Over the last few months I’ve delved deep into my catalog of traditional music. Country picking, folksy lyrics. Traditional music beats like a heart, steady and true. It’s simple and the words tell stories that are clear in their meaning and guileless about their goals. I don’t like the term “low art.” I prefer to think that’s just a term that pretentious snobs use. There is nothing low about simplicity.

I’ve probably delved so deep into this side of my music because it stands in direct contrast to how I spend most of my days — wired, plugged in, and feeding on information. Today it was time for a little zen clarity — something that is removed from the mundane and can carry me away for a moment in beat, harmony, and euphony. If I knew anyone who liked to dance I’d go to a club, but this will do for now. I’ve been neglecting you, my old friends.

It’s been so long that just now when I put on my headphones and cranked up the prog and house music, it was like a shot of heroin straight to the math centers of my brain. I started counting the sync patterns of rhythmic and melodic loops. I could feel my pulse quicken and my feet start to itch. As I replied to e-mails my fingers tapped in time with “Slash Dot Dash.” I caught myself just before I started headbanging at the spectacular “let ‘er rip” portion of “Knights of Cydonia.” My workplace may be unorthodox, but it’s not quite ready for cubicle choreography. Why is it 1:30 on a Thursday and not midnight on a Saturday?

I can’t stand it any more. I need to find an outlet for musical performance or at least dancing soon or a gasket’s gonna blow here sooner or later.