TWO kinds of people in the world: Those who can do paperwork and those who dread paperwork. It's not a Ternary System.

I see you my ADHD friend. I see you so hard. I feel you in my Solar Plexus. For the less spiritual, I feel you in my ribcage Sir. I feel your fear that just by reading this I'm going to give you homework

Well, I'm a nice guy. I won't. I would never do that to you my friend.

I did some though. I did a whole heck of a lot of it and applied for Grants! Those things I heard people get who are not like me. The Other people. The ABLE people.

The people who do their taxes first. Who buy Christmas presents in July. Those people. I am those people now because I did it?

OR am I very very special case of human who did a VERY hard thing and needs some praise?

I also spent months agonizing over how the songs will go. I write and write and compose and compose. It's been a challenge to decide on a demo because I'm scared the other musicians will think this is the final cut and I'm not there yet. But I'm encouraged to trust and send the tracks for submission because it's not important how accurate the are.

Trust. What does Suspicous Puppy think? Well, I'll tell you, she's a very discerning feline when it comes to pitch and she twitches when I twitch but she doesn't run away so we're agreed that it's Good Enough. I need this coworker to approve of me, she's so mean.

Praise. I need the praise. Oh my sweet Jesus, it was hard. It was so hard. I cried.

I cried!

I cried so much. More than I should admit. Dudes, I'm okay. I'm okay.

Suspicious Puppy tries to save me from the Enemy: Paperwork

I'm just a They, singing to a Boy about being a Girl who loved a Man who loves a Woman who hates the They and They leave the Man and the Woman never knew and in the end none of it was true.

Song Writing is hard.

Have you ever written one? I'd love for you to tell me about it.

Was it easy? Did it flow through you like water?

Do you fill journals with song after song and have no words for them?

Do you sing melodies in your dreams and try desperately to hold onto them when you open your eyes and then cry those hard tears that sting for some reason when it's gone forever?

I find songs come up like burps from the depths of heaven. When the gas passes, i can't fake more.

Rarely do I know what I'm writing of. The context will be a surprise for myself months later when I realize I was singing emotionally relevant things without cognizance.

Fun little party trick when literally everyone around you with ears and half a brain can tell you why your ex girlfriend was so mad when you sang certain lyrics around her. It stung. Of course it stung. How could I have not seen that it stung?

I imagine from the same protective place my reflex to run and hide when I feel rejected comes from. The primal place that saves us from men in the woods and makes telephone calls difficult. That place that dissociates at the sight of one particular face or perceived gesture and crumbles this behemoth viking warrior in to a puddle of feeling like a burden who will incite relief in all who knew them at the news of their departure (cue opening scene of Amelie including soundtrack).

Just your very regular Complex PTSD-induced OCD diagnosed- Autistic -Formally Exceptional- Grown Child RSD battling ARFID survivor. I probably just needed to eat, I'm sorry guys. Also, I'm sorry I made it funny all those times. Not really, but I probably should be for what that's worth.

Love,

Opal

Every Good Story Needs a Montage

Every story doesn't need a montage, but it seems like something a person with a montage for their story would say.

I have so much footage.

There are many ways I could tell you why my phone and computer are packed to desperate capacity with me singing into cameras, poorly;

My Audience can't only be my forgetul mind and I pretty much live in isolation.

Research.

Writing.

Hope.

Evidence that I'm alive and trying even if nobody sees it.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Autistic Ritual and self soothing methods.

The list goes on..

I should add trauma to the list, just to circle back to my forgetful mind. I'm living in a fugue and performing as well as one can under the global duress that is our collective existence. I made fresh berry crumble during the apocalypse! I also made an album.

I had this idea of compiling the thousands of clips I've collected over the years and not deleted along with every screenshot and blurry photo of my cat and pimples (oh, don't pretend you don't know what I mean) into a montage that would pan out and show more and more videos of me singing into my camera, alone in a room with the same earnest, exasperated expression to convey the magnitude of practice i've dedicated daily over the last years to prepare myself to work even harder than i could imagine.

It's all harder than it looks, is the point of what I'm trying to say. Until you try to do this yourself, please have grace for us little guys out here trying to do scary and uncertain things, like release music during a global meltdown. Just doing it at ALL is a herculean feat and I am the sole Juggernaut at the helm and my helmet is hella itchy, omg why did i wear these socks. You know? Where is my Cowie stuffy I need him with all my heart and soul but also I am a BOSS. Okay.

It will be on vinyl, so if the electricity goes Kaploo-y, one day someone will find my vinyl and my songs will still exist in the grooves and you can crank a hand fast enough to hear it again if you're clever in the future.

Love, Opal

Uptown Alley New Westminster, BC