I feel like there was a bitchin’ rave in my abdomen last night while I slept, and my head was used as a parking deck.

I now officially have so many projects started and pending approval from various departments that I can’t remember what’s where anymore. Even with the help of a Texas-sized whiteboard.

Fuck.

And that’s just at work…

Started actually producing some new work last night. I’ve got the foundation, musically, for a new song; now, once I figure out how to get my computer to record (read: get a new computer so my $200 sound card will work properly), I can build that up and begin playing with arrangements. Lyrics are off to a start, as well, but these feel different — unlike the usual arrangement I have with my muse, these didn’t come to me in a flash. I have a few lines, one half of a verse (maybe a bridge), and that’s where I’m stuck. Here, I’ll share:

Empathic? Empathetic? Turns out it’s all the same on Friday night
But what if all the feelings that I’m reading pass like shadows in the light?

Been listening to a lot of the Decemberists the past few days, so that’s already affecting the content — and is probably a good explanation for the slow pace.

And I’ve put more thought into the overall multimedia … thing … that I’ve been considering. Who knows what will end up happening with that? I’m worried that it will either fall by the wayside out of necessity — I suddenly find myself with other ideas, for songs and a novel — or that the other ideas will be forced aside in order to work on the epic … thing …

Unfortunately, the … thing … and the other ideas are not compatible. I would simply absorb the ideas if that were the case.

Back to feeling nauseous. With power, even.