Blues Monster

Heavy stifling gooey wet grayness attached itself and slunk into bed with me last night. Strange dreams involved awkward mechanics such as a faucet installed by Shawn too high over the sink which left a puddle on the floor since he conveniently located an existing pipe rather than routing to where I needed the pipe to go. Dreams felt like a “to do” list without end or joy or satisfaction. I woke feeling splashed on and drippy; soaked by disappointment and wrung out. Plumb tuckered and uninspired, the sky matched my mood; heavy, overcast, cold and wet. Forty degree temps in July?!
I’ve much to be thankful for. The last few weeks were a whirlwind of activity and joy: my brother and his family vacationed here, various fun visits and events with friends, a road trip to the incredible music festival in Butte, Paul’s dedication, imagination, and hard work on my cabin, cash flow much improved, commission prospects encouraging, art sales good, my health just fine. So why the blues?
Sometimes the Blues Monster simply rears his ugly head and wrecks havoc with peace, slobbers on my happiness, burps discontent, farts impatience, and shits a pile of the grumps on the floor near my bed for me to step into…barefoot…first thing in the morning. Creativity is a window for me to crack open on days when the Blues Monster disturbs my tranquility. Occasionally I can leap toward the window and throw it wide open, laugh, and dive into the adventure which waits outside. Other days I muster a little lump of gumption, crawl painfully, and with slow excruciating effort I force open a window that screeches and groans as though the pesky monster painted it shut. Eventually I get out of bed no matter how tempting it is to curl up in darkness under the covers. We all have dark places. Some of us choose to remain in the comforting dark places which require little effort (i.e. under the covers). Some of us blame others for the presence of the Blues Monster. The blamers lie in bed and voice accusations or jump and rant and rave in violent trantrums. Some of us quietly rely on others to open the window, air out the room, and clean up the monster poop for us. I have at different times done variations of all of those things and more to survive the monster visits. Ultimately it seems that my efforts…however klutzy…to fuddle my way through the muck always bring me to a creative place. I am thankful for purpose, people, and passion. And yes…in a strange way I am even thankful for the monster visits.