Current word count: 3,094/50,000 words.
Soundtrack: A series of the husband’s favourite doom metal songs.
It’s almost midnight. Friday night. I’m exhausted and kicking myself for not writing sooner. But I was up super late last night and it’s thrown my sleep patterns out of whack.
Why was I up late last night? Because the mighty Wintersun were blessing Melbourne with their amazing music for the first time ever. I managed to push my way to the front, touch the hands of two of the band members when they reached down to high-five fans, and lost my voice singing at the top of my lungs for 1 ½ hours. It was an incredible night and it will go down in my memories as quite possibly the best concert I’ve ever attended. And I’ve attended a lot of concerts in my time (20 years of concert going so far, and counting!).
It did leave me wondering, though, what do I do with my life now? I’m ticking off pretty much all the bands on my musical bucket list. It doesn’t leave a whole lot of goals for me to pursue. It’s a strange feeling, to have moments that feel like the pinnacle of existence, that are so incredible in that space, only to leave me wishing that it didn’t have to end.
Maybe I’m just ruminating on existential stuff because I’m very tired after the chaos of recent weeks and when I’m tired my neural pathways have to work harder to stave off negative thought patterns.
There is my writing, and my art, but in so many ways I feel like such an amateur. Quite frankly my life isn’t great for a whole variety of reasons, and I do have to wonder if this is all there is to it. I try to channel these questions into my writing and art by giving my characters the madness I can’t harbour in myself lest I implode.
So often I wish I could create art that affects and moves people the way that some music affects me. I wish that it was my words, my performance, my ink and pencil work, my poetry, my imagination, that made people shout and cry and demand more from this existence than the ordinary.