You know how sometimes you hear a song and it just brings you back to another moment in time? I hear "Cowboy, Take Me Away" by the Dixie Chicks and suddenly I only exist on the dance floor with my husband on our wedding day. I hear "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard and I'm giggling about stupid shit at a slumber party in 1987. I hear "Criminal" by Eminem and I'm in a drama circle composed of the cast of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and we're psyching ourselves up for our first show. Music has an insidious influence over me, sometimes so insidious that I have no idea the full effect it is having on me until it's too late.
Yesterday morning I was driving home from work and that Tears for Fears song, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" started playing on the radio. I felt a sudden, powerful urge to get my ass to homeroom. It was like this visceral reaction, this potent insistence, that I had to hustle or risk getting a tardy slip. And then I remembered; Every morning during my entire cursed high school experience, this song was played over the loudspeaker with the purpose of signaling students that the schoolday was about to begin. Now when I say every morning, I mean every morning. So you can hopefully understand when I say, "If that fucking song were an actual living thing that could experience pain, I'd set it afire, watch it burn alive and enjoy every minute of its unmitigated agony". It's possible my anger is misdirected. I just don't know who exactly to be angry at. I only know that somebody needs to pay, painfully and mercilessly, for that shit. I can't help feeling that for 3 years of my adolescence, I was on the unwilling end of a mindfuck. I was raped repeatedly by a Tears for Fears song. They don't have support groups for things like this. But they really, really should.
I decided today, in the interest of recovery and unconditioning, to perform a little Pavlovian experiment of my own. I need a new song. And this new song needs to make me feel the opposite of tardy; It needs to make me feel like something is done and I can just relax. I've chosen St. Elmo's Fire as the Pavlovian bell and for the life of me I can't tell you why. Well maybe I can but it involves admitting to screaming at the top of my lungs while operating a motor vehicle the words, "You broke the boy in me, but you won't break the man!" and I'm pretty sure any further discussion along those lines would make you very, very upset. So here's the very scientific process I plan to adhere to for the next 14 days: Upon getting in my car to leave work every day, I will turn on St. Elmo's Fire and listen to it. I'll let the complexity of my plan sink in to your brain. Got it? Ok, at the end of the 14 days, I am going to listen to the Song at a time when I am not done something, but I want to feel like I'm done something. If the song makes me feel happy in my heart, then I have succeeded. At what, I'm still not exactly sure. I only know that I would love to have access to that feeling of relief I get when I'm done...well, just about anything.
I love when things are done. Even good things that normal people want to last into eternity. For instance, in my lifetime I've heard with my own ears people says things like, "I wish this night would never end". Or, "I wish this ski trip could last forever." Not me. I could be at the best party, going through the motions of joy, conversing with interesting people, enjoying delicious foods, with all the obvious trappings of merriment, and you know what? When it's over, I'm so glad. Having fun is exhausting. I'd rather be asleep.
Don't get me wrong. I accept that having fun is part of being alive. A human should try to have fun and enjoy life's pleasures, both simple and complex. Having an orgasm is a fantastic way to spend 30 seconds. But a forever lasting orgasm would scare the living shit out of me. Nothing is supposed to last forever. That's why everything dies. If anything purports to last forever, it worries me. That's why I stopped talking to God. His expiration date came and went a long time ago. But he's still up in his heaven, not really helping anybody. Like what is he doing up there all day when all this horrible shit is going on down here?
Maybe there is someone reading this who thinks, "Gwen wants to die. Let's have an intervention" or something equally stupid. Nah. I don't want to die. But I need to die, one day. Hopefully, that will be when I'm so decrepit and senile that death is a very welcome event. But I realize that the universe is just so random, and often cruel. And that fact is inextricably linked to my pressing desire to be known.
I grew up on promises of Forever. You'd be surprised how eternity can bore you to bloody tears. You can only hear about the never-ending quality of your life so much. I don't want to die. But living forever seems unnatural to me. Eternal life is like this beautiful jewelled box that has nothing inside of it. I'd rather have a plain, ugly old box teeming with amazing things and lots of cheesecake. And a million comfortable pillows to cradle my head during all the naps I'm going to take when I'm done everything. I have the best feeling in my heart now because this blog is done. I'm sure you do, too. See what I mean?
2 hours ago