Monday, June 14, 2010

"leave the light on, I'll never give up, on you..."

Rolling with it, iPod in ear, giving you my thoughts as they come to me...

--I can't wait to live alone. No, better than that: I need to live alone. Maybe I'm just like my mother... she's never satisfied. (Prince, you know.) Things are never clean enough for me, never right enough for me, unless I do them myself. I didn't realize until now just how much I loved my dorm room my last year of college. Like a little studio apartment, it had everything I needed, a nice view, and it was always clean. I would come home from class, turn on that low light, put on my Norah Jones or whatever was suiting my mood, light that oil burner, and it was perfect. It always smelled like me (good) when I got back from class. When I returned, it was exactly as I left it. I miss that.

I've been in this room since December. This is not my room. This is the place I sleep, despite my attempts to make it feel like mine. Partially, it does. When I open the door after being gone for a minute, I definitely exhale, knowing that I'm back in my space. However, despite my many attempts, it's still not mine. I just vacuumed my room tonight, and I'm still picking up globs of hair from the white girl who lived in here before me. Like I said, this is not my room. (You know my relationship with hair. Part of me gags whenever I find more hair. How fucking resilient is her damn hair?)

--Listening to Any Given Thursday by John Mayer right now. I haven't listened to John much lately, not because of his interesting commentary on having a white supremacist-esque penis, or Jessica Simpson's cooch being like napalm. (Shit, I think that's a compliment.) But because listening to him used to put me in this... place. A place that is beyond words, beyond real explanation. (But yet, I try.) John Mayer was pretty much the voice of my late adolescence and early adulthood. But listening to him is so familiar, like speaking to an old, good, good friend. This is one of my favorite albums. I don't have many albums that I enjoy entirely, but this one is up there, along with Frank Sinatra's In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning. (Don't get me started.)

--I miss my iTunes. I miss having a computer with sufficient memory. I miss uploading music onto my iPod. Hold on, technology. I will make a comeback.

--5 year plan: everyone should have one. I'm making one, slowly but surely. It's in the nascent stages as of right now, but I've got some ideas. (Become a Mac and leave the PC life behind. Get an iPhone. [maybe.] Stop working with kids in the capacity I'm in right now. Get into publishing. Go back to school. For something. Invest.)

--a line so gorgeously simple I had to stop and think about it: I'd climb inside the skies to be with you (Norah Jones, "Painter Song")... really? Can you say you'd climb inside the skies to be with someone? I can.

--saving grace of NY for the day: lovers, that bless the dark, on benches in Central Park.... it's autumn in New York, it's good to live it, again... (Frank Sinatra, "Autumn in New York")... Frank Sinatra could save anything for me... his voice makes you long for places you've been, places you've never dreamed of, places you've never seen. This song is so rueful, so... Frank. When I heard this line for the first time in a long time, it reminded me that I was in Central Park, and I sat on one of those benches... and once again, New York regained some of that mysterious glory it held for me not too long ago. I'll make another go at it one of these days and see how it makes me feel.

--I'm so good at forgetting, and I quit every game I play, but forgive me, love, I can't turn and walk away, not this way... (John Mayer, "Back to You")

That's my cue...

back to me, I know that it comes, back to me... and doesn't it piss you off, your will is not as strong, as it used to be?

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