Time Out of Mind

In the recent past at least if I was looooosering at life I knew I could cook something halfway decent and feel energized, pick myself up, get back on that horse.  And then recently I felt some of that inspiration dwindling too.  I find myself looking to the past for assist on writing my future.  The past can be pretty comforting in general, like your slightly faded bathrobe but if you sit in it too long you start to get that not so fresh feeling.  And to be honest, why bother spending time in the back closets of my own mind?  That's normally a place I like to stay way clear of.  The past is dead, you better leave it alone, as a wise man once sang to me.

Then this morning P put on Bob Dylan, The Never Ending Narrative 1990-2006 before leaving for work to take some of the idiot stank out of the room left by the morning news anchors.  I had a late shift so I coffee'd and pilate'd while watching it as if someone was reading me the dead sea scrolls aloud.  I didn't grow up with mentors so I learned to gain most of my revelations from music and movies although now I realize I'm deeply affected and influenced by almost everyone I meet. It's a curse.  Watching this documentary chronicling Dylan's miraculous rise from his questionable offerings of the 80s, suddenly gave me all this great hope for my own future.  When you don't have kids, and you aren't a career gal, the path of life sort of depletes to show very thin vague destinations.  As a matter of fact as of late I've had to pull out my damn machete to swipe through the overgrown brush just to clear a way, only to find more and thicker trees.

I'm reminded Bob Dylan achieved the almost unthinkable of surpassing the best image of his own youth in his second coming. He actually got older and got better!  I am drinking up this documentary like a thirsty dog as I am currently at the mere mortal rendition of 80's Dylan in my own lifetime. I keep trying to chew off my tether and break loose.  I am in dire need of fresh mojo.

It's scary getting older but not for the obvious reasons.  I always assumed everyone just aged and magically became an adult that understood how to move forward.  But there ain't no magic happening here and my brilliant plan of waiting it out, that answers will come is backfiring because as June Carter sings, 'times a wastin'.  My amazing mother had already cranked out 6 kids, was adopting another and was heading into running a new restaurant business with my dad at my age.

I am not even depressed, I've way sucked before but not this long.  I'm not even shooting that high, I just want to click the evolutionary knob up at least one decimal.  Like the 80s Dylan continuing to tour whilst being lame, I just keep on doing the only things I know how to do.  I'm a room without a window. I'm stagnant air.
Dylan went back and looked at what he loved, what once gave him joy.  He somehow biopsied a piece of his former awesomeness and grew new organic original mastery from it. And it wasn't a rehash, it was current with bits and pieces of all his combined past but coming with unfamiliar wisdom of living that former self and everything he brought with it.    I want some of that!

Spinach Sweet Potato Sausage Frittata with a side of bewilderment.