I had a home-made Pandora back in 1986

In 1986, I fell in love with a boy.

He was amazing. A gentleman, beautiful, strong, and oh so kind. To spare you a long familiar story, things just couldn't work for us. But I was so crazy about him and therefore just crushed when it broke down. Teenage girls lament in very odd ways. Mine, albeit all too familiar, was undoubtedly before it's time.

Even though they did not exist, I remember my very first mp3 editing experience nonetheless. I put my LP's on the floor in my room on shuffle mode and created a playlist. Not just a plain old mixed cd style song list, but a custom song made up of phrases. I wrote my sad lament in the words of Nazareth, Prince, Cyndi Lauper, Tom Petty, Van Halen, George Michael and Madonna. I held my hand-held tape deck up to the speakers of the record player and did a slamming editing job on cassette.

I miss those days of self expression. So much vigilance to nurse my hormone driven angst. Today, I sit and I blog. I isolate from my friends and I consider how it would feel to cry. So if I go in the shower and cry. I try but, I know I can't, please the thirst of my woes with a saline quench. It's funny though how numb to passion I've become. I cannot ever experience the deep unadulturated happiness and sorrow that walked in and out of my life with that boy in 1986. As I grow, I develop and fine tune myself. But I lost that purity as I became jaded and numb.

I have to start making art again. I don't like the sadness of indiference that comes with fitting into suburbia's norm.

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