I’m in a car.
For a while.
The best thing that I can do is breathe deeply. I breathe in the most that I can. I try to breathe in to each last lung pocket. (The word crepuscular came to mind just now, a word i don’t remember ever really learning. I had to look it up just now. This happens regularly when writing. Words come out that I don't remember ever learning or using before. Crepuscular means relating to twilight.)
I try to use the technique from Brent Blair’s acting class. I breathe in to every last corner. It doesn't feel like it's enough. I feel conscious of the pockets that aren't getting filled, that the inhalation isn't big enough. After a few breaths like this, I decide to hold it at the top of the inhale and exhale, waiting to notice any small microcosmic difference. I feel stiff. I feel myself over-expecting with every breath. I will need to do this for 30 more minutes to feel a margin of relief. I will share with whomever is next to me that I am anxious. This time it is my husband. He will squeeze my knee to acknowledge.
The best thing for me not to do is flip through every aspect of my life to try and uncover what might produce the cause. What might match up exactly to this deep and nameless anxiety. This is the best thing for me not to do because there is no matchup.
The best thing for me to do is let it come and let it go. It has a crescendo. It has a denoument.
This is the best thing for me to do.
“It’s Just A Thought”
My father wrote the music. He’s written a lot of songs but is not a lyricist. It took a few years for me to complete the lyrics.
Scott Sorkin is playing guitar here, beautifully.
The album cover pictured here did not feature this song, but it does feature amazing versions of Moon River, Laura and more.