We Get This From Our Father

When my brother and I discover a song that we are at once bound to love forever we will play it over, and over, and over, and over. In our cars. On our stereos. With headphones on. In the shower. My dad does this, which is funny because whenever Jesse and I are in the first throes of passion with a new tune, he will inevitably say, "Do you have to listen to it over, and over, and over, and over again??" I can just see my mom shaking her head and laughing to herself over how oblivious he is to his own habits.

On repeat now I have Coldplay's, "X&Y," which is track 6 off their new album, of the same name. Lyrics below. Again it has happened; as I listen to the song I think, "I wonder if this is how he feels?" But this time it is a different he, and I think the chances of me actually confirming my hunch are much greater than the last time I felt this way about a song. I think I agree with him though, that perhaps this CD was made for us to listen to together, and seperately, right now, and forever.

Today I grew a million tiny little crazy little lovely little thoughtlings in my brain. I wondered how cats can sound like miniature thunder when they purr, and how I want a cat again, and how it's too bad my dog eats cats, otherwise I'd go out and get one. I thought about how no matter what color I ever paint my toenails, my toes will always be ridiculous looking. I thought about how sometimes being patient is a pain in the ass, and sometimes sitting on a thumbtack is a pain in the ass. I thought about how I am waiting for a confrontation that I fear is inevitable, and how I will kick its ass Southfield style if it ever arises. I saw a picture of myself and thought, "Is my hair really that long?" Then I thought I ought to call my sister and ask her to cut my hair.

Right now I am thinking about how I feel so uncertain about my future, which is a foreign feeling for me. I feel like I am not sure what direction I will take, if I will go back to school, if I will join the Peace Corps after all, if I will write a book of poems and make a million bucks. I'm somewhat disappointed that I feel that last option is perhaps more likely than the middle one at this point. But I suppose only time will tell.

Patience is a virtue, or so he tells me. And I know he's right. So I'll just listen to "X&Y" a million more times while I am waiting for my life to figure itself out.

That'll work, right?