I should be asleep. I'm tired, this is the most comfortable bed in our immediate sphere (we love this bed!), and tomorrow is a long day of mom celebrations. That my brain is running amok like a banshee on fire prevents what I imagine for easy-sleepin' others to be a no-brainer in turning off comps and iPods and rolling toward one's sweetie. Even the Dingo is like, Dude. [Actually, the Dingo is more articulate than that, but I wanted to express a certain tone.]
db is restless next to me and keeps tossing and turning. We are at his parents' home, which is warmer than our home, so he's radiating the heat of a couple of minor suns, and this is in addition to the heating battery of the laptop sitting on my lap. *Hot.* Need water. Need a still mind.
To occupy that portion of my mind running amok like a banshee on fire, I've got the iPod on shuffle. The goal is to help me to concentrate. On what? This, I guess. Futile much?
During the tour along my musical history, I heard this wonderful Magnetic Fields song that I hadn't listened to in a while, and it is so perfectly sadly resolute that I was transported back to a time when this song was the literal expression of my life. Do you not just love mad crushes and the particular self-indulgent spiral we're sometimes thrown into? I mean, when else can we mope about being the only person in the world who understands love and play out the long, sordid history of obsession? One does feel particularly alive, doesn't one? Ahhh. The last stanza, uh huh. Oh, you know I did wear all black and read Camus (though that's not far off the mark on a normal day)! Brilliant.
If you haven't heard 69 Love Songs, and if you are a sucker for a clever lyric and snarky/tender broken heartedness, this is the 3-CD set for you! I give you "I Don't Want to Get Over You."
I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will
And not have to go through what I go through.
I guess I should take Prozac, right,
And just smile all night at somebody new,
Somebody not too bright but sweet
And kind who would try to get you off my mind.
I could leave this agony behind which is just what I'd do if I wanted to,
But I don't want to get over you cause
I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
And not have to dream of what I dream of;
I could listen to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough,
Or I could make a career of being blue
I could dress in black and read Camus,
Smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth like I was 17 that would be a scream
But I don't want to get over you.
Arse, they say black is the new black. With a hope the heat has died down and your soul is floated up.
Posted by: The Heretik | Sunday, 08 May 2005 at 11:09 PM
'tik, you are da bomb, to use the vernacular of the young people. My soul is floated up to think of your long-distance digital generosity.
Posted by: ae | Monday, 09 May 2005 at 11:55 PM