Feeling: unbelievable
Listening to: You're Pretty. The whole album.
Reading/Watching: Dragons of a Fallen Sun

"I find I can hardly sit still with all that's going on inside of me..." (Worst of Me)

Dinner at Sonic, girl talk, movie... none of it compared to afterward.

I started out down Bandera, and passed my sign. Little blue neon sign, hung over a dry-cleaners, jazzy Culpepper's shining from two angles, quiet and tucked back, like a surprise over the top of the hill, a jolt of blue shouted down by jangling red stoplights and trite greens, whites, yellows from every gas station.

I don't know what it is, but that's my lucky sign. Seeing it always makes me smile for no apparent reason. And when I reached Hillcrest, instead of turning right like a good little girl, I hit the gas and headed for I-10.

Windows came down, hair came down, music rose up, climbing the access ramp at fortyfiftysixtyseventy and the wind is tumbling around my shoulders, the speakers competing roar for roar, an empty four-lane freeway and I can't see my watch.

At first I breathed in time to the music, lips parted, hair catching on the edges of my mouth and swiping away on the next gust of air, eyes fixed over the next hill, wondering how far Luna wanted to drive tonight.

"Your whole life seems to be one long bad day, then this beautiful accident reveals a new path that you might have missed." (Beautiful Accident)

I started to sing, first weaving lightly above, below, gliding soaring diving, melding my voice to hers until I forgot whose was whose. There are times I forget I'm harmonizing until I take a breath and half the music is gone. Then I found that force in the base of my stomach, waiting to spiral out, and suddenly Beth Musolff is drowned in my own sound and it's lifting and lifting, pouring over my hands and down my ribs, filling me to the base of my skull and racketing around in my brain.

The sound is so loud I hardly hear it, sending it flying from the back of my teeth, leaving eddies of vibrato spinning out on the freeway. It's rolling up deep from my pelvis and inverting my lungs and vibrating from end to end down arms and fingers and up over tonsils, teeth, tongue, pressing behind my eyes, flowing from lips, nose, forehead, running tingles to the roots of my hair and my God there is no word in any language for how good it feels.

"One minute I'm a freak, next you say I am genius..." (Breakthrough or Breakdown)

I hope I never have a jealous lover who tries to compete with music, never have someone who wants me to love him more than singing, because I swear, at this point, it seems pretty darn near impossible. With music roaring in my veins, the top of my head about to come off, and a clear, flawless B-flat shattering out of my throat, I am perfect, I am whole, and everything else in my world is utterly silent. It is the absence of wanting.

I doubt any human being has the power to give me that much.

"Look at me, I have wings, and I'm soaring... and I'm not coming down. All I need is one chance, and you can laugh if I fail, but I know I won't." (Not Coming Down)

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