Listen. It is not the case, you see, that the music plays inside this head of mine. Not of its own accord. Not anymore. Not like it did when I was young. By “young” I mean younger. Younger than I am today.
It was the case the music would, like when I was fifteen, certainly at fifteen, if I had, say, twenty minutes ‘til the end of class or else twenty minutes ‘til the end of my after-school job, then “Supper’s Ready” would just kick in in my head. And “Supper’s Ready” is twenty-three minutes.
And I could hear every note of it play and feel the texture and see the colors and shape of it turning, playing, and it would roll in perfect time like a big spiky ball without my asking. Without my trying or thinking about it.
I cannot describe this, really, as it turns out, though I believed I could, going in.
But this thing which I cannot describe does not happen since I got old, and by “old” I mean older. Older than I was when it would happen. The “Supper’s Ready” thing. Why it does not happen, when I think about it, which is not a lot, I say is because the music means less to me now or else because I don’t have a child’s brain now or else because my brain is going too many different directions all at once or else, less likely though, because I listen to music less catchy. Or all of those.
All of those.
It is not, definitely not, it does not even have to be considered as a possibility so I don’t, that the change is owing to something more along the lines of diminished mental capacity, something pre-Alzheimer’s or else long-term effects of alcohol abuse. Songs not playing by themselves in my head, unbidden, it is not a canary in a coalmine, so no.
Friday was twenty-four days since I had a drink.
Friday was the day a new Aesop Rock album came.
I am reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, on Day 26 sober, today, and I sit down to read only it takes concentration so I go to turn off Aesop Rock to find it is not on. It’s full blast in my head only it’s not on.
Though I know what is happening, immediately I know, at first I try not to think about it happening or how long it has been since it’s happened, fearing that it’s like juggling or playing some complicated something on piano where, if you think about the very fact that you’re doing it, it all comes crashing down around you. Only this isn’t like juggling. It’s not like playing the piano.
One song ends and then it goes into the next song and it’s turning, pulsating, and there’s light reflecting off it and in it just like the old days.
The old days of my head.
Not drinking was an experiment is all and if it was only an experiment in order to see what would happen then what do I do now that something has happened? It seems obvious to say “See what happens on Day 27” but this is getting ridiculous.