High and Lonesome

Thinking about too much stuff tonight, I guess. It's after 11pm CST here, and I'm still awake, even after reading Flannery O'Connor's short story, "The Life You Save May Be Your Own" to Beck at 9:30, then making her listen to Vincent Miller on the most recent Mars Hill Audio Journal (www.mhaj.org) discuss the commodification of religion. You'd think that'd be enough to make anyone fall asleep. The O'connor story just disturbed her, and she was snoring before the half-way point in Miller's piece. I, on the other hand, am afflicted, both physically and psychically.

I've been fighting back from a severe cold, for which I've been taking Claritin D (24hr), Nyquil at night, and now I'm sucking on the only cough drop I could find in the house. It's one from the bottom of my shaving kit I keep under the sink in my bathroom. I'm surprised it doesn't taste like old cologne I never use, but that I keep in there. It seems just to leak and evaporate away on me. I don't think I've bought any cologne for myself in about 5-10 years. I always have some left over from years ago that I must have rec'd in a stocking at Christmas or something.

The cold has been manifesting tonight in what feels like I've been breathing in feathers. The tickle in the back of my throat refuses to let me sleep. Hence, the cough drop. I'm tempted to have a beer, but at this hour, and with the Nyquil, I'm afraid I'd oversleep and miss the early-morning bike ride in the cold pre-dawn I'm looking forward to.

Listening to the newest Bill Mallonee record also has me up. He's such a beautiful songwriter. The one on "Dear Life" called 'High...and Lonesome' is just about one of the most beautiful songs I've heard in years. Here's a couple lines:

"people sure buy a lot of what doesn't make them happy, but our love is money in the bank."

"you really oughta tidy up those loose ends of your life, the ones you keep hangin' on the fence, people seem to want substantial periods at the end of my every sentence..."

Couple lines like these with the spare acoustic guitar and violin and bass, and you have the makings of a real classic, melancholy tune. Mallonee's like (the late) Rodney Dangerfield. He don't get no respect.