IT’S ALL ABOUT THE BOY

For nearly a year-and-a-half, I have been a slacker.

Not in life, might I add. Just here on the Internet. (Well, technically, just on my blog, as there are other sites where you would find articles by me … Just nothing personal about my life and my beloved Uptown.) I have decided that I will no longer be lax, and look to return to blogging with full force … Yeah, we’ll see about that one, huh?

I need a creative outlet right now, and besides painting, this is what I do best. I never meant to take this long of a break, believe me. But to be honest with you, my life hasn’t been all that exciting for the past 16 months … Unless you’re me, that is. To me, it’s been amazing, awesome, mind-blowing, stupefying and magnificent. (It’s also been wracked with more heartache than I ever thought possible, but that’s neither here nor there.) Thankfully, it’s been more good than bad, though, and no matter what, I now know I can survive anything …

At least I can with him by my side.

“SWF SEEKS SWM BETWEEN THE AGES OF 25-35. MUST BE EMPLOYED. MUST LOVE FAMILY, DOGS, SMALL BABIES, SERIOUS CURVES AND MUSIC. MUST BE FUNNY. MUST BE ABLE TO PUT UP WITH MY ALMOST SMOTHERING BOUTS OF KINDNESS. MUST KNOW THIS COULD ALL JUST BE A PHASE. MUST KNOW I NEVER MAKE PLANS, AND I COULD FEEL DIFFERENTLY TOMORROW. MUST BE DARK ENOUGH TO SEE MY LIGHT. BEARD OPTIONAL, BUT PREFERRED.”

That is from a blog post I wrote Jan. 27, 2010. A blog post that would eventually lead to my life being forever changed.

I was inspired to write “Training Myself to Look Around” after a Red Line ride downtown one morning with an older, yet attractive neighbor. After writing said piece, I got really embarrassed, wondering if someone would point out the posting to him before I ever got a chance to explain why I wrote it. (I wasn’t interested in him, and just needed to make sure he knew that before he got the wrong idea! Ha.) I tried to track him down through our Sheridan Gardens page on Facebook, but to no avail. Instead, I ended up sending a message to one of my other neighbors I saw on there, simply because he had great taste in music.

We had met a few times before, him and I. We had said hellos in passing, but nothing more than that. But after the initial online exchange, we decided that we would meet in person. So, plans were made for the following weekend for me to cross the courtyard to hang out with him and his roommate. No big deal, I thought at the time … Just a couple of soon-to-be friends, Elton John’s “Honky Chateau” on vinyl, and a few laughs. What more could a girl ask for?

Obviously, everything.

I liked him immediately, but not in a romantic sense. I found him to be funny, self-deprecating, smart … I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him to be attractive. But it was more in a “you’re-cute-let’s-find-you-someone-your-own-age-to-date” kind of way. We were friends for a while. For months, there would be late-night conversations about everything from music to family life … Religion to our dating pasts. For hundreds of hours during the beginning of 2010, we never ran out of things to say.

It was during the summer that I knew that I loved him. It wasn’t like having a crush on a friend. (Believe me, been there, done that, bought a few T-shirts.) No, this was way different. I couldn’t imagine ever having to spend a day without seeing him … And I couldn’t imagine that he’d ever look at me in the way I saw him. But, boy, was I wrong.

He too had been feeling the same way for a while, he would later tell me. He said his stomach would turn when he’d see me coming up the back sidewalk to their apartment, and that’s when he knew. But both of us, unsure because of past hurts, doubt or whatever, never put ourselves out there, scared of being let down, afraid of disappointment. So, for months, we just looked at each other longingly, both of us wondering what the other was thinking. (And both secretly knowing how much we cared for one another.)

A rare bottle (or two) of wine at the beginning of September helped change all of that in a night … One kiss, and all at once, we were no longer just friends. We were best friends … And we were in love.

