On my way to the studio today, I stopped by the gas station for a soda.
When I returned to my car, Every Rose has its Thorn by Poison belted out of the
radio. In a psychedelic whirl, I was transported to my cabin bunk at
summer camp, my woolly socks tucked deeply inside my inadequate sleeping
bag. I was thirteen again, and listening to this song on my walkman,
missing my boyfriend (who, though he carried my books to class for me
and held my hand on occasion, was really my best friend -- you can
breath, Mom). That was our song!
I love how music can transport you. And scents can do that too. If you had asked me yesterday, I couldn't have told you what 'our song' was. It was the first song we danced to, but I wouldn't have recalled the name.
I got a little choked up, I admit it.
Isn't life a blur? A fast, fabulous, when-will-I-ever-get-enough-sleep-again blur? Nothing slows down the clock but boredom; ask any fourth-grader at the end of a long summer. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed the misery of boredom.
Regardless of the whirlwind, I'd rather be 70 in a fleeting week, than perpetually bored. Life is a beautiful-busy.
