Deep Stuff

Yesterday was a pretty good day for me. The good news included an audition that did not go incredibly badly and the prospect of friends coming over to watch some movies (and it always pleases me to have my film-watching proclivities connect me to people instead of removing me from them). There was also the bad news of a neighbor accusing us of fraudulently signing for her medicine being turned into good news when she learned the error of her ways.

I was, therefore, in good spirits while on my way to the mail box out by the post office in order to return a DVD to Netflix that I'd received and watched that very day. I decided to do something that I occasionally do: snap my fingers until they blister. I think I may have written about this before, but maybe some fresh insight will sneak in there. Yes, I deliberately imposed very inconveniently-located blisters on myself, and you may well wonder why.

I believe that I have done this at times in order to prove the level of exuberance that I can achieve on the strength of my love for a song, or for my general state of happiness. Sometimes we can be self-destructive not because we are angry or sad and choose to turn that inwards, but because life holds such delights sometimes that our feeble body can hardly handle their consumation. If my thumb and middle finger break down before a rhythm finally releases its hold on me, then whose fault is that?

I am now stuck with the tender aftermath of those blisters. It does not feel the best to type with the two fingers in question, but I made my bed and I will sleep in it. This is no more than a sort of hangover that is fair payment for having fun in excess of my true capacity. We can do this sometimes just as we can pay for things with loans or credit cards. It is sometimes very necessary, and so long as it is done in moderation and made of for, there is no harm.