Memories
I love music. I love how when I listen to certain songs, memories flood into my head like looking at pictures in an album. Sometimes these waves of nostalgia are nice, others make my stomach feel queasy, and still others make me miss a time and place when things were more simple. There are two songs in particular that remind me of my ex-husband. It's extremely difficult to listen to them, and when I'm in the car with that CD in, I skip them. It's silly, but they can still make me cry like it's happening all over again.
Counting Crows and Jason Mraz reminds me of dams, scorching hot dealership parking lots, and Dallas. That was one of the best summers ever. I learned a lot about myself, met some great people, and I had very few responsibilities then. It's nice to think about that time, but it also reminds me of the financial instability I was going through. Divorce isn't cheap, and walking out with one pay check, a bed, computer, desk, and couch isn't exactly a great beginning. I didn't know how I was going to get to where I used to be with savings and a normal life. The pending divorce was always in the back of my mind, and still, when I hear "Please Don't Tell Her" I get a little sullen.
Jack Johnson and Cross Canadian Ragweed remind me how much I miss my Honda, wishing I had a house, and thinking I could make something work when in fact, it just annoyed the hell out of me. I learned that money can make things easier, but it can also make you useless. I was financially on track at this point, but still recovering from my divorce.
One of my more queasy memories is when I hear Brad Paisley or Jason Aldean; it reminds me of what kind of mistakes can happen when you forget who you are and what you want. I'm calling this my out of body experience phase, because I knew what I was doing was only making things worse, but I was still trying to bounce back from some heavy blows. I just watched myself screw up over and over again. But I got through it. The interesting thing is I don't recall any type music or specific songs for the time I got back on my feet, no theme music for being strong, growing up, and moving on. To bad too, it would be nice to feel strong anytime I needed it.
Oddly enough, Snow Patrol reminds me of Jason. I say oddly, because Jason loves Hinder, Buck Cherry, and Nickelback, a slew of bands, that I don’t really care for. He made me listen to them on our way to the Caravan, racing people in the Trans Am. We'd watch stupid movies, take shots of Goldschlager, and make complete asses of ourselves. I wasn't so responsible then, I wanted to get out and live a little. I had been married since I was 18, and the ex was very antisocial and didn't like my friends. And since I didn't have many friends, Jason made a really good drinking buddy. (This was prior to my other music phases so it's a little out of order, but for good reason.)
But our relationship no longer grooves to the tune of Photograph or Lips of an Angel. After the divorce, getting things together financially, and realizing that life wouldn't be gigs, dancing, country music, or drinking, I started over. And I started to hang out with Jason again, and with my new perspective.
Run by Snow Patrol brings me back to my old apartment, when Jason and I were still friends. It also marks the time when we went from drinking buddies to something more.
Jason needed a place to stay because the bathtub in his apartment was being refinished. The fumes were toxic so he needed to borrow my couch and shower for the evening.
We played Take Down Burnout 3, ate pizza rolls, and watched a movie. After the movie I went into my room to get ready for bed, and he asked to use my computer. I had turned Napster on to random and after he was done checking his mail, he sat on my bed and we talked. We gravitated closer as the conversation continued and I wound up in the crook of him arm as he played with my hair.
When Run started to play, Jason said he was sorry for the things he had done when we first met. Keeping me at arms length, making me wonder if he wanted to be more than friends. Promising to call or agree to help me and then forget. It was these actions that convinced me he didn't want a serious relationship, and if he did, it wasn't with me. And goodness knows I wasn't ready for one at that time anyway. So I put him out of my head and that's when I went through the Crows, Jack Johnson, and Brad Paisley phases.
It was a very sweet and tender moment. Something I was pretty sure wasn't possible from the same man who never wanted anything more than someone to get trashed with. But things must have changed for him that night because from then on, he pursued me like I was moving to Antarctica. Whether it was Snow Patrol's song that inspired his feelings for me to surface or my new attitude I approached life with, I'll never know. I asked him if he remembered that night, and he says yes. But he definitely can't remember what song was playing. However, he does remember that he kicked my butt while playing Burnout. But I can't seem to recall that part at all.
