That about sums it up. How depressing. The sky is about to dump buckets of rain on our heads, I'm scheduled to have a fun night out with good food, good tunes and good friends, and I'll I've got to say is that I'm bored? I'm sorry but that is just lame. There has to be something else swimming in this lucid, mostly-menstrual brain of mine.
Truth is, I lie. There is plenty in there, I'm just not sure I want it to come streaming out. I can't stop thinking about something stupid. Something so entirely stupid that I want to banish it from my mind. It is annulling and unforgiving and so full of self-depreciation I might as well be drowning in a pool of ridiculous self pity. What a waste of a state of mind.
Ok, ready? I am snapping out of it.
You still with me? Jesus, I don't know how. Hold on, I am sooo changing this song. The sad bastard shit just gets to be too much sometimes. I mean REALLY. I hear misery loves company, but I'm not in the mood for that kind of party. No need for a seether of negativity, I got enough brewing.
THERE. Much better. Sometimes you just need to kick yourself in the ass and shut the fuck up already.
What's really going on here, you ask? (That is if you continued reading this bleeding bag of self-propagated loser-tantrum). What's really going on is that I, ironically, am bored, tired and uninspired, and when I feel like that, I try to dig deep into the layers of my cranium for entertainment and sometimes come up with my hand deep in a sad sack. Let me tell you, that shit is heavy. I truly wish some one would take my idea and build a storage room for sadness. I don't want it anymore today, creeping around like bacteria waiting for a sneeze and a unprotected wipe of the nose. Mucus membranes full of the "Catch Hell Blues" (thanks Jack White for that title).
Speaking of the blues, that's really what this is all about. No, not mucus. Music. Lyrics preparing to pickle my grey matter. Memories and melodies commingling to breed the ugliest love-child you've ever seen! I wish I could say its an abomination, but its just not. I love music because it makes me think. Thnk back on things, on states of being, on life, on love. So I suppose being buried under the weight of some kind of self-diagnosed melancholy isn't all that bad. Even that can be banished.
You know what Tom Waits, you Go on Out West. Let's let The Golden Age begin. And while I sit back thinking I Don't Want to Get Over You... I actually really do. All of you. And maybe for once, I'd like a Stratford-on-Guy. I mean, I am a Modern Girl. One more for good measure, let's just not go to far, mmmkay, don't Treat Me Like Your Mother.