I was feeling verrry spiky last night. Usual reasons. I had dot to dot spots, churning innards and a sense of impending doom. M kept out of my way, though did furnish me with a big heap of spaghetti in the hope that it might help. And it did. A bit.
It's been a murky, fuzzy, unproductive month, and I want it to be over. It was tempting to head out for something strong enough to blunt my razor sharp edges, but when it gets to be like this, that's the shortest of short term solutions. Safer to retreat inwards and avoid major life decisions. Safer, in fact, to avoid most things.
I went to my CD collection in search of spiky music. I have tons of it, obviously. But then I couldn't find the box for the CD that was already in the player. I looked all over, I swore a lot and then I thought well fuck it, I'll just listen to that instead.
It was Tim Buckley's Happy Sad, which is about as unspiky as things get. I curled up in my big red chair and got myself lost in his big, big voice. It was like being wrapped in a blanket and told that it will all be all right, in the days when you believed 'all right' existed somewhere.
Onwards.
joella
1 comment:
Not enough women know enough about music, it's one of my great weaknesses. My most recent ex had the most interesting CD collection, not the reason we were seeing each other, but one of the nice benefits. Tim Buckley, really? Nobody knows Tim Buckley anymore...
If there weren't a continent and an ocean between us I'd suggest a visit at the pub!
Oh, "all right" does exist somewhere, it's all the other places that cause the problems.
Take care Jo, read you soon,
Lance
Post a Comment