Ok, raise your hand if you think I sound like a pretentious teenager right now. 2002-10-19 - 10:26 p.m.
Have I ever mentioned how much I abuse the mammoth playlist on my computer? Music feeds me, it sustains me, just like a drug. Music is tangible, it lifts you up and folds you up in blankets of sound. Music takes the place of that pair of arms, to shelter me from the cold, that I am sorely lacking sometimes.
It is still cold in here.
But right now I'm listening to Don McLean's love song to the music that he loved. And it is good.
For a while.
Well that was silly. I really have nothing useful to say. I was really thinking about how much I love all these songs, and how much it changes my mood to hear them. It's easy to forget that you're a lonely, forgotten, unloved, little retail drone who's throwing away time, intelligence, and talent in a mind-numbingly dull town, when, for no reason whatsoever, you're dreaming about heading down the Atlanta highway to Alabama of all places. And suddenly you're someone's brown-eyed girl. An imaginary someone, but a someone nonetheless.
I AM better than this. It will get better. There is this music that drives me and pushes me on. I picked the right career (music, not retail of course). It's all good.
*Please do not hold me to this rare statement of optimism. I ate a good many pizza rolls for lunch, and I've been trying to alleviate my chronic state of bored as all hell-ism by doing laundry, making spaghetti sauce for no reason, and ODing on Lynyrd Skynyrd. Thank you.*