The majority of the conscious energy in my brain gets spent rendering narration to my current novel project, and, to keep sharp, various other stories I am working on, thinking of, or living. The scope of the project aspires to coexist in the literary world. Which is why nothing upsets me more than watching my life devolve into a soap opera. Things happen to me and when I try to relate them to others, I feel as though I am explaining well-worn territory, with details that make people cringe without telling you they're cringing. It's like I'm trying to explain a personally meaningful strip from
Apartment 3G.
In addition to which, music, the soundtrack of my life, has betrayed me horribly. Music is not supposed to be about plot narration (see VH1 comment below), but about mood and emotion. Which is why
the lyrics to my summer's anthem--Wyclef's "Anything Can Happen"--now mock me.