they’ve got little revolvers and stupid choices…

When I was a senior, we all had to write an autobiography in order to pass English. That’s right, folks. That’ what passed as education. We, at 17/18 had to write about our life. I never quite understood it (possibly because I had no understanding of my life, myself or the world around me) but I took it as an opportunity to actually write.

Something I used to be: writer.

In those days, I had no idea what was going on. I was kind of lost. I hated my parents…typical teenage crap. I wrote honestly, knowing that my English teacher was really going to be the only one reading it…and really, who cares? I had this grand notion I would poof be gone as soon as graduation ended. I wrote about everything, shit I had done, shit my friends had done, how I felt about people, about myself. I believe it was all for naught; I don’t think that my teacher really cared. I mean, what was I complaining about? That my friends were assholes? That I was some overpriviledged brat who was moving to Boston for school at a little liberal arts school with a full bank account and anything else I wanted?

I’m surprised she didn’t slap me with my autobiography.

What brought this up?

I did the entire thing to Counting Crows lyrics. Each section started with a lyric from a band that basically vocalized my entire existence. They were SOOO GOOOD in the 90’s, oh MAN. So great.

My favorite song of their sophomore album ‘Recovering the Satellites’ came up on my ohmygodtotallyinlovewithit Napster tonight. I haven’t heard it in years. And it all came back to me.

“All of the sudden she disappears
just yesterday she was here
somebody tell me if I am sleeping
someone should be with me here
(cause I don’t wanna be alone)
I wanna be the knife that cuts into my hand
and I wanna be scattered from here in this catapult
What a big baby won’t somebody save me please
You won’t find nobody home
all of these quiet battered voices
wait for the hunger to come
we got little revolvers and stupid choices
and no one to say when we’re done
(Well I don’t wanna bring you down)
I wanna be the light that burns out your eyes
`cause I know there’s little things about me
that would sing in the silence of so much rejection
in every connection I make
I can’t find nobody home
I wanna be the last thing you hear when you’re falling asleep….”

Do you mourn for the innocence of your youth or do you breathe a sigh of relief you’re as well adjusted as you are?

Hmmm?

I don’t know, either.

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