The bug got me, infiltrated me but good, put me in my place.
I feel like a Radiohead song today. Even though it’s sunny outside, I feel like the fog of those entrancing San Francisco evenings. I feel like feeling a little sorry for myself.
But I don’t have that luxury, so instead I get a Radiohead song. When I was younger, I used to sit on a stoop with S. He’d bring over a pack of cloves, and we would smoke one or two while looking up at the stars (I know it was extremely foolish, forgive me for my youthful need to behave like a beatnik). He let me stew, we never really talked. It was like being alone, but more lonely, because it was almost like an acknowledgment that there was every reason to feel miserable.
Later on, the other friends, the ones that I always get a kick of, even when I think of them to this day, the rough and tumble crew that are, weirdly enough, my people, they would remark, ‘life’s a b*tch and then you die.’ Like a mantra, except maybe it was more of a punchline. Didn’t get the A on that exam? Had a bad breakup? Have a hangover? Gained a few unwanted pounds? Can’t afford that dress? ‘Life’s a b*tch and then you die.’ We said it all the time. Peddle self-pity somewhere else, we’re not buying here.
Like the Cake song says ‘as soon as you’re born, you start dying, so you might as well have a good time.” Oh it’s all in good fun, right? It’s all funny. Yet it’s also sort of true.
So suck it up, put out the cloves, switch the tune, shake away the fog, and face the day.