But She Can’t Relax
So, I’m reading the accompanying article on Death Cab for Cutie’s session for Daytrotter when when I get bludgeoned by this question: “If this isn’t love this time, then what is it now?”
I’ve asked myself that question many times throughout my days. Well, not that question. Actually, I don’t even ask. My version is more of a statement: this needs to be love, because I don’t want to feel harder than this.
It always feels true at the time, but then I’ve lost love, and I missed it. Those were always the best times for me as a writer. I have a theory that no one can write well when they’re happy. No one wants to hear about someone else’s happiness. Do they?
It’s good to know that I’m not the only person that has ever felt that way. I feel much better knowing that every other self-hating hipster feels the same way.
That probably shouldn’t make me feel better, come to think of it.
Frankly, if it’s not this time, then I don’t think it’s ever going to be.
Just a thought.