Rounding, My Set Jaw

One of my friends recently made me a trio of Grateful Dead live shows and I'm loving them. They aren't something I've typically been into; they were too freeform and jazz like. I liked my structure. Lately I'm ok leaving that structure behind. Music so closely defines moods and thoughts and emotion for me in ways that my ignorant tongue has no way to communicate, and to it I am indebted. Lyrics were my manna; now I'm seeing the notes too. The music that's been cycling recently has been "Extraordinary Machine" by Fiona Apple, "Halos and Horns" by the Dolly, "The Beginning Stages of..." by the Polyphonic Spree, "B Sides and Rarities" by Damien Rice, "We Will Become Like Birds" by Erin McKeown and this great mix of The Clash, The Postal Service, Ben Harper, The Black Keys, Cyndi Lauper, Led Zeppelin and Eastmountainsouth. I'm singing more, not in a focused, performance way, but in the way an old faucet drips: out of habit, out of comfort, out of joy. I sing while I do my life. I'm aging I think. My edges are rounding, my set jaw is slacking. I'm liking space between my words.