Monday, April 15, 2002

You Always Believed in Something

I've been asleep for the past four days. I had gum surgery last week and the next day I entered into some kind of energy vortex like the ones they have on Star Trek, where no matter what you try to do, the warp engines just can't produce enough power to get you moving. The only thing left to do is to shut down all systems and drift forward on short bursts of impulse power. (Star Trek marathon on cable this weekend.) So I cashed in a couple of sick days and went horizontal.

Ever since I got back from D.C., I've been dragging my ass around like it was made of lead and my head was full of sand. I spoke to my doctor this morning, just before visiting my tax advisor, and he said it sounds like I have a 'viral syndrome'. This is not to be confused with the 'China Syndrome' in which a nuclear meltdown burns a hole through the earth's core and out the other side, nor is it in anyway related to the notorious 'Vinyl Syndrome' which is characterized by the refusal to purchase digitally recorded music of any kind and the steadfast belief that no good music has been released since 1978. A viral syndrome is some kind of mysterious disease that can only be cured by lying around for days watching videos and drinking lots of chocolate soy-shakes.

About the only part of my brain that remains operational is the part that likes to make up stuff. While lying in bed half-awake/half-asleep for hours on end, the semi-coherent babbling of my internal monologue starts to develop irritating repetitions that echo in my brain over and over threatening to rob me of what little sanity I have left. So, I write them down and call them "songs".

This particular song started out about someone who represented a certain kind of passion and hopefulness that I always admired. As I added verses, I discovered that there were others who shared that spirit and who have served as examples of how I would like to live my life, if I could only stay awake long enough to try.

Anyway, two people in particular are currently giving me inspiration: they happen to be my sisters. Susan is preparing to celebrate the 10th anniversary of The Buttonwood Tree, the bookstore/art gallery/performance space/cultural mecca she founded and has nurtured from seed to blossom. Cindy is in the process of completing her master's degree after having sacrificed her career goals to raise a family and then been plunged back into the work force as a single mom and starting all over from scratch.

It's cool to have a dream, and I think my sisters are pretty cool for believing in their dreams.

Here's a song for them.

You Always Believed in Something

When the party ended
And all the walls came down
You just kept on dancing
Around and around

After the flood was over
And everything was dry
You stood upon the mountain
Expecting to fly

You always believed in something
When all was said and done
You always believed in something
For everyone

In the dead of winter
When spring was far away
You were looking forward
To a brand new day

All along the highway
That stretches to the sea
Two of us were hoping
To be free

You always believed in something
When all was said and done
You always believed in something
For everyone

You looked so high
We thought you would never die
But I was still waiting for the fall
And if we tryTo live without all the lies
It might have been worth it after all

As the fog was lifting
We stood at the gates of dawn
You wanted the moment to linger
On and on

And if there is a future
Where all our dreams come true
It might not seem so distant
If I could be with you

'Cause you always believed in something
When all was said and done
You always believed in something
For everyone

Now it's time for my nap.

Love, Rich

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