I’d like to say it’s been a whirlwind of romanticism, the kind of courtship you would read about in a Jane Austen novel … But, truth be told, as far as him and I, it’s always just been an easy ride. There have been some flowers, chocolates, and the like. Sweet dates, many a foot or back rub, and a wonderful trip home to meet each others’ families. We simply love to be around one another, each spending our time away from the other just waiting to be back together. Yes, we have become that couple that even we would have hated this time last year. I have been told that our love is infectious … That when you are around us, it’s hard not to see everything we feel for one another.

He makes me laugh on a daily basis, even if all I feel like doing at the moment is crying. He values my opinion, and thinks I am one of the smartest women to ever walk this earth. He sees my beauty, both inside and out, and finds me to be both sexy and funny. (Even if I do make up my own words and phrases sometimes, it’s one of the things he loves most about me.) Most importantly, he “gets” me … I never have to worry about being anything other than who I honestly am. (And the same for him, as well.)

All he has to do is put his arms around me, and the rest of the world, and all of my worries, seem to fade away.

We’ve been going through tough times lately, and it has only proven to me how much I love him … How strong we are. Together we have survived something that most will thankfully never face in their lifetime. But through that, we have grown to love each other on a whole other level that neither of us thought possible. For that I am forever grateful … And for that I am forever changed.

I never expected that in him I would find the one person I had been waiting my whole life for. The one person who would love and understand me better than anyone who had come before him. This week marks two years since I climbed the stairs to the third floor of 4720 N. Racine Ave. in Chicago for the first time … Now I take the same flights daily to get to my home. Our home.

It’s funny how quickly life can change. It’s times like these where I try to hold on to that. I still can not believe I put out into the universe what I was looking for, and I got everything I wanted and then some. (Plus, he looks good with or without a beard, so bonus points there.)

With all that being said, I just wanted to say thank you Hunter. For everything.

And ask you, my readers, to forgive me for being away so long. It wouldn’t have been that interesting anyway, as it’s hard to write about living when all you want is to be holed up inside with the man you love.

(But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Advertisements

YOUTH IN REVOLT

OH, IF THINGS WERE AS SIMPLE NOW AS THEY WERE BACK THEN, AND SPENDING TIME IN THE BACKYARD WITH MY MOM AND HER CAMERA WAS THE MOST PRESSING THING ON MY SCHEDULE, RIGHT? BUT DECADES LATER, I AM HAPPY WITH HOW FAR I’VE COME, HOW MUCH I’VE LEARNED, AND ALL THE THINGS I HAVE YET TO EXPERIENCE.

“Though my body is far from old, I’m bowing to useless youth. And I can’t fake a fist to throw through the crust of the earth. If you find me, don’t wake me … I can’t be shaken awake. If you don’t stare at the dark and if you never feel bleak, life starts to lose its taste.” FRIGHTENED RABBIT

Oh age. I’ve been thinking about that lately.

Maybe it’s because I finally feel older than ever, even though I am still mistaken for being anywhere from five years to a full decade younger than my real number. (Hey, give a girl a chance to be pleased with herself for a moment. I just admitted I see the days, weeks, months, years, creeping by.)

It feels like yesterday I was eating glue with my then-best-friend Jill Jordan, four years old at our church daycare. It was either that or gluing our hands together, only to eventually pull it all off, spiderwebs of dried Elmer’s peeling from our tiny hands. And yes, this favorite pastime was done during what was supposed to be naptime. Ah quiet rebels, the both of us, even then.

Now she is a mother, a wife, an aunt.

I was home for Thanksgiving this past November. On the highway to my next destination, I was hit with the sudden realization that I hadn’t gone to see my Dad during the brief moment I was in town. I quickly detoured to purchase a poinsettia for his grave at the garden center at Lowe’s in Columbus. It was there I ran into Jill’s mother, Janice, and her older sister, Kelly.

Although the visit was brief, it was good to still feel such a connection so many years later. Once I returned to Chicago, Janice and I hooked up on Facebook, where I was able to “meet” the rest of her now family, which included grandchildren Dean Hartleroad, 19, Max Hartleroad, 16, and Miles Jordan, 15.

Better known to those who love them or have heard their music as The Motions.

