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Me: Give Bran a wet willy, he loves them.

Lo: SarCASM? [ed: she puts the emphasis on CASM and it kills me]

Me: Uh.. yeah. That was. He hates it.

Lo: That’s what I thought. You shouldn’t say what you don’t mean.

Me: (mumbling) … I’m sorry. I was trying to make joke.

Lo: It’s not a joke if I don’t get it.

Hi friends, do you love my bolstered promise to write more.. four months ago? Ha. Hahaha… aaaah. Yeah. Sorry about that. The road to hell and all that.

It’s interesting to me: I’ve managed to purposely carve some time to write into my life. Specifically carved it out. And yet I avoid the computer like it’s a term paper I know I can and should do, but just don’t feel like yet. Obviously I can’t find my mojo – as apparent from my post in December about this very reticence, and the subsequent complete inability to do what I swore I would. Sometimes I feel like my whole life is comparable to when I’m reading bedtime stories: I’m observably reading with appropriate voices and inflection, but inside my head I’m making a grocery list or thinking about work. It’s passable for the purpose of reading, but it’s definitely not authentic or engaged. Days pass and I am functionally showered and smiling and social, but when I crawl into bed I feel like I was on autopilot, and nothing much made an impression. Woosh, a whole day totally without meaning. And that’s not always bad, but it’s not what I want. I have always wanted to refuse to be that person who woke up one day and realized X amount of time had passed without appreciating it. And I have lofty (re:future) goals of betterment and growth and joyfulness, but good grief the high-minded self-evolution stuff can be hard to incorporate into mundane breakfasts, conference calls and IEP meetings.

I want to be the zen hippie with ashram calm without giving up my fast food mindset, and the two are antithetical. But I’m feeling the uncomfortable itch that precedes change, so I’ll let you know when I find peace.

****

Moving on to something more pleasant, I got to cross a huge event off my bucket list recently. I’ve been a Radiohead fan for forever, and when they came to town last month I pretty much made that a non-negotiable date for poor Brandon. Good guy, that one. And the funny thing is that leading up to it, I tried to pretend how much I wasn’t desperately hoping, praying, they’d play songs from their earlier albums. To acknowledge just how much pressure was on the band to fulfill my internal musical montage, as most of my major adult life events included Radiohead in the soundtrack.

So as the concert progressed and each song passed, I became more and more worried they’d totally skip The Bends and OK Computer. I’m not going to lie it was conflicting to know this was my mecca trip, and yet I felt disappointed. I thought I might actually (ridiculously, I fully admit) cry that they would leave me with nothing until it came time for the second encore*, when they honored my literal begging for just one more song, and came back out to strum the first chord for ‘Paranoid Android’.

Holy hell I have never come as unglued at a concert as I did right then, I swear to God. And I wasn’t even high.

And though I attempted to video some of the earlier songs like the nerdo I am, I know from experience that I am a sucky videographer (and always manage to tape myself singing), so I chose to just enjoy that moment, in that moment. I regret that now, though, because it was fleeting and I would like the memory recorded. Perhaps that’s why I’m having a hard time grasping the Buddhist principles. Heh.

But I did get most of ‘Weird Fishes/Arpeggi’ from In Rainbows, and despite that I was in the thousandth row, if you close you’re eyes you might be able to imagine how amazing the experience was for me.

a

xoxo

P.S. * Encores are awkward and embarrassing for everyone. We know you’re going to come back out, you know you’re going to come back out. Why not just tell the audience you have to use the bathroom and get a drink? The faux pretending** is so weird, and I’m continually surprised that every single band I see plays into it.

P.P.S. ** is faux pretending redundant?

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