A peek into my brain...
There are always rhythms running through my head. Not like drum beats, more like musical notes without the notes. Except most of the time there are notes, too, and when there aren't notes there are words.
I think one of my sons inherited something of this. When he was a baby, we called him mantra boy because he'd just seize on a sound and chant it for what seemed like hours. I used to very lightly rock back and forth, which the family thought was odd, and maybe it was, and people still catch me doing it, but it's because it's always going. Most of the time, instead of obviously rocking back and forth, I'm pulsing out a rhythm with the muscle at the base of my thumb, but someone will catch me at that, as well. And if I'm occasionally mouthing lyrics my head is singing, then that gets questioned, and I think, "What the heck? Other people don't just subvocalize stuff?" Well, of course they do. I'm a little weird but not that weird. They're just more self-conscious than I am, and their lips never move, I guess.
The boy, now 17, is also like me in that he can find music on the keyboard after hearing it once. But he, unlike me, composes music now, and it's all layered and full of rhythm. He took the thing and is making something with it.
My thing is words. I listen to music all the time and my perceptions are shaped by it, but my poetry isn't often lyrical. Sometimes my essays have that sense to them. I like to repeat phrases and patterns in my writing. And, I mean, I love NaNo. It teaches me something every year. But I'm no novelist. I had come to think of my stories and poems as word paintings, but as they're more about essence than about the visual spectrum, they're kind of more akin to music. It's all math, anyway. The universe, conservation of mass, Picasso, Mahler, and your words. All math. But that's for another set of ramblings.
Anyway, here's what I was going to share. This morning, I was calling my coffee maker Mr. Sizzlepants. One of those unconscious rhythms running through my head, I found myself saying, "Hey, Sizzlepants. Leave those kids alone."
So now I have that song plaguing me this morning. It never ceases.
In a couple days I'll get back to my tiny story exercises. Maybe I'm about to figure out what to make of it all, at long last. Time may not be a rigid construct, but other people's perceptions of it are always pressing down heavily.