Confessions

I listen to NPR's All Songs Considered. I had to stop for a while, because it seemed like just the sort of music-nerd, cooler-than-thou sort of thing that Asshat would do. I also deleted three entire albums from my itunes because they reminded me too strongly of him.

I'm not a real music nerd. I have a very specific songs and types of music that I like, with small islands of outliers (Beastie Boys, RAtM to name a few). Right now I'm listening to Laura Gibson's La Grande over and over again. Before that, it was a lot of Florence and the Machine and Neko Case. I've tuned a couple of my Pandora stations to the point where 90% of what they play me is Melissa Ferrick and Ani Difranco, and I've tuned another station to the point where it plays me mostly music that I already own.

But I fast-forwarded through the review of Craig Finn's solo work, because that was what I was listening to for much of my relationship with Asshat. And I'm trying to convince myself that there is more than enough music in the world to compensate for me refusing to admit a couple specific albums exist. But it also feels weak, like I should be able to unflinchingly stare down every thing that upsets me, dwell on it and poke the wound until the pain becomes familiar enough to assimilate. I have yet to actually start trying to stare down my not-boobs, though I continue to suffer nipple envy when I go to the gym.

I've hated my mother's policy of denying my adolescence happened the way I remember it for so long that I feel like I've overcorrected in the opposite direction. I should do something about that.

Confessions

I listen to NPR's All Songs Considered. I had to stop for a while, because it seemed like just the sort of music-nerd, cooler-than-thou sort of thing that Asshat would do. I also deleted three entire albums from my itunes because they reminded me too strongly of him.

I'm not a real music nerd. I have a very specific songs and types of music that I like, with small islands of outliers (Beastie Boys, RAtM to name a few). Right now I'm listening to Laura Gibson's La Grande over and over again. Before that, it was a lot of Florence and the Machine and Neko Case. I've tuned a couple of my Pandora stations to the point where 90% of what they play me is Melissa Ferrick and Ani Difranco, and I've tuned another station to the point where it plays me mostly music that I already own.

But I fast-forwarded through the review of Craig Finn's solo work, because that was what I was listening to for much of my relationship with Asshat. And I'm trying to convince myself that there is more than enough music in the world to compensate for me refusing to admit a couple specific albums exist. But it also feels weak, like I should be able to unflinchingly stare down every thing that upsets me, dwell on it and poke the wound until the pain becomes familiar enough to assimilate. I have yet to actually start trying to stare down my not-boobs, though I continue to suffer nipple envy when I go to the gym.

I've hated my mother's policy of denying my adolescence happened the way I remember it for so long that I feel like I've overcorrected in the opposite direction. I should do something about that.