I am stuck in The Work so I will write this to give my brain something else to do.

While I first thought that I was drumming again because it helped my hands stop hurting (it does, still) and it helps me think while I'm working (drum while you work) I'm starting to think that it might be because drumming was the thing that got me out of this place 20 years ago, bound for the land of music schools and R's being A's and A's being R's.

Though the source of much of my pain is physically – and thankfully – dead, he's still there mentally (as I said to my therapist, I need you to help me mentally kill someone who's been dead for seven years - ten now) especially in resurgent thought loops, (everyone's laughing at you) the more trapped I feel as the situation surrounding elders spirals into apparent infinity and the seeming reality of my lack of future becomes more real.

Perhaps in this resurgence in stick-pickings-up, I'm returning myself to that state of centeredness and sanity preservation that drumming once brought me – though to discount its onetime usage as a way to really piss off that source of pain, a metonomic fuckyou to his delicate ears, would be to do its boundless joy and widespread utility a woeful disservice.