Stream of Consciousness

"Feather Moon" plays on a repeat loop in my iPod, loud enough to drown out the sound of the Bears game in the background. I love Vienna Teng. Her music has just enough melancholy to it to suit my search for my muse. For melancholy seems to suit her, whoever and wherever she is. She comes to me when it suits her, it seems, and it suits her most often when the music in my ears sets me down a peg or two. Slows me down and makes me, perhaps, a bit introspective.

I write until I run out of words and then I wait. I listen. I watch the game but the music keeps me grounded and I'm not really into the game, at all. I'm writing. And writing and painting are becoming more important to me that TV sports, or TV in general, for that matter. I am becoming less and less interested in the mindless pap that television offers for entertainment. No. That's not really fair. All I'm doing is echoing the sentiments of critics I've heard for years. TV is not really mindless pap. Writers work on these shows. Inventive people who would see us entertained by the product of their fertile and productive minds. And I'm sure that none of them want to have their stuff referred to as mindless pap. Sorry. The parrot lives in me sometimes. As it lives in us all. We see. We hear. And in the absence of the abiltiy or desire to form our own informed opinion we repeat the opinion of others. We give others authority over us by repeating their words - whether they REALLY represent us or not. So, no, not mindless pap, at all. But not as important to me anymore. I have things I'd rather do. I'm taking control. Of my time, of my life, of my opinions and things that matter to me.

Yesterday's post was so hard to write. Yesterday's post was so hard to live. A Sunday post. One not usually read by many. A response to a 100 Word Challenge. I had no idea. It just came out. I kept searching for an ending. I had to tie it to 'moral'. And I realized there is none. There never was one. And that's the point. But you all came to me and said kind and supportive things. Like you have always said to me. You can't know how much you all mean to me. You can't know what the things you say to me in comments mean to me.

Tomorrow is the end of The Kid. The last episode. What a ride. What fun this has been. I know what those guys who write for TV feel like, in a way. There was no Great Truth to find here. There was no secret sin to vent or explain away - no cleansing of inner demons. Just fun. Thank you, for letting me have fun.

Tomorrow is the last episode of The Kid, and Thursday is the "Epilogue". The last bit of fun. For now.