Not a lot going on...
Okay, there's been a flurry of activity - holiday parties, work, going to see
The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe, getting the Christmas tree, yet more work, decorating aforementioned tree, (did I mention work?) preparing the house for holiday guests, planning last-minute shopping runs, figuring out who's taking The Boy what afternoons and when and so on - but there hasn't been anything extraordinary happening. But whatever hasn't been happening, there's sure been a lot of it. And for whatever reason (and there are probably bunches of them), I'm just feeling plain old melancholy this evening.
Y'see, the title comes from a song by a band I'd completely forgotten about all these years -
'Submarine Song' by the Candyskins. I was sitting in front of the TV, not quite paying attention to something I'd TiVo'd from PBS, when I decided to flip on over to the newish XM Radio streams DirecTV is offering these days. Toggling between some of the alternative stations, I was zoning on the couch, a large black dog sleeping contentedly against my thigh. Through a little bit of a pinot-gris-induced haze, I heard this song that I haven't heard in, oh, 15 years or so.
And did I
hear it - I flashed back to my senior dorm in college, visions of me lying on my too-small bed in a room sweltering in the heat of spring. It was quite vivid, and, well, kind of unsettling. I could picture the layout of the room quite clearly, recalling details which, like the song, haven't crossed my synapses in more than a decade.
I let the song finish, but that was too weird a sensation for me to just keep sitting there. I snapped off the TV and got a mournful look from the dog in return. Ignoring her silent entreaties, I headed upstairs to load the dishwasher. The earlier load wasn't finished running yet, so I sat down on the couch in the living room, lit solely by the newly-decorated Christmas tree.
Mistake.
The smell of the tree, the shadows on the wall cast by branches through lights - more visions, older ones, from decades past. I sat there for a while, letting thoughts and memories dance in the half-dark of the room, in the half-light of my memory. And as I sat there, the earlier lyrics dovetailed with my mood and the experience perfectly...
In my head there are waves like thunder,
I can hear them every day.
I'm not drowning I'm just going under,
Swimming's not my scene anyway.
All in all, too weird for me.
Eh. I don't know if I'm going to keep this post or not; it isn't polished, it's awkwardly worded and haphazardly structured, and, well, it doesn't even come close to expressing how I felt. Maybe I've just been handed some more fodder for my fiction blog which has been sitting dormant for too long; we'll see...
2 Comments:
That sounds like an interesting experience for you and him. Perhaps you have the makings of a young Sherlock Holmes.
We've got the makings for a something - I'm not quite sure what, though ;-)
Hey, happy blogiversary!
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