Sunday Ruminations

Hanging out with Mama. Thinking about a few things. I left my notebook in the truck, so there are a lot of things that I wrote through that week that I’d like to post, but can’t. I parked the truck in the secure lot at the truckstop, and so can’t get to it.
Not that anything important happened during the week. But I like to get my pointless ruminations posted so that they don’t turn to vapor. Once I get a pile of them, it’s more likely that none of them will be posted at all.
As ever, I’m a bit lost here. I’m never comfortable here, however Mama might like to think I could be. It’s not my space. It never will be. I don’t want it to be. She bristles whenever I tell her that once I get the money coming in on a steady basis (instead of the good week / bad week pattern that’s kept me scrambling since I left the house) that I’ll be staying in a hotel room on the weekends. Hell, if it wasn’t for her determined insistence, I’d be staying in the truck on the weekends now.
But I don’t want Mama to worry. She’s obsessed with the melodramatic notion of poor me trudging up to the truck with my computer in my backback and a bag full of clothes in my hand. She told me last week that when I left she watched me walking up the road and couldn’t help thinking what a lonely image that was. So it makes her feel better that I sleep on her couch some. But I do that for her. Not for me.
I’d rather be just about anywhere else. How do I make her understand the reasons for that? She’s a mother, and she wants to feel like her son always has somewhere he can call home. She doesn’t realize, or want to admit, that her apartment can never be that. Much less that I don’t want it to be.
Look, I knew what I was giving up when I walked away from the house. However I might have agonized over the reasons I was forced to leave, or how much I felt, and feel, that I betrayed my aunt Loretta in abandoning the property, I am comfortable with where my life is right now. No, I don’t feel I’ve wound up in a good place. But this is transitory. What I feel like is that I’ve just boarded a ship for an unknown destination. However I might hesitate at the railing and look back at the wreckage I’m leaving behind, there’s a certain comfort in knowing that I am finally underway.
There are several things that have me thinking about all this stuff today. Shifting determinations. Relizations. But I guess I could point to one moment from last week that would provide a good excuse. I got a phone call from Gay P_____, from the production company, telling me that she had not forgotten me, and that they were going to be pitching the reality television show next month. I’ve been thinking that I need to write her and try to show a little more enthusiasm. I am excited about the prospects, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. And I’ve been very reluctant to talk about it here, because I don’t want to look like a dumbass if nothing ever comes of it.
Okay, for those who don’t know, there’s a production company that’s kicking around the idea of creating a reality television show centered on me and my “life as a reluctant truck driver.” I’m mystified by what they could have possibly seen in me, but I’ll do it if it becomes a reality (no pun intended). So far my ego hasn’t been particularly stroked by this. Like I said. I don’t get it. Therefore I’m reluctant to talk about it. I don’t want to look any more foolish than I already do if nothing comes of it. And let’s face it. The reality show going into production is a longshot, at best. So there. We’ve approached the subject. You’re aware of it. Now let’s not talk about it. Hehe.
I just think I should probably explain some of this to Gay, so that it’ll be understood that I am excited about the possibility of a reality TV show. But I have a lot of old demons sitting on my shoulder, whispering into my ear that I’m a fool for even thinking that this could be a real thing. I still somewhat expect people to jump out from behind bushes and tell me that this has all been an elaborate joke, and we’ll all have a good laugh. If not for the letterheads, company web site and the preliminary contract, I probably would have brushed this off as a hoax long ago. But at this point, I have to admit that it’d be a pretty elaborate hoax.
But I’m planning beyond this. I’m certainly not going to be sitting around waiting. I have to move on with my life, and not hang my hopes upon a remote and unlikely possibility.
So. What do we do?
Well, the only thing that appeals to me is recording. Sure, I write, and once upon a time I was an artist, as well, but I’m a musician. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. I’ve worked out a way that will let me start recording on a professional level for the first time in my life. I won’t bore you with the details. But for the gear-heads among you, I’ve figured out a technique that will allow me to record up to 384 tracks (using a lot of track collapsing) on four 8-track digital recorders (ADATs, if you must know).
All I want to do is get this crap out of my head. Maybe if I start recording some of these songs that my brain is so desperately trying to hang on to, I could start remembering more important things. My head is like a computer hard drive that desperately needs backing up. I once made a play on that notion, calling my old master tapes Backup Memory #1 through Backup Memory #6. That’s never seemed more appropriate.
Anyway, I haven’t recorded since 1993. I’m aching to get back to that. And I’ve worked out an idea that will let me record professional quality albums for relatively little money. That’s what I’m working toward.
On the short-term, I’m thinking of putting together something here in the next couple of weeks. I already have a small mixing board and one ADAT. I haven’t quite worked out some of the specifics of the recording technique, but using the few meager processors that I have already, I should be able to record some of the simpler songs right now. That’d be great, to finally record something new, and to post it online so that people can find out who and what I am, and not have to go upon ancient examples.
I think that’s it, mostly. I need to record because I need to show people who I am. I don’t want to be defined by all the things that have gone wrong of late. I won’t be able to record some of the more ambitious music until I have the full recording rig, but I should be able to tinker right now. That should do wonders for the soul.
Well, I’ve been writing for awhile. I’m going to go before I start ranting about recording techniques and parsing the handful of things I’ll need to buy before I can have a go at it. But as ever, my future potential happiness, the one thing that excites me, comes down to the possibility of making music. If nothing else, talking to Gay has made me realize that I need to stop being so reactive, and try to be more proactive.
I’m painfully aware that until I get more equipment, I won’t be able to record to the full extent of my ambition. But it suddenly occurred to me, and it really was a realization, that I could be recording now. And I find myself wondering whatever happened to the guy who had broken all but one string on his bass guitar, and yet was still writing songs on that one string. Hehe. Where did he go?
I hope I’m about to find out if he’s still there.
For the first time in a long time my old motto doesn’t ring hollow.
Here’s to hope. Ever upward. Over, under or through.
Althought I think now I might add a hearty “B’god”.

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