Something is wrong in my universe.
I feel it like a smell. Like an actual physical sense. Still distant, still so abstract that I can’t even tell its scope, rate its danger.
Is it the coming apocalypse? Financial collapse? It is a person, place or thing? Will the temperature drop suddenly and inopportunely? Did I take my vitamins?
I can’t tell. And it takes on a certain foreboding. Because without knowing what is wrong you won’t know what it will take to right it.
Is a trumpet just a little out of tune in the symphony? Or did a whole section just never bother to learn the movement. Maybe the oboe player is sleeping with the otherwise already entangled first violin and playing just a little bit off tempo to spite the object of her affections, the cellist who can see the whole thing. Do we need to stop, take a moment, check our instruments? Or do we need to blow this shit up and start anew. Would we know the fix if we saw it. Do we even like this piece enough to salvage it in the first place?
I just don’t know. Maybe it is me, and I just need a little silence. Maybe everything would be just right if I could hit the mute button, now and then.