Recursive Words

I woke a little after 7 this morning, told the radio to shut-up, then fell back asleep. I don’t remember what I dreamed about during the next few minutes – but I remember wishing I could return to the story when I woke the second time. After gazing at the wall for a while, a cog turned inside me that rolled me upright, and set about finding clothes for the day ahead. But perhaps a bath first.

We still have no shower. For the last three weeks I’ve been jumping in the bath every few days, but mostly subsisting with strip-washes. I had a shave this morning too – I feel clean and tidy for the first time in days.

It’s interesting how everything seems to happen in waves. It feels like I’m climbing out of a hole at the moment. The internet is fixed. My body seems to be repairing itself after being sick for the last few days. The bathroom will hopefully be finished this week. Of course then we’ll set fire to the washing machine.

Did I mention that we’ve had no washing machine for three weeks? The washing machine lives in the bathroom that’s out of action at the moment. Can you imagine what that’s like – when there’s seven of you in the house? Eight on a bad day? I resorted to buying clean clothes last week.

While all the mayhem has been revolving around us, it’s nice to know that the wider world is just as awful as ever. We have a skip on our drive. A couple of nights ago a considerable quantity of builders waste – not our own – appeared in the skip. Also, something entirely unexpected has happened every few days the skip has been there – a van has driven past, and it’s occupants have robbed the skip of any metalwork.

While emptying my head, I’m listening to Kacey Musgraves. I still haven’t ordered any vinyl albums – I really should. Her music has become a quiet soundtrack to the study in recent weeks. I wonder if the mighty cloud music machinery can suggest similar artists? I’m aware of the likes of Lainey Wilson, Miranda Lambert, and Carrie Underwood – but they are far more “country” than Kacey’s recent albums. I guess Kate Voegele is a little closer?

Story telling songs somehow remind me of Vonda Shepard. Back when I was single I used to watch Ally McBeal (until they ruined it and gave her relatioships – the whole point of the show in my mind was that she was always unlucky). For those that don’t know, Vonda Shepard often closed the show – playing live in their local bar. Bittersweet songs filled with yearning for what might be.

We’re heading out for dinner with friends this evening at a local pub. A rare treat. A chance to decompress and step outside of our world for a few hours – to find out how the rest of our little world is doing.

I find it easier to deal with the world if I make it smaller – especially given the mayhem going on in the wider world at the moment. The amount of supposed hate so many fling at each other is pretty draining at the best of times. Everybody seems to have an opinion and is willing to invest inordinate amounts of time presenting their opinion – but nobody ever does anything. It’s almost that they think complaining is enough – and that the rest of the world aren’t sick of hearing about it.

It doesn’t help that social networks have essentially been killed by AI generated slop – which behaves much like a fungus; feeding the disenfranchised masses exactly what they’re looking for – because attention can be monetised – and the masses don’t seem to know or care that they’re being fed their own spite and vitriol.

It’s solyent green, isn’t it.

Maybe if I go make a coffee, and put something hopeful on the record player, the world will right itself for a few minutes. Let’s hope.