When she asked if she could send me their CD, I must admit I was sceptical. I am not a good bad critic of music. I still haven’t written a review of a recent show I went to because I can not stand to be negative … remember, it’s all subjective anyway. One man’s Radiohead is another’s Britney Spears. (Shudder.) But I shouldn’t have worried in the slightest.

From the packaging to the recording, it’s good. I listened to it the first time on the Red Line coming home from work one day. (Raising yet another study in how far my life has taken me from childhood.) The raw, natural talent of all three is evident on each and every track. The best thing about the 10 songs off their self-titled CD? They were all written by them, and inspiration was obviously gained from my hometown. (Not an easy feat to accomplish, I assure you. Even Tennessee Williams had to live other places for a long time to eventually create “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”)

On tracks like “Drink Away your Pain,” a slower turn for the boys, the tones of the song show more maturity than that of normal teenagers. “This addiction’s got you down. Fear you haven’t yet touched ground. You’re looking out for just yourself. Please won’t you save you from yourself.” Dean, the frontman for The Motions, wrote many of the songs before the age of 17, when the CD was recorded in 2008.

There is obvious inspiration from other acts throughout the tracks, although they come across more as subtle nuances than rip-offs. “Intertwined Mind” has tones of The White Stripes in the music, driving guitar riffs mixed with slight drum taps. But it is really with “Fallen” that The Motions show the most promise in my eyes. (Or ears.)  It was the one that immediately jumped out to me on first listen. It is a 2-minute, 21-second, hard-hitting, well-deserved scolding on capitalism of sorts. (Yep … these are kids people.)

But to be honest with you, it’s not the album I am as impressed with as it is their future. To exhibit such drive and aptitude already can only bode well for The Motions in the years to come. They have now added a fourth member, Kyle Bennett, to the mix. Although unsigned, the band will be playing a few shows at SXSW in a couple of weeks. And yes, Janice will be taking her spring break in Austin to see her grandsons on stage. (Just a tinge of jealousy here, as SXSW is on my list of 10 things to do in the next few years, a list I’m slowly whittling away at.)

But I was reminded earlier this week by a random story I saw on the Internet, it’s never too late to become whatever you want. In France, there is a woman who travels around the country as a DJ at the age of 69. Ruth Flowers picked up the hobby after attending her grandson’s 21st birthday. As long as you are open to everything around you, I think there is no set time-line to what you will accomplish, or who you are supposed to be.

Just ask Dean, Max, Miles and Kyle as they move ahead; Janice as she continues to support them (both emotionally and financially … what a wonderful grandmother to believe in their music); Granny DJ spinning her tunes in rhinestone-covered headphones; or even me, as thankfully I can still vividly remember being that glue-eating four-year-old … so I can’t be all that far removed from her.

Age really is just a number.

http://www.myspace.com/themotionsonline

THE MOTIONS, FROM COLUMBUS, MISS., WILL BE PLAYING SEVERAL SHOWS AT SXSW LATER THIS MONTH. WITH AN AVERAGE AGE OF 17, THE BOYS ARE PROVING THAT MATURITY DOESN’T HAVE TO BE DEFINED BY HOW MANY DAYS YOU’VE BEEN ON THIS EARTH. (photo by wes frazer)

* And an addendum to my earlier post on The Motions … Dean prefers to be called Toby now. (Grandma failed to mention that.) Obviously Kyle goes by Harrison as well. Ha. And Hackberry Records in Tuscaloosa, Ala., is the band’s current label. http://www.hackberryrecords.com/ My bad, the CD I got has them unsigned. Should have done more research. But still cool, talented kids. At least I got that right.

FEELS GOOD TO BE FRIGHTENED

I just told a new friend last night that I don’t like to read reviews for albums.

I don’t even like to write reviews of shows, music, etc. Previews, sure, as it allows me to find out more about the artists, something I usually refrain from doing, as I see music as art and I don’t want to know a lot about what went into making it. I like to keep it subjective. Opinions are like … well you know … and everyone’s got one. But for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that I need to share mine on this one.

