I took one history course in college, History of Journalism (subtitle: four hundred years of news and booze). The professor told us if we learn one thing, it should be that there’s nothing new in the world. Everything’s been done before, history just repeats itself.
This year I’ve been obsessed with making forward progress. Take better care of myself, lose weight, do good work, make my home into a place where I actually feel at home, let my hair down and enjoy being single, etc.
And for the past couple of months, the universe is making it increasingly clear that it’s time to loop back into the next iteration of whatever cycle I’m stuck in.
Last night I had a date. I’m driving to this guy’s house and marveling at how fluidly my muscle memory guided me there. Because my first serious boyfriend once lived just a couple blocks away. I drove that route countless times. I resist the temptation to pull onto his street and see if his old roommates still live there. Their kids must be, damn, five years older now? They probably don’t even remember stealing my glasses and making me hold them up in front of the mirror and giggling as if babies wearing glasses are the most hilarious thing that will ever exist. They don’t remember posing for countless pictures. They never knew their photographs decorated my blog for a couple of years.
On this date, I go off on my age-old rant about how frustrating I find it that a good half of my brain is taken up with the most useless information ever: song lyrics. We laugh about how we still remember the words to all the Raffi tapes we had as children. I may not be able to recite the song off the top of my head, but if you start playing it, the words spill from my mouth. Every lyric from every tape I listened to as a child, every Top 40 song I’ve heard more than a couple songs, every album I’ve ever owned, it’s all taking up space in my brain. And what utility is there in that? None.
Sure, they might help out with a few trivia questions. But because so little space is available to the vast world of non-song-lyric trivia, it won’t net me a win.
I could use that space for remembering work stuff or my schedule or those errands that I keep forgetting. I could use that space for attaching names to faces. But no.
And on my way home — remembering the many times that I tried to see just how fast I could take that highway onramp in my inherited Grand Marquis, the times I drove home floating on air because I was young and in love, the times I drove home in tears because I was young and in love, the times I drove home at 90 mph because I was young and under curfew — I listened to an album I haven’t heard in five years and sang along with every word.
Oh, and that five-years-ago boyfriend? He’s moving back to town and wants me to play banjo in his band. (Note: I do not play banjo. I do not play anything.) We’ll see.
Posted: 11:02 pm ·
Category: Boys, Memories, Music ·
Comments: 1
