She'd Be California

I started listening to music again. I have missed being able to listen to simple lyrics without immediately attributing them to every possible aspect of my life. Lately I have found that I can just sing without thought and enjoy the play of words over my tongue rather than their hidden meaning in the grand scheme of things.

I had a birthday. I didn't die. Hallelujah. Seemingly humorous, but not really. I've had bad luck with birthdays since I was about seven. There was never a year without drama or hurt or too much to drink. Last year was on the road to recovery, this year had some difficulties but is probably the best one since I was six. And the good times haven't stopped yet; I still have a few celebrations left to go.

Yesterday I was getting my legs waxed and a song came on the speakers while we were talking about my birthday. It's called 'birthday sex' or something equally as stupid. Lyrics that didn't touch me all over again, and that touched me.

Maybe I'm not making a lot of sense, but I'm growing accustomed to living within my own world and ignoring whether or not others can keep up. That probably isn't the best scenario to be blogging within, as I'm sure those who read would much rather understand than not, but this is the turnings of my mind. I find fault in everything except myself because, whenever I get the chance to realize it, I am my own definition of fault.

Santa Barbara in summer, yeah, she feels like that.