It’s the weekend after round two and I’m feeling musical.
No, seriously!
I feel like my body is a band, making some fantastically wild rhythms.
It’s not a quiet relaxing tune.
It’s not a simple, structured song.
It’s definitely jazz.
Wild, free jazz that can take you anywhere.
Jazz…
My brain plays a syncopated song of steroid.
But, instead of a snare drum, it feels like (and sounds like) a glob of fuzzy green jello. Which, never really caught on in marching bands.
I’m not thinking super clearly.
But, that’s okay.
Because, I’m jazz.
Sometimes jazz doesn’t make sense until the song is over.
Jazz…
I had something plugged into my arm that looks like a Glade plug in. It unleashed some magical white blood cell boosters into my body. It makes my body fluttery. It’s almost like the slow rumble of a stand up bass moving me from the inside out.
Jazz…
I was on a brand new antibiotic this weekend which has played the not-so-sweet song of side effect. On an out of tune porcelain keyboard some fierce sounds have been…umm…created. Sometimes the song we are given is loud and obnoxious. It’s all a part of the raw rhythm of life.
Jazz…
Some smells can be so strong that they can become sounds. It’s like a fragrance Flugelhorn. They create mood, drawing us in with minor and major chords. I’m pretty sure that I’m smelling things that haven’t even been invented yet. Sometimes, it smells like something is on fire. Sometimes I smell fruity pebbles, or the unexplainable odor of spoiled root beer.
Jazz…
This weekend has been a crazy concerto.
I’m still dancing…
Because, I’m jazz.
And, because sometimes jazz doesn’t make sense until the song is over,
I keep pounding the BIG joy drum.
carbonated joy 