Thursday, June 28, 2012

Sometimes I get sad that I'm crying while I'm crying and it makes me cry harder.

It was Tuesday. I sloshed through the rain into work, sat down at my desk, and realized immediately that I left my notebook at home. Without it, my down time is spent staring numbly at the accounting program on my computer screen and feigning responsiveness when someone walks past by moving the mouse around a little. Knowing that its presence would be missed, I looked around for an alternative for it.

Because I'd rather not open a word document for personal use at work and accidentally have it open for people I don't want to have it open for, I settled for the empty days of my planner and the illusion
that I was furiously making plans all day. The ample amount of writing space available in each month was depressing in itself, though. "Look at all the days I apparently did nothing and had no plans--plenty of room to write some melodramtic stuff I think is wonderful right now but come Thursday I'll re-read and realize it must be destroyed." said me.

Eventually my melancholy had manifested into a blog post written across the pages of January and February that I'm so glad I didn't actually post. When I looked over it again, it was basically the diary entry of a teenage girl whose boyfriend didn't pay attention to her on prom night. And I hate when I get like that. Does anyone else know the feeling? It's when you'd like to throw yourself a pity party to freely pout and eat frozen yogurt and watch "Some Kind of Wonderful" 10 times in a row and egotistically think, "Fuck it--I'm cute and awesome" while simultaneously nurturing your multiplying number of insecurities. 

Again, teenage girl on prom night.

As I drove home through the rain Tuesday, I did start furiously making plans in my mind, having been freshly motivated by my melodrama.

And I was a little happy by the motivation, even if it came from a juvenile place. It's been a while since I've seen it so I barely recognized it, but here it was--ready to make me do stuff.

After Tuesday was over and Wednesday made good on its promise to show up, I plugged in my iPod to find this song had moved to my most played list. I had literally hit repeat all day Tuesday so that I was only listening to this over and over.

 Tuesday, I guess this is your song.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

The Bewitching Power of Sunday

Today, it’s raining. A lot.

It’s the type of constant drizzle that you just stare at and by the time you look away, hours have passed and you realize you’ve been in a blurry-landscape, crying-window-pane-induced state of comatose. You blame this on the reason you never changed out of your pajamas because suddenly, nothing else mattered but watching the rain.

This is how I spent the morning. Only add coffee and Pride & Prejudice.

Eventually, I pulled myself away long enough to peruse my modest, Goodwill funded record collection and find Nat King Cole’s “Nature Boy/Greatest Hits.” There’s something about Nat King Cole that just makes me feel nostalgic. And I can’t explain it. I can’t connect his songs to any one specific memory in my life, but they feel familiar all the same.

So I painted my nails, opened the blinds and felt okay with the lethargic, non-productive route my day seemed to be on.

Sirius being bewitched.

Even Sirius couldn’t fight the overwhelming impulse to just stare outside and listen to the record player as it sent pretty melodies drifting through the room.

And I sat here thinking what a powerful spell of paralysis Sunday had put on me and how easily I gave in.



Now Playing: When I Fall in Love by Nat King Cole

Saturday, June 23, 2012

The Saturday Morning Song Wears Flannel and Writes Poetry

This morning I woke up to find (and become completely engrossed in) re-runs of "My So-Called Life" on the Sundance Channel. Not only did it make me realize how much revenue Urbanoutfitters must be making from recycling designs from the 90s (I mean, seriously. I could walk in there and recreate Angela's look without issue) but also that I really miss sunflower dresses and Jansport bookbags. And french braids. And grungy Jared Leto.

And also, the lazy, indifferent songs that somehow still managed to make a statement. I feel like a lot of good 90s music was like the rebellious guy in school who smoked cigarettes while leaning against brick walls--he seems apathetic, but he writes beautiful poetry about his insecurities, runs his hand through his messy, yet completely amazing hair, and shrugs his shoulders like it was nothing. (This idealistic 90s cool guy may have been heavily influenced by a Jared Leto/Ethan Hawke hybrid I dreamed up once.) The point is, so many songs with deep and complex messages were delivered with these hypnotic melodies and appearingly distant vocals.

So, I decided to dedicate this Saturday Morning Song to you, 90s rebel with a poetic cause. Let's all tie flannel shirts around our waists today and not wash our hair. People will think we're lazy weirdos, but we'll know we're actually sensitive geniuses.

Now Playing: Beautiful by The Smashing Pumpkins