I married Isis on the fifth day of May.Well, not married. Felt committed, however not as much as that kind of commitment. Let me explain. This is normally the time of year I receive inspiration. Yes, it has a schedule. Well, it used to. Maybe it still does. I love May, and for the first couple years I didn’t even know that I did. It’s old news, but the months and years pass by much quicker than they ever did before. And it’s with this in mind May would come and go, come and go, come and go. That’s probably about it. Then I probably realized after the 3rd one, “Hey, I can’t wait ‘till next May!” There was a common denominator each of these occasions also; Mr. Dylan. Specifically ‘Desire’. It seemed every time I was in the mood to play my Desire album by Dylan, I felt inspired in some way, shape, or form to either write, create art, change opinions, embrace new ideas, and other possibilities that overall would foster a sense of purpose and satisfaction in living life. Not that it didn’t happen at other times of the year, but noticeably in May. So being the creature of habit that I am, after recognizing the correlation between May, Dylan, and creativity- I decided it was my new tradition to be listening to Bob Dylan every May. And there’s even that line of his song Isis I quoted as the title, so I must listen to it on the fifth of course. It really hasn’t been like all my life this has been going on or something, probably since about 1998 or 1999 and forward, which is still long for me though. Then last May I no longer had possession of the cd of Desire. It was stolen that August prior when someone broke into my car. “Oh well, May is still a good time of year.” I should have got the hint. Maybe that was my queue to move on and this fascination I had with the fifth month of the year was to be ended. Counted as a fond memory of my early twentysomethings. So last year I can not remember any inspiration or creativity in my possession last May, now it’s this year. Guess what? No, just guess. Not here either. Inspiration? Creativity? Wonderment or jubilation? Not here folks. I have decided in my life the times I have felt the worst is when my expectations were not met. I have high expectations for this May, the month is not over, but time is fleeting. Knowing myself pretty well, I’m surprised I’m not more depressed after writing this than I would have expected. Maybe I’m growing up or something. Damn maturity. Or it could just be the B vitamins. I don’t know if I’ll ever repeat this, I may recant later, so just take this as a thought for this moment in time and space and nothing else, but there’s something I like about being slightly depressed. The only reason I can say this is because I’m not at the present. Now how I feel when I’m depressed is awful, I’ll never miss that, but I am fond of what can happen after the fact. Such as what I write, I do feel a little more creative with disappointment cursing through my veins, but my favorite after effect is grace. I don’t know anyone else who receives more grace than I do. Thank you my Lord.
Well, that was a lot of claptrap, wasn’t it? Rambling is therapeutic, but especially when you have an audience. Now I admit, I do have an audience in mind pretty much anytime I write anything. Most are never read by anyone other than I, tonight’s entry of claptrap and mindless utterings I believe will be read by you, Michelle, but my audience was the other person in the room. Good night and bye for now.
