Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


Friday already?

So, I wrote this song a couple days ago that's been *stuck* in my head ever since. It's immovable, it's so catchy and fun, and I can't get rid of it. Litrally, the morning after I wrote it, I had to play it a couple times before I went to work, and same story this morning. And it's not even, like, some amazing piece of musical gold. I mean, fer chrissakes', it's called "loveghost" and involves the line "My brain's still scrambled even though our love is toast." I mean, admittedly, that's a great line, but it won't be getting me into the songwriters' hall of fame anytime soon.

But holy crap is it fun.

What's really amazing is what inspired the song. As I think I've mentioned, being off work for so long gave me lots of time to think, ponder, dwell, and muse. Normally reflection is productive for me, and a good brood can usually yield a couple songs, but for roughly six weeks, I didn't write a line. I was so caught up in the funk that I couldn't say anything about it. A big part of this musing was a remembrance of where I was and what I was doing a year ago.

Last April, I was pretty ecstatically happy. ((I went back and read last year's diary entries from April just to make sure I wasn't sugarboating things in my memory.)) I was getting a new apartment, getting laid, giving good music, working the job....things were pretty spiff. Of course, a couple months later, much of that fell spectacularly apart, beginning a slow and painful decline that would take eight months to finally keel over and die. But at this time last year....things were good.

So, that's my state of mind. Maybe for the first time in my life, I'm living in a place where my history goes back longer than a year....there are memories in so many places here in Chicago, and I'm not planning on leavinganytime soon, so I have to live with those memories. Certain places inevitably bring to mind certain circumstances and people and situations....it's a very strange feeling for me. I know most people deal with that all the time - they're not used to picking up and leaving any time things get complicated...but I am. And to walk streets, pass clubs, visit theaters and restaurants where I've had such amazing times with people who wound up hurting me in ways I'm still exploring even after so much time has passed...it's new to me, and I'm not sure how to handle it.

The other night, I happened to walk down this street I've walked down many times without really paying attention, and I looked up at just the right moment to see this sign for some body shop...and it was like a time-warp to a year ago, and passing that sign in a cab on the way home after a night of drunken revelry...and I was so sad - I miss the drunken revelry, I miss the fun, I miss so much of that chapter in my life. And I don't know that I can get it back, or even that I really want it back. When I got home, I got out the notebook and started writing. I was very much in the "used to be her town" (James Taylor, wasn't that?) mood...but since that song's already been written, I wanted to take it in a little different direction. So I whipped out the old 12-bar-blues, added a nice upbeat, driving rock tempo, and made the lyrics kinda tongue-in-cheek. It's really quite a fun tune. And has been stuck in my head ever since, despite hours of listening to as much Mayer as I can stand to try to get rid of it.

Which is a *lot* of Mayer.

Anyway, it just struck me odd this morning that such a fun song could come out of such a complex, melancholy mood. Yet more proof that there isn't a word to describe just how strange musicians are.

On another note altogether, I'm reading Mo'Nique's book (Skinny Women Are Evil), and am really enjoying it. Damn, is she funny.

Final note for today's entry...I'm a little verklempt today, what with all the retrospective bullshit. My birthday is coming up in less than a month, and all of a sudden, I'm starting to wonder if the best parts of my life may have already happened. That's a vomitous thought.

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