The First Step Is Admitting You Have A Problem
Headbutt.
First things first: this is funny on so many levels.
Hello, my name is Rich, and I have a problem. I love music by female pop stars.
Now, I don't admit to loving all pop stars. Like so many others, I like to think that I've refined my tastes. I like my singers to have songs with feeling, with meaning. I could say that I don't really know where this thing started, but I do. I remember oh so well.
It's really Ginger's fault. If I hadn't been with her, if Michelle hadn't come on the radio, and if Turb hadn't gone, "watch this", and proceeded to belt out entire ballads at the top of his lungs, I don't know where I would be right now. Instead, that started me down the long path I have walked. And I've walked it alone up until now.
There was Michelle's first album, and grasp it held me under. At that time, I refused to give in to any other album purchase, denying that I enjoyed what I listened to so much. But then Michelle's second album hit, and the downward spiral began. I was transfixed by that creation. The night before races, the day of races, sometimes multiple times a day I would listen, singing lyrics gleefully loud when no one was around, whispering them when people were. I must have listened to Hotel Paper over 300 times, and I wasn't ashamed.
Then I found Vanessa. My problem only got worse. Here was more fuel for my blazing inferno, more water to try to quench a thirst that was unslakable. There were more songs to hear, more emotions to go through, more words to sing, and more swaying to be swayed. Vanessa's second was bought, and the cycle began anew.
Then Kelly came into the picture. I had no idea she even existed until I went to a baseball game no less (baseball: slowly, and willfully, sucking away my very being). But once I found her, I couldn't be stopped. Prancing, while not done, was thought about. My spiral deepened and deepened with no end in sight.
Sure, just like gambling, drinking, and Ginger, I think I can get away. And I do. But only for awhile. Inevitably, I always come back. And once the album is re-found, I can't stop it. Over and over, play after play, the songs keep pouring forth. Is it a comfort? Yes. Do I wish I could stop?
I never want to stop.
Never.
K bye.
First things first: this is funny on so many levels.
Hello, my name is Rich, and I have a problem. I love music by female pop stars.
Now, I don't admit to loving all pop stars. Like so many others, I like to think that I've refined my tastes. I like my singers to have songs with feeling, with meaning. I could say that I don't really know where this thing started, but I do. I remember oh so well.
It's really Ginger's fault. If I hadn't been with her, if Michelle hadn't come on the radio, and if Turb hadn't gone, "watch this", and proceeded to belt out entire ballads at the top of his lungs, I don't know where I would be right now. Instead, that started me down the long path I have walked. And I've walked it alone up until now.
There was Michelle's first album, and grasp it held me under. At that time, I refused to give in to any other album purchase, denying that I enjoyed what I listened to so much. But then Michelle's second album hit, and the downward spiral began. I was transfixed by that creation. The night before races, the day of races, sometimes multiple times a day I would listen, singing lyrics gleefully loud when no one was around, whispering them when people were. I must have listened to Hotel Paper over 300 times, and I wasn't ashamed.
Then I found Vanessa. My problem only got worse. Here was more fuel for my blazing inferno, more water to try to quench a thirst that was unslakable. There were more songs to hear, more emotions to go through, more words to sing, and more swaying to be swayed. Vanessa's second was bought, and the cycle began anew.
Then Kelly came into the picture. I had no idea she even existed until I went to a baseball game no less (baseball: slowly, and willfully, sucking away my very being). But once I found her, I couldn't be stopped. Prancing, while not done, was thought about. My spiral deepened and deepened with no end in sight.
Sure, just like gambling, drinking, and Ginger, I think I can get away. And I do. But only for awhile. Inevitably, I always come back. And once the album is re-found, I can't stop it. Over and over, play after play, the songs keep pouring forth. Is it a comfort? Yes. Do I wish I could stop?
I never want to stop.
Never.
K bye.
posted by Rich @ 10:11 AM
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