Drawing a blank and playing for time

Good morning journal,it is 7:23am,and as I sit before you,my mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts and nonsensical murmurings of unintelligible claptrap.So,now we know the exact status of our mental databank,we can begin.In reference to the title of my latest entry,it is exactly what it says on the tin,I am drawing a blank and playing for time.So,I will type,you will listen,and at the end of it all,we will see what we have.This morning,I feel extremely nauseous,and the interior of my mouth feels like it has ingested the entire contents of an industrial vacuum bag;a sensation similar to the nuclear hangovers from which I used to suffer,but without the alcohol and the jollity of the night before.I must confess to feeling somewhat cheated,if I am going to feel this bad,then at least give me a reason or cause that I can,metaphorically speaking,shake a fist at.My overall mood however,seems to be resting on a plateau of uneasy acceptance and wobbling calmness,for how long one wonders.There are occasions during my day,I get the disturbing feeling of being operated by some other being,invisible to the human eye,who dwells in a parasitic cohabitation with myself in this shell of flesh,bones and organs,I am forced to occupy for my existence.A strange bedfellow,who seems to have sole access to a switch which controls my moods,and which he flicks on and off indiscriminately whenever he chooses;I find this most disconcerting and unbelievably annoying.It is at these times,when I truly doubt if I am in full possession of my mental faculties,or indeed,does it really matter, as long as I have a modicum of peace within my troubled soul.
                                                 I remember my mother,succumbing to alcoholism first,then the onset of Alzheimer's Disease,which gradually took her to places I can only imagine;and which left me with feelings of desolation and loss for the beautiful woman who gave me life.I watched her slip away in her mind,to images and events that only she could see,while I stood helplessly by,powerless to make it better.I resemble my father very much in stature and physical attributes;and at times my mother would speak to me as her husband and not her son.These occasions were acutely painful for me,but thankfully my poor mother,up until the day of her death,remained unaware of the conversations between myself and her;that much at least,I could give her.Her loss of dignity,having to be bathed by her elder son in the absence of any daughters,taken to the toilet;all the things one usually carries out in private,must have been excruciatingly embarrassing for her;and I saw the life in her eyes diminish daily,especially in her more lucid moments when she knew who I was.I miss my mother a great deal today,but I am immensely grateful to a loving Creator who recognized her agony,and ended it when He did,she is at peace,and that at least,is a source of immeasurable solace to me.
          Well,for someone who had no clue of what to write when he sat down;I seem to have engaged in the act of,"running my mouth",as they say in the less salubrious circles of society.Perhaps this was God's way of saying,"hey,just let your fingers do the rapping man",(my God is a very cool kind of cat),so,to continue then;I will grant my impatient digits further time to cogitate on their musings whilst I replenish my coffee and will return forthwith.Back to the keyboard of my mind then,to discover what other thoughts,if any,are to be disclosed to print.I am beginning to enjoy this mental rummaging through the attic of my house, so to speak,immensely.I really am totally unaware of what will formulate on the screen before me;somewhat akin to reading a book that one has never read before,I find myself in the unique position of probing the author's mind for snippets of information, that may,or may not,lead to new,or forgotten,revelations that will change my world.My singing career?;oh well,why not?;I began my singing career by complete accident in a club in Ottawa,Canada,in another lifetime,back in the Summer of 1974.I was there with my army unit on maneuvers alongside,and in conjunction with,the Canadian military.Anyway,we were off duty and had been granted permission to visit the city,I was nineteen and wide eyed,if not entirely innocent,and we found ourselves in a downtown club,the name of which escapes me for now;and we proceeded to let our hair down to the sound of the music on stage,and the assorted liquid refreshments available behind the bar.As the evening wore on,the small band of musicians on stage asked for volunteers;and by this time,feeling suitably fortified by the generosity of our Canadian hosts,I was cajoled into raising my hand to accept the challenge.I sang an Elvis number followed by a ballad,and for some inexplicable reason,the entire establishment erupted into a collective state of undisguised hysteria which I failed to comprehend then,and understand even less today.However,to cut a long story short,the owner of said establishment offered me a job in my off duty moments for the princely sum of fifty dollars a week.I said it was unlikely that my Commanding Officer would view the opportunity with such enthusiasm,but he assured me he would speak to him on my behalf.Returning to my unit,I forgot all about it until three days later,my Commanding Officer summoned me, and asked if I would like to take up the club owners offer,as he thought it would be good public relations between our respective countries,and a few extra dollars in my pocket.I said if he thought it was a good idea,I would give it a try,he then stipulated he would like me to sing in uniform to enhance public relations which,after all,was the objective of the exercise,so to speak;and so I began a career that was to last thirty two years before I finally hung up my microphone,as an act called the singing soldier.After leaving the army,I sang all over the United Kingdom and Spain under the name of Scott Christian,making a host of new friends,and earning a living in a profession that I hugely enjoyed;and still today, look back on with incredible affection and fondness,and much gratitude,at a hobby that turned into a career,and lasted so many years.How many people can say they enjoyed every second of their working day,every day they participated in the act of earning a living?,in that aspect of my life,I am indeed the most fortunate of men.
                                                                      Well journal,enough of my ramblings this morning,I have enjoyed your company immensely;so journey with me together through another chapter in our lives,and let us see what events dictate the ultimate outcome of this day.Till tomorrow my friend,God speed;and as my final act here today,I shall change my little face in the mood chart to good for the first time since we began our discourse,that,my friend,is progress,even if it lasts a short while.