43

Increasingly I find joy in small moments. Brief respites from the rush. An extra 30 seconds under a hot shower. Standing silently in the house before I leave, looking out at the morning gray, listening to the birds and wind and traffic. Gazing at the blue San Francisco sky before returning to walking to or from work. The first sip of morning coffee. The shimmering lights on the hill as I stretch out late at night.

Everything will trigger memories, if I allow it. Music, especially. This can be sublime. It can be overwhelming. I contemplate writing my memoirs, inspired by a talented friend.

Played a show last night with The Pants. Opened for a band whose songs I'd covered both in my first band at age 15 and again when I first moved to San Francisco and began to develop the Sid Luscious concept. While none of my original bandmates from high school made it to the show, a dear friend and longtime fan came out to see us play. I hopped off the stage, sweating and proud. I've been performing my own music for 28 years, and singing for 25. Finally starting to get the hang of it.

I sit in the dark, typing these thoughts quietly. Do I even have anything to say? I've enjoyed going back to read my previous years' entries. I miss having more time to write.

Damage report: A few scars. Broken sesmoid bone. Some back issues. Eyes are starting to complain about anything up close. But I can still hear and I'm in pretty good shape, all things considered.

My body is a lot pickier about the food I can eat. The wrong stuff at the wrong time can make me sleepy or headachy or logy or whatever. And it's all making me fatter.

I marvel at the world - both its beauty and horror, brilliance and stupidity.