|Me, 2008, supporting Holly |
Golightly at Rodeo Club in
-Jessica, that's disgusting.
-Yes, yes it is. I'm so ashamed.
Yeah, look, don't tell me it's natural, that there are only so many things that we can fit into this short time-slot of a day, because there's no excuse for forgetting that something enjoyable and relaxing and vital to my well-being exists. No excuse. At all.
-You have seemed a little absent lately. Maybe you're having withdrawals ...
In all fairness, it doesn't help that all my CDs are stored away in a massive case, coverless, hiding in a drawer, still from ten years ago when I moved from Australia to Greece. Maybe it's time to buy a big CD rack, stick them into jewel cases at least, and label them with stickers or something, to remind myself that they are there.
-You're an idiot. Just open up the flippin' case once in a while!
Oh, and you know what's funny? My partner has THOUSANDS of albums. And I see them in front of me every day on the bookshelves. But it doesn't register that there is music in them. All I see now is a blur of colour embedded in our walls as if they are somehow a part of the walls themselves.
-Are you kidding? I saw something catch your eye there the other day.
It also doesn't help that every time I do listen to music I end up in tears. Even if it's heavy metal. Must trigger some weird hidden psychological hurt, regret, melancholy, who knows ... *sigh*
I need to fix this. I need to make some sort of pact with my partner: one album every two days (?) until we've listened to every single one in our house ...
You think it'll happen? I guess if you see my crying, you'll know ...
What have you forgotten about since becoming a writer?