Tiny Dancer

Do you ever have one of those days where you get to the end – or maybe it’s before you even get to that point – and all you want to do is lie in bed with mint leaves on your eyes and listen to Tiny Dancer on repeat?

Those are the days that might also catch you swaying and singing to mediocre country ballads alone in your living room. Or the ones where you find yourself crying into a bowl of cereal before 8 am. Or nostalgically looking through old photos you stumbled upon on your external hard drive during a futile attempt at work.

You wonder why your brain is firing off into odd recesses of pop culture and retrieving ridiculous material to invade your day. You marvel that you could care so deeply about either Bran Flakes, Tim McGraw, or a picture of you and your best friend dressed as nerds. You query whether tomorrow will bring a return to sanity – or whether it’ll be another prime opportunity for creativity.

You pick up your guitar – or rather – the one that belongs to your housemate who doesn’t actually play the instrument any more than you do. You pull down the Afro wig from the top shelf for good measure. You station yourself in the hallway of your house and get ready to conjure up the muse.

You realize you’ve got commitments and the day’s not over yet. You pack it all in – pull on your coat and hop on your bike. Halfway out the door – with the key already turned in the door and you standing behind the glass porch door – you pause. Tiny Dancer can still be heard emanating from your room. ‘Hold me closer, tiny dancer!’ he belts out in desperation. You sigh and unlock the door again to put an end to the madness. Can’t have that playing on repeat until your return sometime close to midnight.

Do you ever have one of those days where you get near the end and all you’ve got is Tiny Dancer?