NoSalesTax

Two Elon alumni (2002) have pooled their talents to bring excitement and joy to your day. One is a classy woman who combines her Italian and feminine powers to influence men of all shapes and sizes. The other is a tall blond man who relies on wit and boyish good looks to impress women, especially when they're drunk. Join them in their epic pursuit of the phenomenon known as adulthood. NoSalesTax side effects may include addiction and abrupt laughter as colleagues look on in confused jealousy.

Friday, April 15, 2005

More Music, More Memories

I often write just before falling asleep. I can't count the times I've literally drifted off mid-sentence, only to find my journal (a $1.29 notebook) beside me the next morning. My thoughts tend to be clearest whenever I'm in bed (how's THAT for a pickup line?). I also enjoy reading everything I wrote the nite before, because I rarely remember the specifics. It's like reading a book you haven't opened since childhood. The story is familiar, but the details have been forgotten. Anyway, that's my disclaimer for the following, which I wrote a few nites ago.

I saw my ex for about an hour back in November. I hadn’t seen her since we’d broken up a year earlier. Everyone I know told me I’d realize she’s not worth the heartache, the pain, blah blah blah, once I saw her again. I believed them, perhaps because I wanted to believe them. Unfortunately, for the brief period of time I saw her that late Sunday morning, we cliqued as if the previous year hadn’t existed. She made me laugh, she made me think; she was just as beautiful as before (I edited this past line cuz I apparently write unbelievably sappy staff when I'm half-awake). Just as I began remembering the little things I love about her, I had to return to DC.

Two days later, while exploring a used CD store in Adams-Morgan, I purchased Ryan Adams’ (no relation) Love is Hell: Part Two. I’d never really listened to him before, but wanted some new music for the next day’s Chinatown Bus trip to NY for Thanksgiving. Coincidentally, I was heading north the same day she was heading home. Every time I listen to that album, I think of the late autumn rain rinsing the crowded bus, cars whizzing by as I rode north on I-95, looking for a Volvo station wagon, expecting to see her behind the wheel, heading home w/ a final few memories of me. Whenever I listen to that album, I’m back on that bus, swallowing miles of highway by the minute, wishing the rain would wash everything away.

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