Don’t tell my husband but music is my first love. It’s my soul food. When it’s really good, a song can be like sexual and soul attraction rolled into one amazing, dirty weekend. The one where you stumble into a Vegas wedding, resided by Elvis, in a fit of erotic asphyxiation and end up ten years later, enduringly married to your twin flame. That familiar blanket, encasing you amongst the blues of winter, yet folded patiently on the foot of the bed in the swirling, fiery heat. It feels good to go through life’s adventures together. Songs heal. They whisper loving devotions across the rawness of your exposed neck. Amazing Life, from The Winter I Chose Happiness, by Clare Bowditch is that song for me.
Four days....it’s been four days Isiah tells me, since I’ve been fully present, coming up for air through the foamy churn. After a self-induced break from psychotropics he had surreptitiously reintroduced my medication slowly, gently, by coming in at regular intervals and handing me tablets and water before leaving me to sleep away the grubbiness and dead feeling inside me. I arch hesitantly, flexing the sinews, creating space between muscle and bone. Looking for points of pain like running a tongue around a gritty cavity. Usually I can maintain some degree of functionality. Get up, go to work, come home, chuck some washing on, feed the dog, drink more coffee, wine, whatever, smoke, crash. Rinse and repeat. All conducted through a heavy, aching fog. A cotton wool, asbestos fibered glaze.