(Phaysis)

Took a little time this afternoon to take care of my car, some preventive maintenance that’s long overdue. Apparently, according to the literature, the owner of a car must “get the transmission fluid changed” on a regular basis. This is something I’ve never done, nor never had done, to any vehicle I’ve owned (all three of them). It seems that the fluid inside the transmission actually decomposes after a long time and a lot of mileage and must be completely replaced. Huh!

Some people say it is supposed to be replaced after 30,000 miles. Some say 60,000. Others say 120,000 miles. My car’s odometer reads 118,000, and since I’ve owned the car (since 65,000 miles), I’ve never had this service performed. So I’m well overdue. Who knew?

I think it may have been the cause of the transmission being sluggish while shifting between gears when the engine is cold. Once it heats up, it shifts pretty instantly. I’ll give the car an hour or so and try when it’s cold to see if this fixed it.

Had a bit of worry, though, during the chore. The first shop I took it to, a local, reputable transmission specialist (you can tell by the number of Better Business Bureau membership stickers they have covering the front door), they took a look at the color of the fluid and judged that it was too risky to attempt the fluid change. Now, I’ve heard of this before where parts of the transmission (namely pieces of pressed cardboard and rubber) wear down and their particulates wash around in the fluid, changing the color from “red wine” to “dark red”; changing the fluid after these parts have started degrading takes away the last of what is keeping them working. So sometimes the car malfunctions afterwards. So when they offered to take it apart and examine the insides for the tidy sum of $450, I told them I’d think about it.

Then I went to the dealership. Aside from being horribly busy, they took my car in, and a few hours later had the fluid changed for $50 and I was on my way. Not the experience I expected, but glad for it.

So let my experiences today illuminate your path. Be sure to not ignore the recommended maintenance on your car. I know the shops and quick-lube places are trying to scare every dollar out of you by saying you need services more often than recommended by the manufacturer, but if you do your research and read the manual, you can make informed decisions.

Extra knowledge bonus: Today, I learned that Honda Civics do not have user-replaceable transmission fluid filters, and any shop that sells you on the filter replacement is not worthy of your business. In order to replace the filter, you’d have to completely disassemble the transmission, and this obviously voids any implicit or explicit warranty on your vehicle. Just an FYI.

Despite the recent bottom end of the neurochemical roller coaster, today was OK in comparison to last weekend. Brain juices being what they are, if there’s an excess or absence, it will rectify itself in due time. The strategy is to mediate the extremes by whatever methods are prudent. I chose to take a long walk Sunday night, and that helped a bit. Didn’t clear my head, but the exercise gave me something to do. I think the turning point was the odd cocktail drink I made Monday night with vodka, apples, and cinnamon. I took a picture and posted the recipe on FB, and got a ton of good chatter about it. It was the bellwether towards making life seem bearable again (the intoxication didn’t hurt, but I worry about loving the bottle a bit much lately).

Tonight, I set out to work on my song “Communion” whose lyrics I wrote two years ago during the gray area between awake and asleep. The music’s been knocking around in my head since then. I’ve put it off for far too long, and I’ve had enough. The positive chatter I got regarding “Best Laid Plans” was enough to push me over the edge towards committing something to the songwriting effort. I think I’m proficient enough with my music gear to make it happen without too much frustration.

“Communion” is, chromatically, a dense piece of work, and I’m having no end of confusion about which chords I should use, where I should use them, and how I’m to transition between them. There are phrases that stick out, some things are more solid than others, and I have chunks, pieces that should fit together if only they’d want to fit together. The problem is that I’ve got this thick set of notes, like the bass note would be, say, D#, but the vocal note would be F# (a third), but the tough decision is which I should use as the base of the progression. I know the dominant notes are in the key of F#, but each part of the song seems to have its own soul. The choruses have different chords from the verses, the bridge is distant from the interludes.

It’s a mystery, it’s a puzzle. And the more I play with the pieces, the fuzzier it gets. If I could just see the entire picture on the front of the box, I’d know what to do. I’m hoping to look away long enough to have the parts magically assemble themselves when I’m not looking. The subconscious mind is funny that way; it can take puzzles and solve them when you’re not trying.

Yeah. I can be fixed. Chin up, change of mind, head forward, charge on til the dawn. It’s that easy. Just deny all the thoughts. Remove the temptation to backslide into the deep. Keep it on the shallow, simple goals, simple rewards. I mean, it’s something you can cure. Just take a pill for it. Pharmacological nirvana. I have insurance, so it costs me nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even my soul. Just one prescription away from a blissful flatline. Should be running for it, clamoring over the corpses of my dead dreams to reach that cure, that golden ring. It’s that easy. Click, just flip it off and turn on the sunlight. Right? No cost. Right? No cost.

So, it’s done. It’s finally over. After nine latent years, my Glass Door song “Best Laid Plans” is polished, posted, and ready for the harsh criticism of the faceless Internet.

I wrote it impromptu-style in 2002 during a dark period, and it shows. After languishing raw on my hard drive for years, I had enough of the anxiety and felt that it had to be published. In the past months of reworking and remixing it, I’ve gone back and forth on the sound, never happy with it. Finally, I pushed it into the right direction and decided that I was too tired to keep tweaking it. I had enough, the song had enough, and so there it is.

A song is where the musician got tired of mixing the music.

I’ve been sitting on this song for so long because it was raw and way too personal. I recorded it in one take, but it has taken the better part of a decade (most of that it sat motionless) until I was ready to show it. In public, I make a point of putting forth a manly, strong, guarded front, and the original spoken words for the song were too honest, too unprotected. I just could not, in all bravery, put it out there. So I had to rewrite the words, put some distance between my ego and the words, bring it to some sort of generic applicability to the everyman listening. Even still, there’s some of me in there — there has to be — but it’s a little more bearable.

All things told, I am actually that lonesome at times. If you’ve been reading all along, you’d know that all too well. I do crave the company of other people, but something in the metal-on-metal execution of my life leaves me unable to make that happen without unease. And so there I am, with “these lonesome ways of my soul.”

“You are responsible for your own experience.”

From what I’ve been told, this statement is posted at the front gate of any Burning Man event. It is supposed to be an admonition to seize your own destiny and craft the kind of life you want to lead.

To me, it feels like an after-the-fact, regret-filled I-told-you-so. If I am not living as I had hoped, then the burden of blame is laid squarely on my own shoulders. I mean, by this logic, who else can possibly be at fault?

If my own nature casts me as happiest when I am alone, but my desire leaves me unhappy at being alone, then how am I to reconcile this inherent disconnect between nature and desire? Which of them should I lose if they can’t be made whole? Who am I if I can’t rise above this struggle and do something about it?