Frightened Rabbit. New album. Holy crap. As I sit here, listening to it once again, thanks to NPR which has it streaming for the next week, I am beginning the process of absorption. And it is hitting every nerve in my body. And I can’t wait to hear it on vinyl … next Tuesday won’t come soon enough. “The Winter of Mixed Drinks” is the third album from the Scottish band, who rose to U.S. recognition with 2008’s “The Midnight Organ Fight.”

In a time where animal monikers seem to be gaining popularity on the indie scene (think Animal Collective, Grizzly Bear, Panda Bear, Minus the Bear, White Rabbit, Band of Horses, Pedro the Lion, Deerhoof, Deerhunter … you get the picture) Frightened Rabbit now stands up there with the best.

“The Winter of Mixed Drinks” is a hauntingly beautiful, emotional 45-minute layered wall of sound. (And the best part, it’s the first album I am getting to hear through my new-to-me vintage Pioneer SE-50 headphones, so a fine popping of the cherry, if you will. And forever the best $5 spent at a yard-sale.)

With tracks like “The Loneliness and the Scream,” lead singer Scott Hutchinson wraps his voice around such inspired lyrics as “I’ve fallen in the forest, did you hear me? In the loneliness, oh the loneliness, and the scream to prove to everyone that I exist … I’m here, of course I am, yes. All I need is your hand to drag me out again …” The way the words entangle themselves through the layers, slight guitar chords leading to such an uplifting crescendo it makes the idea of loneliness seem like an amazing new adventure.

The swooping guitars and drum beats on “Foot Shooter” match the melodic yet sultry tone of Hutchinson’s voice note for note, while “Nothing Like You” sees a more driving, almost early-80s punk side of Frightened Rabbit. “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” is a surprisingly upbeat track disguised as a study of past demons and a tinge of boredom (“Let’s call me a Baptist … call this a drowning of the past”) that continues the record’s use of swooping background vocals. I could go on and on, as each track offers something different. (“Things” … “Skip the Youth” … man …)

Top to bottom, “The Winter of Mixed Drinks” gets high marks from me. The feeling is not one of over-produced indie pop. It is a free-flowing trek through full-bodied experimentation and instrumentation. But hey … what do I know? This is just my opinion, and I’m just thankful to have gotten so much out of it already.

Hopefully you will too.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=124085431

RIGHT BRAIN WINS EVERY TIME

THE BEST OF THE REST, I GUESS. I PHOTOGRAPH A LOT OF THINGS THAT DON’T END UP IN MY BLOG (INCLUDING PICKLED BRUSSELS SPROUTS AT JOEL AND JEREMY’S CHRISTMAS PARTY.) VIOLENTLY ILL AT HOME TODAY, (NOT A GOOD MENTAL IMAGE WITH SPROUTS ABOVE, I AM SURE) I BEGAN ANOTHER WAY TO SHARE WHAT I SEE WITH ALL OF YOU WHO LOVE ME.

So what’s a girl to do when she’s too sick to leave her couch … but bored out of her mind? In my case, start a new blog.

I was in the mood to create today. (Truthfully, I was actually looking forward to going to work, as the need to make something was palpable. Unfortunately, my body had other ideas.)

Midday, I began to clean photos off my laptop, only to realize there were a lot from the last year that had not made my blog or the newspaper for some reason. My mother continues to ask me every time she reads something, “Did you take that picture?” I have to assure her again and again that I did, so this is mainly for her. (Again.) Now she can see the other images that were important enough for me to document with my thankfully work-provided, but all-together crappy, digital camera.

It’s also in part for my friend Joe, who has said I write too long for him sometimes. (There is more to that statement, but since I love him … I’ll refrain.) Ah critics … So now he can just flip through and look at pictures when he just needs to occupy his mind for a minute. Hats off to him.

After going a few years without taking many photographs at all, I will admit to being a little obsessive from time to time. But as those of you who know and love me surely realize, it’s all in my search to find more beautiful balance and continued growth in this world of mine. So I guess look at this as a companion piece to “SEEN IN CHICAGO.” Where my words describe what I see here, the lens will do it for me at the other. I write what I see. I shoot what I see. Sometimes I get it right/rite. Sometimes I don’t. All part of the learning process.

