A matter of "when"

Years ago I thought about writing an album that sounded like my brain. It was going to be messy. Probably no lyrics, just a lot of noise - slowing rising song after song until it peaked, collapsing under its own weight and speed, like a wave does. Like my mind often did.

I still don't know how to compose it, and yet I still think about it. My brain probably sounds different now. It sounds less chaotic, less staticky, but louder.

It is filled today with sounds. Some make sense, some I get confused about whether they come from reality or my morning alarm. Some stay seated in my right ear and come alive when they feel like it - sometimes I miss them when they're not there. Some make me want to live forever, and others make me never want to get up again.

There is a lot to do:

feed myself breakfast,

print rubrics for the students,

be a leader,

go outside,

email the parents back,

book the appointment,

show enthusiasm,

have sex,

play with the cat.

and there is a lot to know, too. There is a lot happening and it is required that I know about it. There is a lot changing and it is required that I stay on pace. The grass is still brown, but it will be green soon. Maybe then, I can rest.

But not yet, I hear:

I haven't made an escape plan,

I don't want to move,

I want to save everyone,

I want to hold them,

I want to find God,

ask for weeks and years at a time

Why it always feels like this

When it will go quiet

but I still get to be a part of it

I don't know how to tell my cat

I don't want to play

because there is a lot to do.

When the sleep schedule gets fixed, maybe then, it will go quiet.

Maybe then.