As hard as I’ve tried (trust me, very hard) to ruin the new Coldplay album by overplaying, it hasn’t happened yet. I introduced my mom and sister to it today on the tremendously long car ride home and it kept playing and playing. Lost track somewhere along the way, but I’d say it was on repeat for at least 3 hours. Now that I think about it, it seems kind of gross. We even put it back in after going through a Father Indie mix, a Disney mix, and some Sufjan. But am I sick of it? No way.
I didn’t get nearly as many pictures at the party as I’d hoped; I was playing barmaid for most of the night, which turned out to be highly entertaining and a great way to meet my grandparents’ friends without extended awkward conversation. By the way, my grandmother and I had a bet ($5) that someone would/wouldn’t ask the great grandchild question. I actually lost, but she didn’t tip me for my wine-pouring skills either, so we called it even.
If I could, I’d make sure to take a road trip with somebody different every year. The varied conversations that come out of scenic landscapes, tailgaters, various red lights on the dashboard, silly word games, the latest Drive mix … they never fail to delight. Chatting with my mom on the way to Michigan and back was plain old fun, especially when we made her go through the whole How She and Dad Met story.
Being home is getting stranger. Maybe it’s slowly sinking in that I’m not just back for a visit. The thought of going back to college makes me squirm, the thought of being a bum scares me more. I’m finding it difficult to concentrate; interacting with a large group of people is still completely overwhelming and I find I’m happiest and least self-conscious when with a single person and no pressure to talk. Give it time, yeah yeah. When someone asks the What Are You Going To Do Next question, sensations of being a small bug with a magnifying glass between itself and the bright sun creep over me.
Bah! At least there’s Coldplay, right? It’s always odd what we find comfort in.
“There’s nothing terribly wrong with feeling lost, so long as that feeling precedes some plan on your part to actually do something about it. Too often a person grows complacent with their disillusionment, perpetually wearing their discomfort like a favorite shirt.”
- Jhonen Vasquez
I’m afraid I’m sporting a dirty shirt of disillusionment.