Counting Crows and Jason Mraz reminds me of dams, scorching hot dealership parking lots, and Dallas. That was one of the best summers ever. I learned a lot about myself, met some great people, and I had very few responsibilities then. It's nice to think about that time, but it also reminds me of the financial instability I was going through. Divorce isn't cheap, and walking out with one pay check, a bed, computer, desk, and couch isn't exactly a great beginning. I didn't know how I was going to get to where I used to be with savings and a normal life. The pending divorce was always in the back of my mind, and still, when I hear "Please Don't Tell Her" I get a little sullen.
Jack Johnson and Cross Canadian Ragweed remind me how much I miss my Honda, wishing I had a house, and thinking I could make something work when in fact, it just annoyed the hell out of me. I learned that money can make things easier, but it can also make you useless. I was financially on track at this point, but still recovering from my divorce.
One of my more queasy memories is when I hear Brad Paisley or Jason Aldean; it reminds me of what kind of mistakes can happen when you forget who you are and what you want. I'm calling this my out of body experience phase, because I knew what I was doing was only making things worse, but I was still trying to bounce back from some heavy blows. I just watched myself screw up over and over again. But I got through it. The interesting thing is I don't recall any type music or specific songs for the time I got back on my feet, no theme music for being strong, growing up, and moving on. To bad too, it would be nice to feel strong anytime I needed it.
Oddly enough, Snow Patrol reminds me of Jason. I say oddly, because Jason loves Hinder, Buck Cherry, and Nickelback, a slew of bands, that I don’t really care for. He made me listen to them on our way to the Caravan, racing people in the Trans Am. We'd watch stupid movies, take shots of Goldschlager, and make complete asses of ourselves. I wasn't so responsible then, I wanted to get out and live a little. I had been married since I was 18, and the ex was very antisocial and didn't like my friends. And since I didn't have many friends, Jason made a really good drinking buddy. (This was prior to my other music phases so it's a little out of order, but for good reason.)
But our relationship no longer grooves to the tune of Photograph or Lips of an Angel. After the divorce, getting things together financially, and realizing that life wouldn't be gigs, dancing, country music, or drinking, I started over. And I started to hang out with Jason again, and with my new perspective.
Run by Snow Patrol brings me back to my old apartment, when Jason and I were still friends. It also marks the time when we went from drinking buddies to something more.
Jason needed a place to stay because the bathtub in his apartment was being refinished. The fumes were toxic so he needed to borrow my couch and shower for the evening.
We played Take Down Burnout 3, ate pizza rolls, and watched a movie. After the movie I went into my room to get ready for bed, and he asked to use my computer. I had turned Napster on to random and after he was done checking his mail, he sat on my bed and we talked. We gravitated closer as the conversation continued and I wound up in the crook of him arm as he played with my hair.
When Run started to play, Jason said he was sorry for the things he had done when we first met. Keeping me at arms length, making me wonder if he wanted to be more than friends. Promising to call or agree to help me and then forget. It was these actions that convinced me he didn't want a serious relationship, and if he did, it wasn't with me. And goodness knows I wasn't ready for one at that time anyway. So I put him out of my head and that's when I went through the Crows, Jack Johnson, and Brad Paisley phases.
It was a very sweet and tender moment. Something I was pretty sure wasn't possible from the same man who never wanted anything more than someone to get trashed with. But things must have changed for him that night because from then on, he pursued me like I was moving to Antarctica. Whether it was Snow Patrol's song that inspired his feelings for me to surface or my new attitude I approached life with, I'll never know. I asked him if he remembered that night, and he says yes. But he definitely can't remember what song was playing. However, he does remember that he kicked my butt while playing Burnout. But I can't seem to recall that part at all.