Ladies and gentlemen, untrained eye chicago.

I’m thankful for those of you who like seeing things my way.

http://untrainedeyedchicago.wordpress.com/

SINGING/LAUGHING AWAY THE BLUES

I’LL GIVE IT TO ANNIE CLARK, SHE GOT IT RIGHT THURSDAY NIGHT AT THE METRO … IF ONLY I HAD BEEN SO LUCKY EARLIER IN THE DAY. BUT BEING WRAPPED IN A MULTI-INSTRUMENTAL COCOON BROUGHT ME OUT OF MY INNER FUNK … NOT TO MENTION CHASED AWAY THE FRUSTRATED, YET PETTY, BLUES.

There are days … and then there are days.

Bad. Busted. Beaten. Broken. Bewildered.

Thankfully they are far and few in between. But man, when they hit … it can be so overwhelming you fight to focus on the things that matter. Struggling to ward off the petty, lest you get swept up in the sad nature of it all.

I am a designer. I am not a writer. My Mississippi English education doesn’t get me very far, sometimes I fear. But I write because I love it … because I need to … Misusing the word rite yesterday highlighted to me I still have a lot to learn. (I can accept that as I begin to focus on this new medium in my life.) And a much-thicker skin to grow. But I also don’t think a several-minute berating by a stranger via voicemail was warranted for my small mistake. I am neither young nor stupid. And you refer to me as Kathryn, sir … only friends can call me Kacy. Oh, and there are actual problems in the world, so maybe that energy you have should be used for some good.

And that was just the beginning … it all went downhill from there. (Believe me, too many things to list.) But why only focus on the nonsense when I was able to see so many things to pull me out of it? As always with the good comes the bad / the happy with the sad.

  • Bumping into my 2-year-old Valentine Emmanuel on the street / Getting no love from him because he would rather look at Huxley.
  • Realizing I lost one of my favorite gloves while getting dressed last night / Finding my glove bundled in the corner of my massive bag this morning on the train.
  • Thinking a guy on the train heading down to Addison had Tourette’s and found such striking beauty in it / Realizing the reason for his constant shakes and dancing around me was an awful lot of booze. (So then I just felt sad, but gained the ability to laugh at him for going the wrong way on the train.)
  • Two last-minute (but totally warranted) cancellations for my extra pass to St. Vincent / Feeling revived by the music that in a way, was only for me. (And being thanked by the guy at the Metro for not bringing anyone, as it was a totally sold-out show.)
  • Listening to a man talk incessantly about the lack of time he has to hard-boil his eggs / Getting to laugh at said freak for his soft-boiled talk while in line for a freaking show!
  • Cringing when I saw the packed Red Line at midnight leaving Addison and was wedged in between two guys in their 30s who had been playing beer pong since before 6 p.m. / Truly giggling the whole way home and wishing I could share the whole story. But Mom reads this, and it’s hard to describe why a stranger grabbed and hugged you because you gave him back a few “cool points” after scolding his friend for a crude comment.

Again, I appreciate the universe for the little joys in life. It’s one more step toward that balance I seek, I guess. Thankful for the lessons I was forced to learn yesterday. But even more grateful it became more about the music … and more about the laughter.

Because in the end, most of it doesn’t really matter. Right?

ST. VINCENT DID MAKE A FAN OUT OF ME, AS I FELT HER MUSIC TRANSLATED BETTER WITH A BACKING BAND AND NOT A COMPUTER PROGRAM. AS THEY WALKED OUT TO ICE-CUBE’S “IT WAS A GOOD DAY,” I FINALLY REALIZED THAT IT COMPLETELY WAS. (LOOK FOR MY FULL REVIEW OF THE SHOW MONDAY AT NWI.COM. I’LL TRY TO GET IT RIGHT.)

THE FACT THAT CUBS TICKETS WENT ON SALE TODAY CAN ONLY MEAN ONE THING: SPRING IS FINALLY AROUND THE CORNER. (YEAH, YEAH … SO IT’S MONTHS AWAY, BUT WE’RE CLOSER THAN WE WERE … AND A GIRL CAN PREMATURELY DREAM OF MORNINGS AT THE BEACH WITH HUXLEY AND READING A BOOK UNDER A TREE AT THE PARK.)

