I’m in a terrible mood this morning, for about a thousand little reasons.
I didn’t sleep well. My dog’s being an asshole. I can’t find a source for a story where sources should be plentiful. I’ve tried to write a blog post today five times this morning and have trashed all five. I don’t have a big project on my plate today and I don’t really feel like pitching anything.
So I turned to my to do list and thought “I’ll just go bang on the piano for a while.”
One problem with that plan: I don’t have a piano.
This happens sometimes, usually when I’m writing about my past. My childhood home had a piano in the basement, and even after I stopped taking lessons, I’d still go hammer out a few songs when I was frustrated for no good reason and needed a place to vent that frustration. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told myself to leave something on the landing so I don’t forget it when I walk out of the door. I haven’t lived in a house with that particular landing, which I can see so clearly in my mind, since 2003.
My mother sold that house, so it’s not as if I can still go visit those things. Maybe one of you is a neurologist an can explain this phenomena. I’m revising my book proposal right now, which means cementing myself in the mid 1990s when I had a piano and a landing. The bulk of the piece is already written, but I’m going back and expanding it, sharpening the details. Maybe that’s why this is happening. It’s really freaky. I really thought I’d go downstairs and play for a while.
For those of you who have written about your past: has this happened to you?