I don't want to go to bed - post Canadian Tenors

Cause then it will be tomorrow.

I don't want tomorrow. Today was really nice. People valued me today. People loved me a bit too, I think. Nice, because I love them, so it was a lovely win-win.

But if I go to bed, and I should it is really, really late. My Canadian Tenors will have to fade back to a reality type situation. Never my favorite arrangement, don't you know. But I am going to bed to sleep and dream all the dreams that live within me.

For my boys. No. I am not sick of you seeing you Remi. Are you sick of seeing me? Maybe. Silly. Is one sick of a fine wine? An exquisite painting? Even the tiniest of variations in your performance gives me joy.

I can see you guys are tired and need a rest. JEFFREY please schedule in a rest. Our boys need a rest. All of us who love them will still be here after they rest and return to us refreshed. See? the joy of not having a fan base driven by teenage hormones. We will long for your return and reward your re-appearance with joy.

I could expand upon my argument, but instead have decided to leave it there and really go to bed. The Canadian Tenors: you bring me joy. I just feel better about life and the world after seeing you. So I do apoligize. I know that it is long and it is tiring. But you do bring joy and hope. I heard a woman joke with her friends that she felt so uplifted and refreshed that maybe she could skip church on Sunday See, spreading that happy is your purpose and I am here to remind you of it in any way that I can.

Okay 2:10, and an early corporate morn tomorrow. For all of you that tune in regularly - I love you too.

Better today.

See the joy of the creative personality? The fact is I shoveled a ton of story yesterday despite my late night fit of pique.

Thing is. Just because I’m all happy joy joy sunshine girl today doesn’t mean that yesterday wasn’t deeply ugly. It was. And I share that with full realization that it doesn’t make me look very attractive or heroic. It is truly the double edge of the creative sword and if you think you’ve escaped it? You’re either deluding yourself or you are a crap writer. And I’m afraid I have to stand by that, even if I hurts your feelings.

Not that there isn’t a place of joy and harmony for writers. But you don’t get a free pass. Sorry. As my guru of writing says in her book “Inside Story” (and I paraphase, Dara forgive me) if you as a writer can’t get down and dirty with your theme and your own experience. We can tell. Happy for your privacy and our comfort, we don’t know what about your writing is true. So. Delve deep, be honest with yourself. If you honestly explore the question before you from your own experience? Heaven awaits. Or so I’ve been told.

Lost Hour, Nanaimo – 4:31am Sunday December 6, 2009

 Lost Hour came late today. Makes sense in that we didn’t shut it down till 1am. And then after a half dozen 5$ martini’s between us in the hotel bar after the Canadian Tenor’s show. Such a great day today, ah, yesterday. So many laughs  large and small. Lots of talk, music, wine and joy. Hard to get the pen moving now though in that it is so much easier to sink into a dreamy reverie.  I do want to write down one thing about the day though. Before Moosie (my new stuffed moose wearing a mini Canadian Tenors t-shirt – Yah, I see your eyes rolling, but you can’t really ever take the teenage girl out of the middle-aged woman you know.) and I return to the land of Nod.

Lil’ Dude asked me today, in and amongst about a billion other assorted questions, what did I think was more important? Memories or Dreams? Tough call, ay? Given that memories form part of the fabric of who we are and give context to our dreams. I’m going to side with dreams as I strive to live joyfully in every moment and I can’t live backward, so faith and hope in my dreams pulls me forward and, quite honestly, keeps me alive. Then again, all of my writing is memory and dream intertwined, so closely knit as for there to be nothing to choose between them.

So maybe I don’t have an answer to that question at all Lil’Dude. I’ll just put it in the big box of things-to-think-about and take it out and mull it over from time to time.  To turn it over in my fingers and feel the cool slick hardness on one side, the gritty powdery bit underneath, the squishy bit round an edge. All the while I breathe in the scent of cheese puffs and lavender, stale beer and creosote, basil and sweet spicy boy. 

Moosie says G’night and G’bless.