TUGGING AT MY HEARTSTRINGS

EMMANUEL, 2, MADE MY DAY ON THE RED LINE TODAY. QUITE A LITTLE FLIRT, WE KEPT EACH OTHER ENTERTAINED THE WHOLE TRIP HOME. YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF THE MANY FORMS LOVE CAN TAKE.

Ah Valentines … why must we only celebrate them on February 14? Late evening, a day later, and I find Cupid has brought me even more to love. One is sweet. One is petty. One is amazing. (Well, two actually on the last … but for continuity’s sake, since they are a couple, we’ll call them a one.)

I met him on the train coming home. The tears were fresh on his face, but once he saw me, I could tell immediately he was in the mood to flirt.

I was more than willing to oblige.

It started innocently enough, him peeking at me through his knit cap, pulling it up and down over his eyes. When I smiled back, and he did the same … well, I knew it was on. The headphones came out of one ear, in case the communication went past teasing looks and silly faces.

He was adorable. The way he mimicked my every move. Each time I touched my nose, he did the same. Each time I held out my gloved hand, his mitten-covered one reached out to me. We were all giggles as the train car began to fill with commuters. I would peek around people’s shoulders at him … the others adding another level to our cat-and-mouse game. His laughs were music to my ears …

(Well, one of them anyway, as I still had “Odd Blood” filling the other. Where, I might add it has pretty much stayed since Wednesday, as I have been completely transfixed by its beats and simple, emotional lyrics. I always let music find me when it does, and rarely do I buy something the week it’s released. Honestly, I didn’t know when I picked it up it had only been on vinyl 24 hours … I just knew I would be covering them when they played here in April, and at $10.99, it was a small work expense. Well, it obviously found me when it needed to … fortunately. See, maybe even a fourth Valentine in Yeasayer.)

… and Emmanuel, 2, knew just how to make a girl like me fall in love. And I was glad to keep him occupied for 25 minutes across the aisle, while his tired mother got a moment of peace and quiet. When they went to leave at Wilson, one stop before me, he reached out his hand to grab mine while walking by. I told him it had been a pleasure to meet him. And it had. (Now, if only the ones 13(ish) times his age could be as sweetly forward.)

Off the train, I ran into Starbucks. (See, told you the second was petty.) I’ve started stopping in a few times a week to grab a cup of coffee. Yes, I’m just a block from my house … where a French press and fresh (but cheap, thanks Trader Joe’s) beans await … but the time it takes to boil the water when all you want to do is warm up is worth paying $1.66. Plus, they know what I want before I even tell them. (Tall, steamed soy … so $2 really, as they get my change for remembering.) I like their bold coffee, hate me some Pike Place, but since that’s all you can get after noon, I’ve learned to deal.

But today was extra special. I paid my $1.66, (with my debit card, so sadly no tip) and I walked out with a grande with an added shot of espresso. (Done to make it taste like the bold, knowing I like it better. And that conversation was had months ago … yet the guy behind the counter found it important enough to commit to memory. And treat me unasked.) See good people in my neighborhood.

Which brings me to my amazing Valentine.

The first time I walked into my current apartment, I knew I was home. I had scoured craigslist for weeks, and nothing in my price range had even sparked my interest enough to tempt me to even view it. Until I saw the ad for a small, colorful place one block off the Red Line, half a block from The Green Mill. It was the only one I looked at. I paid my security deposit immediately, and wrote out checks for the next few months. It was mine.

Adding to its luster was its current tenant, Tiffani. We bonded immediately over Wilco, (I was carrying one of their bags that day) and our true, undying love for the heart-throbbing Glenn Kotche. (Smart girl, that Tiffani.) She and her husband, Deke, left for their larger place downtown almost three weeks before my lease began. I moved in immediately, no charge for rent or electricity for those 18 days. And their kindness has continued for the past 650 or so.

