I'm the queen of my champagne castle

in a fluffy white bed looking over the city

Oh Barcelona, you look so good

Your sand in my toes and my feet are filthy 

From walking on these endless streets of stories

I want to feel the Sagrada Familia's final crowning Glory

I'm the queen of my champagne castle 

"I will learn to walk away from this cool song today.  Because I know it'll come back when its ready", I said to myself at the beachside bar today, with my journal.  I tucked it away and dove into the Mediterranean.  The water was clear, blue, warm and....Mediterranean.  My first day off without my man.  My Lone Tour Girl came back pretty quickly.  I woke up and threw the blazing bright sun in my eyes as I opened the curtain overlooking Barcelona.  If I lay there, too much invades my mind and I won't move.  Gotta move.  I threw on my function-clothes and rented a bike with a cool little app.  I left the hotel and walked down the street to locate my "bike for the day".  Like a little scavenger hunt, I reached my bike. ...with no seat.  I quickly canceled the purchased day on my app and tried to rethink things.  I actually considered biking the city with no seat...but that would just be awful.  I just started to walk.  And I kept walking until I reached the ocean.  So I jumped in.  Then I grabbed a seat at the beach bar outside, ordered a mojito and pulled out my journal.  Lately, I've been working very hard.  I love what I do.  But it is hard work sometimes.  I return to my fluffy bed sometimes at 2 and 3am.  I savor my bubble bath and pass out.  On a night I feel like I've worked especially hard, I splurge on a mini bar champagne.  And there I sit.  Pretending like I could afford to own this place.  Queen of my champagne castle.  

When I write songs, I ultimately end up at this point where the words aren't just freely falling out of my mouth anymore.  As that sweet steady flow starts moving, at some point I hesitate for a moment and say, "hey where is this all coming from?", and it just stops.  Right there in It's tracks.  Whatever "It" is.  Then I start to put it in my own hands and push it and push it.  If you look at every song I've ever written on paper, you would see that the first verse and into the chorus, there's lots of scribbles and cross outs and re-writes.  That's where I should've stopped.  "It" will come back and visit me again.  And almost ALWAYS at the most inconvenient time.  IT doesn't like you to sleep sometimes.  IT doesn't seem to mind coming to you while you're driving, dammit.  When you've had a few.  When you are standing in a crowded line somewhere with no paper and your hands are full so you have to just face the public and hum it into your voice recorder on your phone and risk utter shame and mockery.  We are all so scared.  Why?  Its silly.  

IT comes to you for a reason.  I think we were made to "make".  We were created to create.  Make stuff.  For no reason.  Just make stuff.  Kids do it.  All the popsicle stick bird cages and paper snowflakes and piles and piles of construction paper with crusted acrylic non-toxic paint.  At least, that was MY childhood.   Fruit stands with fresh baguettes, bicycle bells, narrow little alleyways for walkers, bikers, shoppers, breathtaking color and life.  Ok.  I'll stop.  For now.  I wish every blog entry could be mind blowing and life changing.  Not every one will be.  And not this one, for sure.  But I will not let that stop me.  I will keep creating.  

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