leaping into puddles
Jan. 7th, 2010 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinI've been playing Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" a lot tonight. I am not sure why, exactly. The harmonies are very soothing, and its lyrics bring up interesting visuals for me, in conjunction with the sound of the music.
That Imogen Heap, she's got a good voice - rich, versatile, real, emotive.
I think part of it must be that I am trying to conjure up some nostalgia: I fell in love with this song right as I was moving here the first time, in April of 2007. It was also the song that magically appeared on the radio the day I knew I was going to be leaving Epic to go work at 42. It's a song that reminds me of how Springtime here smells and feels, and how my world sounded, and how it felt to be here with all of my Chicago furniture, my Chicago hair, my Chicago smile.
And I can't quite catch it back - everything is different now, even though it all feels like I never left. I mean, I really like my job, and I sort of enjoy hunkering down and being poor right now, because it is an excuse to just be quiet and solitary in this super-quiet place and catch my breath back after the whirlwind Hollywood-ness of yore.
Yet I still hit Play again, hearing the song again, trying to feel that sense of hope and forward motion. I think it was there once, in that song. I put it there, for safekeeping, but it's not keyed to me anymore. The me I am now. Maybe there's another song somewhere, a book, a game, a place, a sushi roll that contains this feeling. Maybe it's already here and I just haven't realized it yet. Maybe it's the jar candles I burn, maybe the scent of dryer sheets and clean laundry. Maybe it's the grocery store that's right down the street - the one they were building when I left. It's so nice to have that 24-hour grocery store right there, right down the street.
Things are not as dire in my head now than they were. It's easier to say that more publicly now - I had pretty much lost all hope, even as I ploddingly packed boxes and inwardly resented so many things. I often felt like my life was over. I was done. I had not accomplished, taken root, been betrothed to a life I understood. I had missed the boat, I had become unmoored, I was without a song or a place or a book or a scent.
Now? Nowadays, I just don't know much. All I do know is that I am not there anymore, in the dark smoky earthquakey wildfires of Nothingness.
This is the wood between the worlds.
That Imogen Heap, she's got a good voice - rich, versatile, real, emotive.
I think part of it must be that I am trying to conjure up some nostalgia: I fell in love with this song right as I was moving here the first time, in April of 2007. It was also the song that magically appeared on the radio the day I knew I was going to be leaving Epic to go work at 42. It's a song that reminds me of how Springtime here smells and feels, and how my world sounded, and how it felt to be here with all of my Chicago furniture, my Chicago hair, my Chicago smile.
And I can't quite catch it back - everything is different now, even though it all feels like I never left. I mean, I really like my job, and I sort of enjoy hunkering down and being poor right now, because it is an excuse to just be quiet and solitary in this super-quiet place and catch my breath back after the whirlwind Hollywood-ness of yore.
Yet I still hit Play again, hearing the song again, trying to feel that sense of hope and forward motion. I think it was there once, in that song. I put it there, for safekeeping, but it's not keyed to me anymore. The me I am now. Maybe there's another song somewhere, a book, a game, a place, a sushi roll that contains this feeling. Maybe it's already here and I just haven't realized it yet. Maybe it's the jar candles I burn, maybe the scent of dryer sheets and clean laundry. Maybe it's the grocery store that's right down the street - the one they were building when I left. It's so nice to have that 24-hour grocery store right there, right down the street.
Things are not as dire in my head now than they were. It's easier to say that more publicly now - I had pretty much lost all hope, even as I ploddingly packed boxes and inwardly resented so many things. I often felt like my life was over. I was done. I had not accomplished, taken root, been betrothed to a life I understood. I had missed the boat, I had become unmoored, I was without a song or a place or a book or a scent.
Now? Nowadays, I just don't know much. All I do know is that I am not there anymore, in the dark smoky earthquakey wildfires of Nothingness.
This is the wood between the worlds.
