. . .You decide to write about yourself in the second person. You realize that’s an odd thing to do, even though, as most things a writer can do, it’s been done before hundreds of times. You’re mostly curious about how it feels. You’ve tried the first and the third, the first being the most conventional way to write about yourself, the third being a trick that makes autobiographical writing feel like fiction. The second person is a different kind of trick, a trick that might have the effect on a reader of making them feel like they’re in somebody else’s shoes. You like this idea. And the reader, as they read that last sentence, feel like they, too, like this idea.
Two days in a row you have skipped meditation, yesterday because you had early morning obligations that interrupted your routine, and today because you simply chose against it. You did other domestic kinds of things. You called the Water Service people about a $530 dollar bill. You texted with a company that would really like to remodel your bathroom, and you said, in no uncertain terms, that you were suspicious of their sales strategies. You made an appointment with them anyway, placated by their assurances that they wouldn’t hard sell you. You walked the dogs with your wife on a brisk but sunny morning, and you mopped the kitchen floor. You filled out a questionnaire for the center that will perform your colonoscopy in April, and were surprised that they wanted to know about your sex life, and equally surprised by what you wrote regarding it in the comments section. While the floor dries, you listen again to Intrigue: Steven Wilson Presents Progressive Sounds in UK Alternative Music, 1979–89. Wilson is a contemporary of yours, a little bit younger, and British, and famous, and it pleases you that much of what floated his boat as a teenager also floated your boat. And he impresses you–because his palette was wider than yours, deeper, so you’re hearing some 80’s music for the very first time: A Certain Ratio, Cocteau Twins, Beehead, Dead Can Dance, Dif Juz, Cardiacs. So, for you, this is an educational experience. And as this is a record on loan from your friend at the record store, you feel an obligation to return it soon.
You remember that in January of 2024, you attempted to write a blog entry every day during the month. You only made it fourteen days in, and then stopped, writing only one more time before February. You feel confident on day 15 that you will do better this year. Doing better this year seems to be a motif in your thinking over the last few weeks. In a quick self assessment, you decide that it’s been kind of a mixed bag. Your dry January has become rather sloppy, your meditation routine slack. But you’re writing every day and you’re excited about music, your own music. You have big plans for the year.
More immediately, you have plans for the rest of the day. You’ve got to return some bottle and can bags jostling about in the back of the car. You want to return this Steven Wilson record to Daily Records and maybe pick up some new music. You’d like to grab something easy for dinner. You’re excited about the zoom meeting with your writer buddies this afternoon and you are out of alcohol. You will have to decide whether tonight will be a dry restart. It’s all good for you. It’s all gravy.
michael jarmer 