Today contains a million. Same as yesterday.

I stop looking and hear my ol' identity stutter. Older than me is the thing I am feeling today. It is a true form, like beauty, or 2+2=4. True as the the day I was born. Old as a form can be, old as humanity maybe even time.

Now... ham or turkey on the sandwich?

"It hurts where you feel pain most, inside. It's not like the usual heartache that kids have, the kind other people can't see. An alcoholic parent, a secret shame, a gaping wound in the family fabric. These are the things one can carry to school and mask with a grin, a wisecrack, or a scowl, a 'just don't mess with me today' attitude. But everyone knows where you got in and where you didn't." - Grandpa David

He wrote that bit in regards to all the high school students dreading their college admissions around late 2004, the year I was born, and a few months before he died. I think the beauty of this letter is that while it is about an issue that may seem trivial to some, collage admissions and high school judgement, what it actually speaks to is that deep dark thing that is the shame of not meeting the expectations of those around you, or even yourself. Be it a mistake, an accident, a moment of laziness, rage, or weakness. Maybe it was just simple circumstance, wrong place wrong time and now you are here. Regardless, no matter how momentary or trivial it may seem shame cuts deep, and like a dog chasing its own tail it can seem to send the strongest of us into a spiral. What do you do when you aren't who you thought you were? What does that mean about you? We all want to be confidant, smart, witty, kind and caring, but somehow unapologetic, tough, and real, all at the same time. But when shame slithers in and latches on like a leech, there seems to be no way to pull it off without some sort of wound.

I have no conclusions on these things that are worth anyone's time, and I am certainly in no position to be giving anyone advice. It's just on my mind, that's all. What I will say is I think shame is important, like a mini ego death of sorts. Absolutely flattens anything you've built up in your head about yourself. Nuclear disaster level flattening. But it's important to remember that it is in fact a nuclear bomb, not a surgeons scalpel. Everything you've built up, good, bad, obliterated.

But it's kinda like the first time the basement flooded.

It felt terrible. Like my life in that room had been destroyed. Years of work making it a nice place to record and rehearse, wiped clean.

Truth is though, after the initial dust settled and the wet adrenaline had burnt off, it became clear this was the fucking best thing that could have happened to that place. I'd been making music down there for years at that point. Got drunk for the first time down there. Snuck out in freshman year of high school to go dick around in the park with friends. Many many memories down there, not all of them good. Arguments between people, awkward conversations, long goodbyes; the works. Stupid high school shit that is meaningless in hindsight, but felt world shattering when we were in it . That flood was a necessary incursion that needed to happen in order to wipe shit clean. It only felt like it had washed away the good. Really it took the bad, leaving the room damp and barren but free-er than it had been in a long time.

Since then, the basement flooded 3 or 4 more times, at least one serious flood a year with varying degrees of severity. But consistently, without fail, the layout of the studio gets better and we become better and better equipped to deal with the rain as it comes. Maybe it's like that. We get everything knocked off, but it gives us room to work, to take a step back and look at the shit as it stands.

"How many 'misc' cable boxes do I need?"

"-NONE- get rid of that shit. When the last time you needed a micro HDMI cable to record drums?"

"Why I didn't realize I had seven fucking broken mic stands...?"

"Cus you didn't look dickhead, and they were in the closet behind the door where there's that strange wet AC drainage pit growing alien goo so you don't check. Get rid of that shit."

I hope shame is like that. Clean slate, with the knowledge of what it was before. In all honesty I'm getting tired of the floods, and I just pushed a fucking heavy ass piano into the studio, so I have no idea how that's gonna work next time it happens. But it'll happen, and I'll figure it out.

So it goes.

At least it's sunny today.