fevered thursday

i feel like i gush a lot about certain artists. i praise them too much, perhaps.
but there's something about some of them.
when i listen to their music (regardless of the day, weather, or season) something happens.
it's this feeling that's born in the very center of myself and then it grows and grows outwards.
it's not happy.
it's not sad.
it's home.
it's sunlight, starlight, and moonlight.
it's the glow of dawn and the veil of twilight.
it's petrichor.
it's summer and winter and spring and autumn.
it's christmas and my birthday and my funeral and my wedding.
it's like time all of a sudden stops or speeds up.
it's immeasurably large.
it's infathomably small.
it's calm and silent.
it's raucous and loud.

 i've spent today in my bed-feverish and unable to speak (aside from some croaking noises)
i've slept and i've dreamt and i've watch some old reruns of the office.
days like this slay me.
i feel like the whole day is absolutely wasted.
and yet, if i spend some of it listening to some truly good music, it's not wasted at all.

i should probably take some more gross medicine and hope that i don't sound like yoda tomorrow.