetized, didn’t they? I should really do that again one of these days.” At this point, you have a brief thought about doing just that, but then you realize that it’s 4:45 a.m. and you’re awake and you really need to get your butt in gear and get some art made before you have to trudge off to work for the day. So the alphabetizing project gets shoved over to your left ear canal and then falls completely out of your brain. Faintly, you hear your long-neglected muse cheer.
“Here we go! Apollo 18! No, that’s not the one I want. TMBG! What is this one? When did I buy this? Self-titled, I guess…but this isn’t the one I want, either. Where’s the…you know…the good one?”
It’s at this point you realize that nothing is going to get done. You eat your rice krispy square and drink your water and think about how there’s just no way that you could possibly be expected to accomplish any sort of meaningful artwork unless you can hear “Birdhouse in Your Soul” or “Whistling in the Dark”. The world may just never be right again.
That rustling noise you hear is the sound of your muse pulling the covers up around her and going back to sleep.