Closure

As I put the finishing touches on the Summer Mix, I want to say a few words.
I've written before that I was swearing off the mixes, and reneged.
That changed about 30 seconds ago, when I wrapped the last one up in its packaging and tucked them away for tomorrow's delivery.
To say that the creation of this mix was substantially more stressful than any other would be inaccurate. They all are, to some degree, especially near the end. This time round, however, I finally felt myself scraping the bottom of the iTunes frying pan in desperation, looking for the perfect 3rd track to bridge so-and-so other tracks, with just the right variation of tempo and acoustic sonority. Seeing in my mind something very specific and scanning through page after page of music I do not know to find The One.
And if this be madness, the method is beyond me.
Coinciding with all this is the recent hand-slapping I received at the hands of my Wireless Provider Overlords, who called me out on my flagrant violation of their terms of service by my rampant downloading habit (cough, problem). It has effectively ended my acquiring of music here at home, forcing me to take trips out to Chance of Rain coffeehouse instead whenever I wish to feed that particular urge. This does afford the opportunity to get writing done as well, for it does compel one to get busy when others are around. Especially women. Don't ask for clarification, it's simply so (And yet I cannot help but muse on the fact that while there's no doubt that winning the heart of a woman has been one of the prime motivational factors in the creation of untold amounts of art throughout the ages, I find myself constantly distracted by said coffeehouse women when in the process of attempting to create. Don't they realize I'm doing it for them? Sheesh).
Anyhow, with the influx of music slowed to a trickle, I'm forced to see (as an alcoholic might see, after sobering up, all the silly things he's allowing to go on that drinking distracts him from) that I have amassed a collection of music that a) few could hold a candle to, b) is likely pretty good music, (at least most of it) and c) I am currently familiar with less than half of.
This is the point where my inner Fuck. That. sensors go off, and I give myself a good slap-in-the-face and realize: it's time to stop.
And the truth shall set you free.
I have made it. Survived. The Summer Mix is complete, as well as what I consider (no small amount of back-patting here) the most lovely packaging I've ever designed. When I put the whole thing to bed minutes ago, I felt not only the calm and satisfaction of having seen a long-term project through to completion with patience and attention to detail, but the relief of knowing that this was the final one between me and oblivion. Between that looming external hard drive full of untold wonders, and me. Grin.
I get to stop now.
I get to listen to music just to listen to music.
If this is starting to sound a little strange, it should.
Because it is a luxury to me. I'll refuse to consider making mixes for as long as it takes for me to fully absorb all the music I've acquired, until I know the songs for what they are rather than what they can be used for. Judging by the size of my library alone, that could take years.
Hallelujah.

The mix is done. I am tired. I think I'll go listen to Opeth and call it a night.



Opeth - Closure