Nuances Can be Nuisances

I am going through a very strange period in my life indeed. I'm not sure if it is the insomnia, the sickness, or self-reflection catching up with me.

I could quite possibly have short-circuited finally, and maybe I have become one with the 40 oz. of crazy that I should have dealt with a long time ago.

But I don't really deal with things. Not in the manner that I guess they should technically be dealt with. I like laughing and having fun and being witty and making sardonic comments so that I don't have to feel that sense of doom that is always hanging over my head like a big fat gray raincloud.

My actions have always been impetuous, ever since I was a child. Yet I have always been prideful of the fact that I don't over-analyze things and I am quick to let any feelings of panic by way of my actions go with but a brush of the hand.

I cleaned out my garage on Sunday. It was a hellhole. It was also fucking unreasonably cold out for May weather. With my iPod hooked to me on full blast and a hoodie on, I got my hands dirty as I pored through the past that I have been dragging around with me since the age of 15. Soon the hoodie came off, as I was sweating, and soon I was drowning in a sea of memories.

I used to have quite a prowess for documenting every last second of my life. I have over 10 journals as proof. I found them. I started on the ones where I was 14 and falling in love, but got bored of what an idiot I was and moved over to the later years.

As I started reading, I realized there were far to many nuances from my past of over 10 years ago that were mirroring my current state. It's slightly disturbing. How can one person continue to bitch about something yet think they are making changes only to look back and realize that they are still standing in that same pile of quicksand that they had been previously stuck in? How did I manage to trick myself into thinking that I had gotten out? I don't know.

It's odd. I don't like when people throw quotes in my face. Because they are taking advantage of a profound thing that another person said and trying to switch it up so that the quote applies to the situation at hand. I think that's cocky. That's reading something into words that a person said and then assuming that they meant something by it according to the current state of affairs that you are trying to apply them to. Feels dirty.

But what if you quote yourself?

I found this entry tonight dated 03/27/01: GOD I AM OLD. No that was not the entry.

It was:

It's moments like these that make me step back and look at my life as a whole and appreciate it through and through. I wish I could remember those moments with a distinct sense of clarity while taking into account that I just need to appreciate them for what they are. They are just moments. I don't need to cling to them. I don't need to crave them and lust for them. I need to remember to enjoy the ride and stop flashing back on them wishing that I were there right now rather than at work, sitting in front of the t.v., napping on the couch.

Yup. I officially realized tonight that I am an over-analyzer. More so in the sense of nostalgia though.

And to top it off. I haven't changed. I suppose that should be slightly depressing, but in all honesty, it's more embarrassing than anything.

Anyway, 30 Songs in 30 Days.


* Day 07 – A song that reminds you of a certain event----Huey Lewis

My friend summed it up best when she said that when she was little she had herself convinced that Huey Lewis was her cool uncle. It's true. He's been there for me through the bad haircuts, the happy moments, the breakups, hanging out at breakfast, making up dance moves to his album Sports, reappearing for American Psycho, and not too long ago on a warm spring day, I didn't even care if this was the dorkiest thing ever, I BLASTED Sports while I drove around with my windows down. I will always have a special place in my heart for Uncle Huey.

He reminds me of damn near every event in my life. He's my little musical family member. My cool uncle who gave me noogies and a hug.

Emphasis on the BLOW

All right! Song number two for 30 Songs in 30 Days!

This one is going to be convenient for my current state of negativity. I think my immune system ruptured a pipe a day or so ago, so now on top of impending doom, I have current doom of some sort of other sickness. Blah. Or as Dracula would say, "Blehhh!"

Day 02 – Your least favorite song

Well there are a lot of songs I loathe out there. Just turn on the radio and I can pick out probably every single one playing right now. I chose this song though because of the fact that it's one of those double-edged swords.

I will be mindlessly wandering the aisles of TJ Maxx like some sort of bargain zombie when it comes on and the song sucks so bad, the artist is atrocious, yet it brings back a treasured gawky youth memory. So that in turn makes me think, "Awesome, the one thing that brings back a treasured overly hormonal pleasant memory is this bag full of pure yuck."

Just my luck right?

When I was 15 I got a huge crush. Sound familiar? I mean I turned into a bumbling fidgety melty mouthed dolt around this person. It was the olden days before your Internets and your cellular phones and your sexting that all you kids are into these days, and it was in Iowa circa 1995 small town style. That was the grunge explosion. Try being into that when everyone else just wants a good pair of Girbauds and to see how high they can get their bangs to look so that they'll match their collared polo shirts.

I loved Radiohead. Yeah, before their Ok Computers and weird electronic bleeps and blips. It was their Pablo Honey straight out of the 90s grunge rock, honeys.

I remember I purchased a ginormous Pablo Honey shirt only to be questioned by my peers, "What's a Radiohead?" and giving them my best, "You just wouldn't get it." Gen-X face.

But then as I was walking down the hallway, this person pointed to it and said, "I like your shirt." I looked up at him and I am pretty sure made some braying donkey noises and that is where my crush began.

He of course was older than me by three years, and when you are 15, that may as well be three million years. Once you reach your late 20s we are all basically the same age.

But anyhow. He was the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase. A series of awkward events were surely to follow, such as not feeling well and sneaking off to smoke behind the library one day during school and him being back there.

"Do you want to hear what I wrote on my guitar?" he asked.

This was also back when hell yes I wanted to hear what you wrote on your guitar because playing guitar is the cooolest! Now Anyone Can Play Guitar, and I don't give a shit when they tell me that unless they aren't a total boner.

So he plays this really pretty song, I don't remember what it was. I was beautiful in my head so that's all that matters, and all the while, I am a bit nauseous from not feeling well earlier that day and as he winds up the song, I look him in the eyes, and I say the most romantic thing a girl could ever say to a boy she thinks she is in love with:

"I think I'm going to puke."

We got married and had 7 kids after that. No we didn't.

I was never big into dances. Or anything school related for that matter. That's not something Kurt Cobain would have done. But my friends and I decided to attend some spring dance. I don't know why. I don't even remember really any specific details on it, this seems like eons ago.

All I remember was Hootie & The Blowfish, "Hold My Hand" coming on and my CRUSH coming up to ask me if I wanted to dance to it. I am sure my heart beat out of my chest the whole time I awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how one dances.

Trust me I am still trying to figure out how one dances.

So that was the peak of my Jr. High life. And I have Hootie & The Blowfish to thank for it. A band that seriously has one of the most poorly named titles ever and their music is just as cheesy and lyrically devoid of any human life. Every time their music comes on in these stores I am shopping at I am filled with I need to punch something from how bad they suck anger, to wistful thinking of my youthful days when everything was so new and exciting and full of prospect.

Do you see how that can confuse one's mind?

So here's it is my friends. I think I'm going to puke: