Today I am having a bout of Abraham Lincoln's lifelong problem, as in, woeful, mournful melancholy. I don't know what has brought this bout on, other than the little annoying details of this hell I'm living.Maybe it's a new book I'm reading that has brought on the woeful, mournful melancholy. The Queen of Wink sent me a book called Ghost Rider: Travels On The Healing Road by Neil Peart.
Neil Peart was the drummer in Canada's most successful rock band. Rush. I'm not sure if I remember Rush or not. Apparently they were quite popular. Recently I found I did not know who Boz Scaggs is. I'm not much of a music aficionado, apparently.
In the course of a year, Neil Peart lost his daughter in a car wreck and his wife to cancer. This had him totally wiped out. After a year, he willed himself to hit the road on his big motorbike. The book is the story of his coming back to life during the course of thousands of miles of motorbiking. So far, I've ridden with him from eastern Canada to Alaska.
I've never ever wanted to ride a motorbike. But, now I'm thinking it seems like something I might like. I am very susceptible to random input altering my pre-conceived notions, apparently.
I was in the pool, again, before the sun lit the place up, this morning. Swimming did nothing to lighten my melancholy mood.
Due to it being almost 11 in the morning, and me not blogging, I've gotten the regular "are you all right" messages. So, I thought I'd blog about how I'm not all right, to let those who are concerned about my "rightness," know that I'm all right.
I love writing convoluted sentences.
8 comments:
Melancholy must be going around. Me too. If not for Tandy Hills I'd be a goner. A hike there in the early evening is always good medicine.
Gosh, fellas...it must be spreadin' like wildfire. Quick, put it out!
I had an overwhelming bout with sadness right before running last night. It almost overtook me and prevented my evening run. I dug deep into my handbag of what makes me feel good...music is one of those favorite feel good things. Just like the song, "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad...I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel...so bad."
Last's night feel good songs: Lights Out by Santigold and There Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant.
I'm outta here to try Mr. Young's Tandy cure.
CT2's got it too? There must be a melancholy epidemic going on.
Rush was bigger than Bachman Turner Overdrive? Now you've got me Lincolnesque too...
Steve A---I'm all about spreading melancholy today.
Now BTO, I know some of their songs. Taking Care of Business. Either Bachman or Turner built a humongous house up by Lynden near the Canadian border. I forget the details now, but somehow I got to see it up close. Years later there was a divorce and hard times for B or T and they lost the house. I must Google 'Rush' and see if I recognize them or remember a song. I doubt I will.
American Woman was a biggie for them.
Happy hour is the cure for melancholy. It's often a temporary respite, but always worth it.
I spent so much time getting over my melancholy last Friday that I've decided it's not worth it to be melancholy. It hurts too much on Saturday.
A cartoon (sort of) about being melancholy.
Rush was pretty big, but not, say Led Zeppelin big. BTO was like Rush, listenable but not necessarily having the stature of some of the other rock bands. Of blues influenced rock bands, there's really no one as big as Led Zeppelin except maybe Mick and his band of mates.
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