Hopeless. I came to the conclusion that the process of writing ditties involves invoking the child inside, and then editing what he says into grown up English. That’s how they come to have a certain lightness and frivolity about them, which is what, in my opinion, they ought to have.
My child inside is currently hiding in the safe room. He’s a sensitive little soul of high principles and ideals who doesn’t much care for the acidic smog clouding the atmosphere outside in the real world. He’s left his big brother holding the fort while he’s away, and his big brother is more given to the acerbic and the sardonic. He doesn’t write ditties, especially when they’re about trees that look like green candyfloss.
And so I decided to watch the DVD that I got this week from the library. It was called 360, and was supposed to be classy and ‘moving.’ Well, I suppose it was moving in a manner of speaking: the first scene sent me into yet another tailspin, while the child inside searched frantically for a paper bag to put over his head so he didn’t have to see what I was seeing. It got turned off after about thirty seconds. Too many bad associations. Listening to The Wailin Jennys sing By Way of Sorrow (which is classy and moving) helped a bit, but only a bit.
And do you know what? HT54 passed me by today without so much as a hoot or a wave. It cut me to the quick, you know? It did.
So, not much of a day so far, not much to write about here. But since my day doesn’t end until about 3am, hope springs eternal.