Some days it's heroic just to "go on."

Yesterday was one of those "Samuel Beckett" kind of days: “You must go on. I can't go on. I'll go on.” Yes. Some days it's heroic just to "go on." A slow, steady, constant rain. Basically the worst kind of weather for someone who must be out in the weather. I was out most of the day. Wet, cold, hot, sweaty,  crunchy, grouchy, slowly trudging along in the mud, the muck, the shit.

I would have sworn at the gods, but I think they high-tailed it to sunnier climes. Why bother?

So, I carried on. I mean, I don't deserve a medal or anything. I just did all the things I had to do. I just did them. Not really heroic at all, pretty mundane. Nothing great. Nothing extraordinary. Just survived. And then, afterwards, I kind of collapsed into a little ball, a fetal position, sprawled out on the living room oriental carpet and listened to a random mix of records: Jeff Tweedy's "Warm," Modest Mouse's "The Moon & Antartica" & "The Lonesome Crowded West," Mark Lanegan & Isobel Campbell's "Hawk," & "Ballad of the Broken Sea," and Uncle Tupelo's "No Depression." Pretty nice mix there.

I recharged a bit in my little sonic bathtub. Noisy, mellow, cool, tragic, funny, beautiful, thrilling. It was good. I made it. Great. What's next?