The Sound Of Silence

I'm officially over the heat and it's not even June. I knew it was fairly bold to entertain the idea of declaring myself a "summer person" after enjoying one hot sunny day. Funny enough, the morning after writing that last post, I woke up thinking Fuck, I want to die. I think the sudden onslaught of sunshine had me feeling pretty manic, and what goes up must come down.

​I just realized that this happens to me every year. Manic episodes in April/May when we start getting a lot of sun. Now that I'm aware, I can focus on hanging in the shade more and cooling my jets.

In other news, the other day I went to the cemetery with a purpose, which is pretty rare since I mostly wander aimlessly. I wanted to just sit in silence. Another rarity for me, as I'm usually plugged in to my headphones, listening to music or podcasts. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but I started to realize that I haven't been spending much time with my own thoughts. That's not always a bad thing, believe me, but sometimes I wonder how things would be without as much influence from the outside world. At times I fantasize about living in the woods with my animal friends and no connection to anyone or anything else. What would life be like? Would I still like the same things? Would I get to be that old witchy woman that the kids in the neighbouring town make up stories about? Dare to dream.

While sitting in silence in the cemetery, I became incredibly aware of how noisy it was. The maintenance crew was in full-force, mowing grass and whacking weeds, and a steady stream of nearby traffic flooded the grounds, but it wasn't so bad. During that time, I observed something about what happens to my mind without the music and chatter...my mind just fills it in. Otis Redding singing about ole man trouble, Devin Townsend telling me to let it roll, somebody's Heine' crowdin' my icebox. Random lyrics from songs I hadn't even listened to recently, and for some reason the Family Ties theme song. My mind is a strange place, people, but I don't need to tell you that.

​This little experiment lead me to believe that true silence can only be achieved in death. Or maybe not even then. I just pictured a poor unfortunate spirit floating around, thinking does she ever shut the fuck up?!

After sitting for a while with my new squirrel friend, I decided to walk around, and came across the sweetest inscription on a headstone. It read, "He made home happy." How wonderful. I started thinking about what my grave will look like, if I have one, and what it might say. She loved animals and cried about bugs. Something like that, I presume, but who's to say. Is it weird if I write my own epitaph? Probably. I guess it's supposed to represent how you're remembered by others. But I don't know about others. I've also been thinking about writing my own obituary and creating an updated funeral playlist to make sure my mom doesn't play something awful. If I die before I'm able to make this playlist and you attend whatever service transpires, please don't let anyone play shitty music. I will haunt you forever if Michael Bublé gets airtime at my funeral, I can promise you that. On that note, I will leave you with something good to listen to; a song that I've been in love with ever since hearing it for the first time as a child. I felt those lyrics so hard then, and still do now.

Until next time...KR out!