The Music

I've got the music in me, can't you see? It is my own. We're different, you and I. Our voices weave, just as things do in nature, sinuous threads of varied texture, color and strength. Our thoughts intermingle for the better; without the mix, we each would be much less. It is not zero sum, but a positive sum, greater than the parts themselves. I've got the music in me, if only you could listen.

A crush of competing matters demand urgent resolution. There is Little Compton by the sea, needing to be opened and prepared to rent. And there is an impossible consulting job, with an impossible boss and impossible demands that I must do on my terms, or not at all. And there is the house in South Salem which needs attention if it is ever to sell. And then there is the matter of Sophie's school finals, of Sally's broken toes, and the dogs. And long-term work. They tend to mute the music, to take the color out of the sky and woods and buildings, the dazzle from the surfaces of the sea.

I've got the music in me, I cannot forget. It is here, there and demanding recognition. It is indomitable, a life force that will not allow mockery and depression and the exigencies of daily life to arrogate dominion. The music wil out. I've got it in me. Why do I say this, because I need to remind myself of its existence. I am easily overwhelmed, not always responding to stress with an equal show of valor.