[I once had a dream so I packed up and split for the city]<\/b>
\n
I’ve heard very few songs that have prompted me to bolt upright and listen intently to the words. Most of the time I can sing along without ever knowing the lyrics, or I can skip the song or change the channel if it’s particularly useless drivel. One of these important songs, for example, is Doug Martsch’s “Heart.” But I heard another such song last weekend, and it stuck in my head, repeating all week. I’ve probably heard this song a million times before, but it never meant anything until now. It’s so cliche when you find a song that sounds so linked to your little insignificant life. But I can’t help but hope that music is made to be identified with, so why not revel in the sound as if it’s your own?<\/p>\n
This is for all my friends and all the little dreams we’re chasing.<\/p>\n
“That’s Not Me”
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The Beach Boys<\/p>\n
I had to prove that I could make it alone
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But that’s not me
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I wanted to show how independent I’d grown now
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But that’s not me<\/p>\n
I could try to be big in the eyes of the world
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What matters to me is what I could be to just one girl<\/p>\n
I’m a little bit scared
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Cause I haven’t been home in a long time
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You needed my love
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And I know that I left at the wrong time
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My folks when I wrote them
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Told ’em what I was up to said that’s not me<\/p>\n
I went through all kinds of changes
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Took a look at myself and said that’s not me
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I miss my pad and the places I’ve known
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And every night as I lay there alone I will dream<\/p>\n
I once had a dream
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So I packed up and split for the city
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I soon found out that my lonely life wasn’t so pretty
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I’m glad I went now I’m that much more sure that we’re ready<\/p>\n
I once had a dream
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So I packed up and split for the city
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I soon found out that my lonely life wasn’t so pretty<\/p>\n
I once had a dream
\n
So I packed up and split for the city
\n
I soon found out that my lonely life wasn’t so pretty<\/p>\n
+ + +<\/p>\n
I didn’t do much during my visit to M’boro. I got my hair cut super short, shorter than I’ve ever had it, and I bought mousse (sp?) and gel and hairspray, which I haven’t done since eighth grade or so. I bought some work shirts at Target. I got my dad a Father’s Day present: a crazy automobile cooler for his re-enactment road trips. I ate some awesome grilled pork chops courtesy of Phil the Cooking Machine. I sat out on my porch and watched the sun set and the storm clouds blow in. I wrestled with the ferrets and laughed as they did backflips off the couch.<\/p>\n
+ + +<\/p>\n
The season premier of Six Feet Under<\/i> was a bummer. A necessary bummer.<\/p>\n
+ + +<\/p>\n
I found out that Tamara, one of my oldest friends, is moving to Nashville in August. She’s currently living in Buffalo, N.Y., where she moved a year or two ago to escape the heat and oppression of the South. We had a falling out our senior year of high school and, missing one another, began e-mailing back and forth two years later. We haven’t really had the intense connection we had in high school, which I have pined for at times. We are both older now with different reasons for living. It will be a little odd but probably good to have her living here in what I have come to identify as my comfort zone, where I was able to become who I wanted to be without remnants from my childhood always reminding me of who I was. It’s ironic that as my new best friends are beginning to disperse, my old friend is creeping back into my radar screen. Wait, is that irony?
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