(insert every word I can't speak)

So what does the average human do when they simply cannot stop the rabid squirrels from gouging black holes and creating a pinball machine complete with acorn missiles in their incessantly overactive minds...I don't know either. As for me, let’s see...I learned two new songs on the piano, did 4 loads of laundry, ironed the curtains in my office (yes, I'm dead serious), and took a guitar lesson online. Oh yes, and then I open the silver door to my soul emblazoned with the fruit of my heart (not really, just my MacBook). My life is parenthetical I've discovered. And the comma, oh the comma, it marks the stops, rewinds and forwards of the mixtape of the soundtrack of my everyday life. Have you ever imagined a life with a soundtrack on repeat. Maybe an Alton Ellis original for the wakeup, a Dr. Dre for the ride to work, a second album Mazzy Starr for dinner and a smooth Coltrane or better yet Simone for bedtime. And the transitions, the breaks, the refrains are nothing but the mind blustering, logic-lacking, trains of nothing but locomotives strung along by tangled, electrified wires worn thin from their overuse and overexposure. And these are the filler for the parentheses. Those annoying half-assed semi circles that forever house the in-between thoughts. That's the meat to my bones though, the parentheses. It's what I never actually say but want to. It's what I can't say and don't. It's what I wish you knew but you shouldn't. It's the only wall I have to protect my blindside. To hold in all the things I should have said. Because if I do and you do, then it's out there. And we can't take it back. And then it's permanently unearthed and yet so damn easily revocable.

So if you don't mind I'd like to leave my parentheses to myself and my soundtrack on mute if that's okay with you. But I'm too sure that is no where near possible with a heart like mine, louder than my logic and wilder than any strategy.