The Swedish mixes keep floating along like little boats on a pond that forgot which way the wind blows. I sit there, paddling. Bass lines bump into echoes, harmonies bump into amplifiers. Sometimes everything crowded and I can’t tell anymore what’s music and what’s furniture falling over. I start again. Just piano. Just voice. Tiny house, nothing extra. Then forward, careful, like walking through snow that’s up to your knees. Strangest part is how my ears lie while I’m working. If I leave, take a walk, make tea, disappear into something ordinary…then come back, whole thing sounds different and the fixes suddenly obvious screaming at me to suit up for surgery. You never really hear until you’ve stopped trying to.