Calling St. Cecelia

There's something to be said for the healing power of music.

Those of you playing along at home know that I didn't have the best day yesterday. I did the unthinkable: I turned off my Blackberry, got on the train and actually slept most of the way home (a rare occurrence for me.) My Fantastic Wife was well aware of the state of my brain and she knows how to let me work myself out of my mood.

(I know what you're thinking: I really shouldn't let others dictate my moods. I usually don't and in this case it was more the situation dictating my mood, so I'm almost as guilty.)

So after wolfing down a quick dinner and a couple of glasses of wine, I went upstairs, ran a very hot bath, grabbed the CD player and some tunes and proceeded to soak my cares away.

What music was it, I hear you asking?

Rush: Exit...Stage Left.

~silence~

Yeah I know *you* might not find chilling to the wonderfully interlaced riffs of YYZ and The Spirit of Radio to be relaxing and enriching, but I sure do. I'm one of these weirdos who can "see" music in his head and Neil Peart was a huge influence in my drumming days, so I just closed my eyes and lived the concert.

It was my mental comfort food.

I emerged about an hour later, pruned, steamed and far more relaxed.

Neil, Geddy, Alex: I owe you guys big time. Thanks for being there.