all of these things here are things that disappear
Sometimes I think I’m a bit too much like an Aeolian harp. The tenor of my mood on any given day is such an unpredictable thing and I tend to adhere a little too closely to REM's advice to live my life filled with joy and thunder.
Lately I’d found myself falling out of one pocket of sadness into another, with old ghosts keeping me company. What, me wallow? Always.
A long stretch of grey weather and the preponderance of “old sad bastard music” in my CD collection really haven’t helped. Songs embued with pain that really resonate with me have the power to make me sad even when everything else is fine. Makes the decision of what CD to pop in when I get in the car a little more fraught with danger. So this morning I decided to hell with the sad stuff and popped in Rhett Miller. Smart, sexy, perky pop made all the difference. Singing instead of navel gazing? Rock on.
And a little sunshine goes a long way. The weather today was lovely according to the warped standards of those who live in the
I live inside my head a lot. A “rich inner life”, a la Ally Mcbeal. (I once decided that if I was the lovechild of any two fictional TV characters, they would be Ally McBeal and Felicity. Lol. Isn’t that an absolutely horrifying realization?) So it’s almost always impossible to predict what or when some intangible something will bring me down or lift me up, but the older I get, the less I struggle with it and the more I’ve learned to just go with the flow rather than let it pull me under.
she’s got a voice in her head
and she listens every once in a while
P.S. But Rhett, why oh why would you re-record Singular Girl for your new album? Why? I loved it the way it was. For shame.