Caterwauling

I heard an interview with the wife of a celebrity I’ve followed for a few decades.

Never thought much about her other than that she hit the jackpot. Plain Jane type even in her youth, but having a good guy and wealth definitely suits her.

Heard her voice and thought, yep, just as plain as her look. Lucky her to land this guy.

And I thought about his career. He’s done some pretty epic shit. Wrote some of the world’s most enduring songs about love and heartbreak and struggle in his younger days. Then there was the decade or so of watered-down love songs that were nice but lacked the fire of the early days.

I got to thinking, what if he had picked someone who sparked that passion? What albums would he have written with that twin flame fire lit under him?

I see a lot of that these days. People who could have been great if not for the rope they tied around themselves in the name of safety, financial or otherwise.

No one will ever be able to say that about me. If I was there, it wasn’t because I needed to be.

I’m not knocking the celebrity marriage. They should be celebrated. They’ve done a lot of good for this world with their wealth and kind hearts.

But I won’t lie. I wonder about the artistry that was great but could have been legendary.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe what is still unwritten, and may very well always be … wasn’t his story to tell.

Cheers to good enough, amirite?

I’ve been quarantined since the beginning of February.

So here’s my Shazam list, mostly from The Time Before.

1. Six Feet Apart — Luke Combs
2. Behind the Mask — Fleetwood Mac
3. Banana Pancakes — Jack Johnson
4. Here I Am — Tom Odell
5. Rules — Doja Cat
6. Silver Spring — Stevie Nicks
7. Lips Like Sugar — Andrew Leahey & The Homestead
8. Say You Love Me — Jessie Ware
9. Does He Love You — Reba McEntire & Linda Davis
10. Cinnamon Girl — Lana Del Rey

Bonus (of course): Norman Fucking Rockwell — Lana Del Rey

My Gram would kick my ass for the time I wasted on oxygen thieves.

When dumb fucks would try to argue, she would tell them, “You are old enough, and certainly ugly enough, to understand this.”

They never did. Or will.

This one’s for you, Gram.

Well, it’s for old enough and ugly enough.

Not the same thing. Maybe not even the same individual.

We were going to figure out how to stay friends.

*shrug*

Switched up my handwashing song.

Seen in Dorseyville:

Stacy’s mom is wiping down surfaces.

Have consumed my weight in Kind bars but *checks* nope, still not.

Tried to kidnap my badass little cat Cocoa last night because Green Acres ain’t the place for me.

She literally ripped the carrier in half, licked my leg and went on her way.

That’s my girl.

Cocoa’s mom still got it going on.

The holiday FM station went back to playing soft rock classics. Bah humbug.

I meant to turn the dial back to NPR. (You silly kids with your fancy bluetooth and MP3s and alarm systems.) But, lazy. Also, traffic.

On the way to my captivity today, I heard Hoobastank (yeah!), Puddle of Mudd (woohoo!) and Daughtry (whee!) in a row. I may be keeping that dial stuck where I left it.

In any event, I heard Daughtry’s “Home” and enjoyed it as much as I could amid a Daytona-worthy drag race on 95. Then I stopped in Wawa. Where I got my $1 coffee AND heard “Home” again.

OK, Universe. I’m guessing this was what you wanted me to hear …

“Be careful what you wish for,
‘Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don’t want.
Be careful what you wish for,
‘Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.”

— Daughtry, “Home”

I was thinking about my job (!), a job prospect (!!) and a guy I met at a party (!!!).

Wasn’t wishing for anything in particular about any of them. Rather, just trying to “savor the waiting,” as all those fancy New Age gurus and books tell you to do as the universe prepares you AND them for whatever comes next.

Imagine what life would be like with something to look forward to, instead of just trying to hold on for dear life to what you’ve got.

Naturally I had to buy both versions of “We Can Always Come Back to This” from last night’s “This is Us” episode.

Listened to both on the way to work on a loop.

So many feels.

I think of my Momma too, just like William did.

I thought of someone else who would appreciate it. Posted the iTunes link on Facebook rather than saying “this would be our song if …”

He knows.

Lyrics:

Standing at the station
We don’t know what to say
Looking out the window
As you’re rolling away
If I’m gonna be alone
Let it be with you.

Mother don’t you cry
We’re gonna be all right
Open up your suitcase
When you get there tonight
You’re not alone
I’m always
Always here with you.

No matter where we go from here
No matter how the cards will fall
I’ll pick you up
And you’ll hold me too
So don’t give up on me
I’ll never give up on you.
Everything’s gonna be all right
I know you believe it too
If I’m gonna be alone
Then let it be with you.

Look up not down
It all comes around
Even when you’re gone
We can always come back to this
We can always come back to this
We can always always always always always come back to this.

— “We Can Always Come Back to This,” written by Siddhartha Khosla and performed by Brian Tyree Henry and also by Hannah Miller

Relevant to my interests today.

I posted a video of Evanescence covering “Purple Rain” over at Faceypages. Go watch.

It’s public, so you don’t have to be my friend. Unless I’ve blocked you. In which case, sucks to be you.

That cover/song is my everything.

It’s not that Prince was my all-time favorite artist. But he was a constant for the ’60s- and ’70s-born set. No party was complete without him. Every heartbreak could find solace in his songs. He was just THERE for all of it.

“I never wanted to be your weekend lover.
I only wanted to be some kind of friend.
Baby I could never steal you from another.
It’s such a shame our friendship had to end.”

I don’t even need to look up those lyrics. I’ve sung that song a million times to a half-dozen different people. In my mind, anyway.

I got to thinking about someone as I listened and recorded and tried not to bawl. Because, holy shit Amy Lee is A-MA-ZING.

Maybe it was the culmination of someones and my brain was putting together its own video reel as I listened and tried not to collapse from the hundred-degree heat and the thousand-degree fire inside my heart.

But it always seems like I find relationship-oriented people. Just not when it comes to me.

It’s OK. I’m less of a relationship type than any of them. Maybe they figured that out about me long before I did.

Doesn’t stop the occasional moment of “what if” from punching me in the face, though.

Luckily I’m only black-and-blue on the inside. And you’ll never know I’m missing you so much right now, I can’t even breathe.

And “you” is a surprising mix of three people I never, ever thought I’d think that about. Independently or all at once.

Rather than talk about what’s causing tonight’s insomnia, I’ll just use this moment of silence to honor the fact that Bon Jovi released their first single “Runaway” 32 years ago. 

Tonight I was driving home with the sunroof open (60 degrees out and six layers of clothes on) and rocking out to “Livin’ on a Prayer” on the classic rock station. 

And I had that moment where I was like, whoa. 

When the song came out in ’86, I was a pre-teen in Pittsburgh. 

Who knew that I’d be 40-something, jamming in my car on a Florida interstate to that very song? 

Still halfway there. Still Livin’ on a prayer. Still hot for Jon. Still Gina, dreaming of running away. 

What a difference 30 years doesn’t make.