My father damaged his back (in some not fully descript way. Apparently being a parent gives you the right to maximum moaning with minimum actual description of injuries) while pushing his ridiculously expensive car out of the badly kept bog we call a lawn, and so is lying on the couch shouting at anyone stupid enough to come within oral distance. Consquently my mother has been forced to spend the day emptying our soon to be demolished garage without his assistance, leaving her in an equally foul mood. I have been shouted at unnecessarily too many times and was refused the ski jacket of my dreams on the rather unreasonable basis that I will wear it for one week of the whole year and it costs more than any piece of clothing I currently own. Needless to say, spirits chez moi are not at their highest.‘Why is it that the most basic and vivid of human emotional activity (falling in and out of love) is automatically viewed as something that needs to be ‘cured’? Increasingly these days, being in love is seen as obsessive and unhealthy, while being heartbroken is viewed as downright dysfunctional. As the song goes, everybody hurts (sometimes), but, these days, that has to remain a guilty secret lest the Emotion Police come and cart you off. Wash that man right out of you hair! Embrace tomorrow! Let go! Move on!…we are supposed to emerge from relationships like we do from swimming pools – a brisk rub-down with the towel and everything is forgotten. But human beings aren’t like that.’
< - >
* the marks of memories forgotten
* wasting emotions, over again
* intentions, and such
* nothing unusual, nothing's changed - just a little older, that's all (damien rice : amie)
* now I understand! It doesn't make sense because it isn't supposed to
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