2 kids

Not soundproof.

Alex.

I am hereby giving up.

I throw the pen on the table and run a hand through my hair.

For some reason, I need to finish this song. I need to get the lyrics correct. I desperately need those words to be written down on this paper. The ink to have permanently engraved them there. Not with the intention of being recorded and included anywhere, no. Simply with the intention for them to exist elsewhere than my head.

But I'm struggling.

The whirling sea of thoughts, emotions, and ideas isn't giving me a second to rest. I'm scribbling everywhere available, crossing out almost every word play, never satisfied with the result. The words I want so desperately to get out are on the tip of my tongue, yet I can't seem to find them. They're running away from me and I'm growing tired trying to chase them. I can't verbalise what my mind is telling me.

I can't get my emotions, thoughts or ideas under control.

I move from the lyric to the melody, once again redoing that as well. Nothing satisfies me, instead everything makes me feel worthless. Incapable of producing one good song. These people here in Los Angeles are supposed to help us, help me. I feel like it's far from happening.

For some reason this song is important to me. The meaning and story are weighing on my brain daily, every second.

For the past hour I have been sitting behind a small desk with one two of the songwriters - Ali and Phillip. The problem seems to be very obvious by now – me. Their ideas are splendid, dynamic and original, yet not quite aligning with mine. I, unlike them, have not thought through the structure of this particular song. I'm just writing down ideas and trying to make a logical, lyrical order out of them.

They've been patiently putting up with my annoying ass, offering me new ideas every time I neglect one of theirs. Being patient and helpful, exactly as supposed and promised. If I were them I would have yelled at me a long time ago. They're so calm I'm left impressed.

If I never finish this song, I'm never going to sleep again.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Phillip shakes his head. "You need a break."

"No."

"Yes, Alex, you do."

"No. I need to finish this."

Ali sighs. "Look kiddo. I've been in the same situation as you before. The killing urge to finish a song, but not knowing how to. I understand what you're feeling now. But you have to understand we don't want you any harm, so listen to us when we tell you a break is what you need."

She doesn't understand it entirely, but I keep that to myself.

"I promise you'll finish it one day," she adds.

One day is too far in the future. I need to finish it now. Otherwise I might really lose my mind.

"A ten minute break, then we'll get back to it," Phillip says.

Maybe we shouldn't get to it. Maybe they shouldn't get back to it. Maybe only I should get back to it.

But I don't say that out loud. I nod and leave.

The idea of coming here was perhaps not that great after all. River, one of the calmest people on this planet I know, is getting frustrated too. His bass lines aren't sounding compatible with Ace's heartbreaking drumming, as he likes to call it. No changes, no ideas, no conclusions work, and River is always unsatisfied.

Mae is going through some weird, innovative, vocal lessons, which are only making her irritated. But she will hold it inside her for as long as she can. Take whatever ridiculous exercise this vocal coach throws at her. And then one day she'll snap.