They have seen me through furloughs and unexpected trips home when my Father had his stroke and later passed away. If I had to pay my rent late and sent an extra fee, it was always sent back. (I finally learned not to even add it.) I am sure they know how much I love living here, and can only hope that has taken a load off their minds, as they have taken many off of mine.

When Tiffani texted me today to see if I could use her train card up in the next few weeks, I assured her I could. (And at $4.50 a day spent on the CTA, yet another load …) She and Deke will be leaving soon for Texas, as other opportunities await. But I know they leave loving this place, this building, this block, this neighborhood as much as I do. (Yes, tears here.) And I thank them for truly caring about me. (And I thank Facebook, as I can still laugh at her jokes from hundreds of miles away.)

Ah, that Cupid. He does give you things when most needed.

SOUNDING OFF, TUNING OUT

DESPITE YET ANOTHER SINUS INFECTION, (DAMN THESE CHICAGO WINTERS) BLACK MOTH SUPER RAINBOW’S “DANDELION GUM” (THANKS AGAIN, CHIP!) HAD ME DANCING AROUND THE LIVING ROOM FRIDAY NIGHT … AND WILL HELP ME KEEP THE BEAT AT SOME POINT TODAY I’M SURE AS I OVERHAUL MY APARTMENT. OH, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT IS MUSIC.

“Today was another day full of dread. But I never said I was afraid. Because dread and fear should not be confused. By dread I am inspired, by fear I’m amused …” BONNIE “PRINCE” BILLY

“If I could do just one near-perfect thing I’d be happy. They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes. On second thoughts, I’d rather hang around and be there with my best friend, if (he) wants me.” BELLE AND SEBASTIAN

“I have loved in haste. I’ve been an alley cat and a bumblebee to your panther and your wasp. Well, I have loved … while thinking only of the cost.” SMOG

I’ve taken to writing song lyrics as my Facebook status from time to time.

Usually it’s something that jumps out at me on the train heading into work. More often than not, I’ll skip back a couple of paces on my iPod and listen to the words again … making sure they sink in. Steal another artist’s poetry so it becomes my mantra for the day.

And believe me, it helps. Boy, does it.

Bonnie “Prince” Billy has been singing in my head for almost 72 hours now. “Today was another day full of dread …” It started on Thursday, my actual day of dread at work, the most challenging of the week. Although, as the lyrics so clearly state, the eight hours when I am most inspired. The most fulfilled. Despite being stressed.

Three minutes of “Another Day Full of Dread” and I am no longer.

That is one of the most amazing things about music to me, sometimes it can tell you how you feel … before you know what your emotions are going to be. Music has the ability to tell someone else how you are feeling … even if you are too stubborn … scared … scarred … afraid … to do so yourself. The sound can bring people together, common interests playing a big part in a connection in its infancy. The guitar chords, drum beats and even moments of silence can overcompensate for the voices in your head when needed, whether it be drowning out the sorrow or keeping in time with the adrenaline pulsing through your happy veins.

“Creature Fear” becomes my shield on the train … “Set ‘Em Wild, Set ‘Em Free” sets my feet a tapping … “Sweet Carolina” makes me cry every time I hear it, as does “Do You Realize” … “Muzzle of Bees” takes me back to my move to Chicago (I still see the Interstate in the long, driving guitar parts) … “Into the Mystic” reminds me my Dad is still with me (same with any Michael McDonald, Steely Dan or Doobie Brothers) … “Sleepyhouse” shouts out to me of first loves … “Listening to Otis Redding During Christmas” somehow brings me hope … “Distance” makes me proud to be a woman (you would have to search for the hidden meaning for me in this Smog song … and you still wouldn’t understand) … “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” tells me to celebrate life …

And for all of that I worship the sound. And I thank the universe for the songs it’s yet to bring me.

As far as Belle and Sebastian goes, it wasn’t so much about hanging around with my best friend as it was “If I could do just one near-perfect thing I’d be happy.” Feeling overwhelmed still by some aspects of life … seemingly grasping at straws … I was simply craving smooth-sailing.

Near-perfect.

And for a moment, it can be.

For a moment, it is.