"Someone Help Me Off Of The Ground," Or, "When I Was A Boy, Everything Was Right"

The alternate title of this entry is a quote from one of my favorite Beatles songs, "She Said, She Said" from Revolver:

She Said, She Said
"She said, 'I know what it's like to be dead,
I know what it is to be sad.'
And she's making me feel like I've never been born.

I said, 'Who put all those things in your head?
Things that make me feel that I'm mad?
And you're makin' me feel like I've never been born.'

She said, 'You don't understand what I said.'
I said, 'No, no, no, you're wrong:
When I was a boy, everything was right.
Everything was right.'

I said, 'Even though you know what you know,
I know that I'm ready to leave.
'Cause you're makin' me feel like I've never been born.'

She said, 'You don't understand what I said.'
I said, 'No, no, no, you're wrong:
When I was a boy, everything was right.
Everything was right.'

I said, 'Even though you know what you know,
I know that I'm ready to leave.
'Cause you're makin' me feel like I've never been born.'

She said...(she said...)
I know what it's like to be dead...(echo)
I know what it is to be sad (echo)"
[Fade Out]

I told my mom that Shelley and I have been dating since April. She was shocked.

After an awkward 30-minute conversation centering around her inability to recognize that people can change, that she didn't "mind" us dating but couldn't see the two of us together for life - "I just hope you don't bring a child into the heartbreak", her insistence that Shelley never had any reason to fear her, and how she just couldn't understand why I would wait three months to tell her. She also couldn't fathom why I decided to lie to her.

Yeah, gee, I'm at a real loss as to why I would do something like that.

Cue Simpsons clip:
HOMER: "Oh, and by the way, I was BEING sarcastic!"

Can I only reiterate that it was hard keeping it a secret, never mind not an easy decision to come to in the first place?

A friend of mine came over late Saturday/early Sunday to hang out with me, Shelley, and Graham as he had just suffered a panic attack. He was stressed about a ton of other things, but the thought of the possibility for a human to willfully stop their own heart was enough to cause the onset. I thought it was a little strange, but we were there for him and just let him vent and caught up on life.

Now I know exactly how it feels.

I can't describe it, other than that I have a short list of people that I can truly say I hate. I would wish death upon them before this. (ARE YOU READING THIS, BILL O'REILLY?)

Before I could muster up the courage to let it all out on Shelley's shoulder, while we worked on my math homework this morning a song came on that I couldn't help but start weeping, quiet enough that Shelley didn't notice.

The song was "Morphine Song," from the album Working Man's Cafe. I had just received it Saturday from Eric, who delivered it for me...from Dad. The label is in his very distinctive handwriting. It's a combination of things: My dad is the reason I got into The Kinks. He bears some resemblance to Ray Davies. We saw Ray together in March 2006. The lyrics have nothing to do with my situation. But the instrumental backing at 0:55 (it sounds much better on the album, as first an accordion, then a brass section, play it) just got to me.

Proof that sometimes music speaks louder than words, my favorite lyricist, Mr. Ray Davies, performing one of the most touching pieces of music I've ever heard. I couldn't have heard it at a better point in my life. The memory is now inseparable.


It's just as beautiful as anything off of The Village Green Preservation Society.

At least it's off my back, chest, and mind, and out of my system. It's like taking a hearty shit after an equally hearty meal.

Alex