For a long time I forgot that music is such a buzz.
I shut myself off from its joys during my dark years, but it was a huge part of my life in happier times.
When my ex and I moved to Singapore after getting hitched, we bought three big CD folders that we alphabetically filled with hundreds of albums. We took them as our cabin luggage because we couldn’t bear to be without our music for the months it would take to transport it by sea.
During the weeks before our furniture arrived we made do with a CD player, a mattress on the floor, a TV and a folding piece of sponge as a sofa.
We were happy.
When my ex left, music became one of the ways I made it through the days. That and walking up lots of steep hills.
I dug out a handful of CDs and played them on high rotation for the next few years. Fleetwood Mac, Pete Murray, Karma County, Neil Finn, an Aussie compilation from an Australia Day party we once held …
That was about it.
Last weekend I finally reached the point where I couldn’t listen to them for the 10000th time, so I dug out the old CD folders and it’s been heaven.
I’m currently exploring L-Z.
I totally adore Luscious Jackson’s album Electric Honey, which features songs such as “Naked Eye” …
I’ve been playing Spellbound, which is a best of Split Enz album, over and over. I thought I’d moved on from Split Enz, but no. They are still bloody brilliant.
It’s like riding a bike, I know all the words. It’s funny the songs I’m loving most. There’s this obscure one called Late Last Night that’s fabulous … though you’ll probably think its weird … and not just because of the band’s unique costuming and facial expressions in the film clip …
And now I’m stuck on The Wonder Stuff. Geez I love The Wonder Stuff. You might remember a song called ‘Size of A Cow’. It’s sensational.
I quite love ‘Welcome to the Cheap Seats” too.
Oh and this corker with Vic Reeves:
I’ve literally been joyfully dancing around the house as the songs belt out, despite being at peak PMT, which is when I would usually be curled up in a ball somewhere berating myself for all my failings.
I started dancing in Woolies at one point over the weekend. The youngest was with me and almost died from embarassment. But the music is inside me and its glorious.
I was dancing wildly and singing loudly (and badly) in the family room when my ex knocked on the window on Sunday night to collect the kids.
I hate to think how I looked …
Actually, I’ve realised I no longer care how I look to him. I was in my uggs and dressing gown the other night when the kids announced he was dropping some stuff over. I briefly considered changing into something more flattering, then thought “why?”
Raising my desirability in his eyes isn’t on my radar. I’ve moved so far past the “wanting to make him realise what he’s missing” point.
Well, I reckon he is missing out, in so many ways.
But I’m not.
It feels great to be alive.