There are days when I have to parent 3 children in between a thought,
in between a lyric, a melody, a chord progression, a rehearsal.
I haven’t had breakfast.
What’s for lunch?
What’s for dinner?
There’s no food in the house?
Can you drive me there?
Can you look at my project?
Can I remember the words tonight?
Can I conduct the right cues?
Can I find stillness and flow?
My body is aching energy,oscillating tiredness.
How I crave a tiny dusty moment to think.
Sylvia Plath wasn’t trying to bake a cake you know.