Friday, June 20, 2008

• Reflecting Light

  There's just so much stuff going on right now.
  
  Knowing Mr. S for the past 8 years has changed my outlook on life, I think. His general demeanor (constant negativity, his inability to put anything into proper perspective (e.g. a copier jam is really not going to be the end of you), his inability to be happy unless he's miserable...this is really just one part of his charm-free personality, and to say it wears on me would be the understatement of the century. I learned a long time ago to ignore most of what he says, because it used to stress me out so much when he talked about how the business was in peril, he thought he was going to die any day, etc. etc. etc. There's only so much of that a person can take to heart.
  
  I've been thinking about that lately because I think that in an effort not to become another Mr. S, I've learned to sort of gloss things over or not think too deeply about them. This is really counter to my natural inclinations, but I think I've done it for survival. I know this doesn't make much sense and some of you may be wondering if I've gone a little crazy.
  
  The truth is that things are bad right now. There are so many things I haven't blogged about or shared with many people. These are family things, involving people who wouldn't appreciate being written about here, and frankly, I'm kind of nervous about putting my whole life on display on the internet.
  
  I'm not in a good place. I don't know if the worst times in my life are behind me, as I had let myself believe. I thought nothing would ever compare to the year or so after my husband and I split up, but I've noticed lately that I'm really behaving in very much the same way I did then--not sleeping, overeating, crying all the time, and I'm not really a crier.
  
  I have a doctor's appointment to talk about going on anti-depressants. I took Prozac and Zoloft and Paxil (not at the same time) back in the day, but nothing helped. I'm hoping that this time, we can find something that will.
  
  Last week I was going to post about something so cool that happened to me, and then the next day it was sort of forgotten in a flood of other, not cool, stuff that happened.
  
  I went to see Sam Phillips at Borders last week. She sang about five songs or so (I'm not one of those people who keeps track of the set list). I was in the front row, and wished I was in the second, because I felt really uncomfortable. I was literally two feet from Sam, and we made eye contact several times. Cool, yes, but it also made me nervous.
  
  One of the things I've always liked about Sam Phillips is the fact that even in her darker material, there's always hope. A broken heart is also an open door. At the show, she referred to "Reflecting Light" as maybe the only good song she's ever written. I disagree, but I think it's probably the most beautiful:
  
  

  Now that I've worn out, I've worn out the world
  I'm on my knees in fascination
  Looking through the night
  And the moon's never seen me before
  But I'm reflecting light

  I rode the pain down, got off and looked up
  Looked into your eyes
  The loss opened windows, all around
  My dark heart lit up the skies

  Now that I've worn out, I've worn out the world
  I'm on my knees in fascination
  Looking through the night
  And the moon's never seen me before
  But I'm reflecting light

  Give up the ground, under your feet
  Hold on to nothing for good
  Turn and run at the mean dogs chasing you
  Stand alone and misunderstood

  Now that I've worn out, I've worn out the world
  I'm on my knees in fascination
  Looking through the night
  And the moon's never seen me before
  But I'm reflecting light

  
  

  I can't stop playing this song now. When I say I can't stop, I mean it. I. Cannot. Stop.
  

  Afterward, I waited in line to get my CD signed. There were people talking to her for 10 minutes, giving her CDs of themselves, writing down their blog addresses--I didn't do any of that and I didn't want to take up her time, but we did have a meaningful 2-minute conversation, if there is such a thing. I talked about what her music means to me, and how I think we've been on a similar journey all these years. I felt like we really connected (and I know I may have really misread the situation). She said, "I wish we had more time to talk." I forgot to take her picture and I forgot to tell her that Martinis and Bikinis is my favorite album of all time, and that she, more than anyone else, is my constant iPod companion. I should have probably asked her to sign right across the screen on my iPod.

  I left there feeling so full, like on a video game when you have extra hearts or crystals or whatever. I wish the feeling could have lasted a little longer, but I'm grateful for it anyway.
  

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