this time last year was only a day

but it was Friday the 13th - and I remember exactly what I wrote on Friday the 13th April last year

I remember the pictures I posted (my blog was black back then and I found pictures with black backgrounds so that the image stood out), I remember the tune for the day, I remember where I was and what I was doing, what was supposed to be happening and what wasn't supposed to be happening. . .

last night I actually chose to watch the tv - unusual for me, I don't often - but I'd seen a trailer for something on a channel I didn't even know existed and ended up watching this fascinating programme about Joe Jackson, called The Soundtrack to My Life, it is one of a series and I must remember to watch the others

he was being interviewed by who - for him - must have been the most irritating woman, but he remained calm and delightful throughout; he used words like "dignity, mysterious, tasty, intangible, ethereal, neurotic": a man after my own heart if ever there was one

words are so important, yesterday last year I remember using the word "stuff" and adding "it's such a great word, stuff", and it is - it could cover a multitude of sins. . .

but a word can't cover up your sins, can it

sometimes, despite Elton's protestations, sorry is the easiest word and yet makes up for nothing

and what is the nature of "sin" anyhow? this time last year, I didn't think I was - sinning - I was trying so hard to keep up, whilst everyone around me danced as hard as they could. . . and I was dancing: fast, slow, whatever rhythm was required

and then a different beat came into the mix
that of a heart

hearts have a lot to answer for, in the big scheme of things - as do heads, as I have found to my cost again recently - and every now and again, once in a lifetime perhaps, hearing the beat of a heart in someone else's chest can elicit a response from your own or cause you to realise that your own was beating to the same tune all along only you didn't realise (that's the head bit, the not realising)

I was just about to write: "it is a shame that the beating of a heart can cause. . ."

and I realised that is nonsense: a heart beats, and that is the end of it; it is the head which has a lot to answer for, it if chooses to do something - or not - about the beat (even if it is only offer an interpretation)

and Joe Jackson was trying to describe how some artists live on the edge of their insecurities and their paranoia about whether they will ever be able to write that next line, that next set of lyrics, that next melody, that next song, which will either catapult them back up the charts or bring them artistic solace (well, I added the last two phrases, but I'm sure that's what the good man intended to say) and that struck a chord with me

I've been living on the edge of insecurity and paranoia - wondering if my heart will ever beat again

and yesterday, bizarrely - and I was going to tell you this anyway - I had a very strange feeling somewhere high up in my chest (not anxiety, which I feel in the pit of my stomach) and I realised after a moment or two wondering what it was, that it was happiness

it was only fleeting and it faded,
but I felt it

I wasn't blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel, I think that's a long way off (either that, or I'm not in a tunnel at all and there is a set of light switches somewhere that I know nothing about) but it was curious to have this little feeling inside me

one I haven't felt for a long time

one I certainly wasn't feeling this time last year

and right now it has nothing to do with anyone else's heart


Dave said...

Good, I think. Perhaps you need to get a pink suit.

I, still, ♥ the views said...

I'm still in mourning.

KAZ said...

So very glad that Joe Jackson made you recognise a throb of happiness.

I, still, ♥ the views said...

his real name is Dave, but he knew too many other Daves as a boy, so changed it to Joe and that is the secret of his success. . .

(oh, and his musical education at the Royal Academy perhaps, amongst other talents)

Gordie said...

Tempus fugit, as Mohamed Al Fayed likes to say.

You have unburdened yourself. Go, and sin no more.

I, still, ♥ the views said...

you read like a priest might sound

I, still, ♥ the views said...

oh, but more importantly - THANK YOU


Mel said...

Ah, but you know it's still there buried under the gunk and 'stuff'......and 'stuff' is a wonderful word, btw.

(((((((((((( ILTV ))))))))))))))))

This time last year.....
I could go backwards to remember--but forward seems to be the direction to move, today.

For you too, dearheart.....for you, too. And it's a fine forward movement!

I, still, ♥ the views said...

forwards is the right way to step, but sometimes one has to look over one's should to see just how far one has travelled (for reassurance!)(especially since I don't know which direction I'm going in. . .)

mig bardsley said...

Wonderful! I'm truly happy for you to have caught the fleeting bluebird thing.
Wishing you many more of them :)
(Even if it takes a while, it's like trying to find one small thing among many different ones. Each discovery makes it easier to recognise it again. Do you know what I mean?)

Rimshot said...

"and I realised after a moment or two wondering what it was, that it was happiness"

YAY! {{{{You}}}}

Perhaps there were fleeting moments of this 'happiness' you speak of all along but you'd forgotten how or were unable (for whatever reason(s)) to recognise it.

Here's hoping that the next time it sneaks in, you spot it!