I have been paying very close attention to music lately. Perhaps this is natural, since I am in love with someone who is in love with music. Perhaps it’s just a new phase of awareness in my life. I’ve been playing around with the Internet iTunes Registry mm, graphs and that was enough incentive for me to move my entire TMBG mp3 collection from my desktop (still dormant) to my laptop. Because I haven’t listened to most of my TMBG on the laptop yet, the iTunes Internet Registry thinks my favorite artist is The Cure.
That was certainly true, in my sophomore year of high school. I had a brief fling with a raven-haired, left-handed boy named Nick who did a flawless Popeye impersonation. He gave me the cassette single of “Lovesong” and went to a school dance with me, then disappeared. I still remember the dress I wore to that dance. My mom and I didn’t have a ton of money, so I had to recycle dresses, and that one was worn to a few different events. It had a strapless bodice of forest green velvet, close-fitting to mid-hip, where the taffeta skirt flared out almost to the floor. I felt like a princess in that dress. Nick brought me a wrist corsage with a cream-colored rose. He had dark blue eyes and a sharp, hooked nose, and he didn’t like to read. We only kissed, but back then, “only kissing” could go on for days. Listening to The Cure now makes me think of kissing, or wanting to be kissed, or avoiding unwanted kisses.
When the MSG and I first started seeing each other, he had a renewed interest in Massive Attack’s “100th Window” album. It was on whenever I would go over to his house. I don’t remember first hearing it on my own, so I associate it with him and those roller-coastery first months. Whenever I am missing him intensely, I put that album on and immediately feel better. Maybe because it makes me think about kissing him. I sense a trend here.
But no kissing for me, at least not for a few days. I’m contagious. Monday night, when I came home from work, I started sneezing and coughing quite a bit. This continued through yesterday, and by the time I got home, I was feeling absolutely horrible. Inkbot was as well. She felt better today, while I felt worse, so I stayed home from work. I spent most of the day in sickly sleep with brief periods of wakefulness. Earlier this evening, I woke with a start as the doorbell rang. It was the MSG, who thoughtfully brought me a ground-lifter plug for my bedroom as well as a tiny box of chocolate truffles. I can’t smell or taste anything right now, so the truffles are incentive for me to get better, he said.
Inkbot just stocked up on fluids for our flat o’ sickness. I’m chugging SmartWater and clutching Kleenex and even so I am vaguely content. Being sick isn’t so bad when I have two wonderful people taking such good care of me. I hope to be back in proper kissing form by the weekend.