2005-01-15

Occidental College. Los Angeles, California.

Mornings feel strange when there's nothing particular for me to do. I don't have any meetings planned, no pressing phone calls to make, and not a cloud of obligation in the delicious blue Southern California sky.

The sensation in the marrow of my bones oscillates between unfamiliar and startlingly foreign. I'm busy all the time. It's been this way since I was fourteen or fifteen. I remember that was the era when things changed for me. Before that I was a loner little kid—an only child entertaining himself alone in the playground of his mind.

All of a sudden my phone started to ring and I had friends and parties to go to and places to be and people who wanted my attention. My guitar playing started to keep me more and more busy. There was always band practice or some demo to record. I played shows at local teen centers and night clubs. As years passed it only got more and more—as if someone cranked up the volume knob way too far.

So, mornings like this seem so—well, out of character. Restlessness and fear play tug of war with my sense of calm—whatever that is. I don't like calm. That's the issue.

What's that one fundamental law of physics? The one about how a body at rest wants to remain at rest and a body in motion wants to remain in motion. My body and mind only rest when everything in my world is in motion.


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