azeotropy

God, I love your hands. Never noticed hands in particular before but sitting here, as you fiddle with the knobs and mess with the music layers, I’m thinking ..yeah..I love your hands. Or maybe the way they work on that mixer.

Jesus Christ. Not a track my thoughts often take. Hands? I love them? W.T.F.? My eyes are heavy as is my head. Sleep hasn’t happened in over 24 hours. Must be taking a toll.

So I walk out of the soundproof room into the corridor. Sibling is lying on the couch, guitar in lap, signing out of tune. Grinning. Shit. It’s just 7am and he’s already up and singing. I smile at him and walk down the stairs into the kitchen. Switch the kettle on. Look for some coffee. Can’t find any. Impossible. Look again. Nope. Take out three teabags, dunk them in the mug and wait for the water to boil. I hear someone walking down the steps – a clickety sound that would never echo from the sneakers all of us have been living in. Odd. I turn to look.

She’s all bright and chirpy. Does this annoying flick thing with her hair. Looks at me. Looks right through me. Walks over to the counter, grabs a pink fucking mug, opens the cabinet, takes out some health drink and heaps in two spoonfuls. The kettle just switched off. She empties the water into her mug. Hums some fucking Britney sounding ditty as she stirs and clickety clacks out.

I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. I’m staring at the empty doorway. The clickety clack fades as it makes its way up the stairs. Who the hell was that?

I look back at the kettle. Pick it up, shake it around – empty. Cow. Took all my water. So I do the whole thing again. Add the water, switch kettle on and wait. It boils. I pour over the teabags and walk out. Climb two steps at a time, catch guitarists eye and ask him about her but he just keeps singing and grinning. Jesus. Is he deaf? Push the door handle down and open the studio door and the music hits me. The sound proofing was awesome. You’re drinking something out of a pink fucking mug. I look to my left and she’s fussing over some papers – my lyric scribbles. She’s reading and laughing, ripping each line to pieces before she rips the papers. Rip, line. Rip, paper. Rip, another line. Rip, another paper.

I look at you, stunned. Aren’t you going to stop her?

You look at me, calmly. Silently shake your head. I’m rooted in shock.

There’s that goddamned storm again. Feel it building up inside. Uneven breathing. Clenched fists. A mug flung across the room and falling shattered to the floor. Its contents flying all over the place. She keeps laughing like nothing’s happening. You keep your hands on the mixer, a faint smile on your lips, hair falling over your forehead and eyes that look at me screaming a deathly silence.

This has to be the twilight zone.

I back out of the room, run down the stairs, kick the banisters, open the front door, run out the gate, get into my car and shut the door. Lean back in the seat. Close my eyes. Breathe.

Open my eyes a while later when breathing is easier and the focus is back. Ceiling. Walls. Red bedcovers. Grey wall.

I’m in bed.

What shit.

But before the rage seeps through into this reality - I start grinning. Yesterday, I figured out how to layer like Hyde and Smith. I actually managed to do that – plus I laid some vocals on that too.

Hah. The lame little pleasures of life.

22/04/08; 2:34pm