If I had any musical talent, I'd write a song now. A nice intelligent one that sounds a little like Frente! and a little like R.E.M. A nice acoustic one that could well be sung on my balcony by candlelight.
Have been sneaking around online for the past hour, just poking my nose into things that are absolutely none of my business.
Found something that sort of hurts. A compliment of the highest order. A love letter. An electric shock. A revelation. A secret. A sting.
I feel like there's somebody out there who knows me too damned well. Who knows about little paranoias and musings and the fears and dreams and jealousies and battles I have just before I fall asleep. Who knows about the confusions and the desperate psychoanalyses. Someone who could not know the words written in my scarred, battered black notebook in my dresser, yet someone who does know... Who drew from some psychic crevice the same thoughts that are scrawled in and about that ultra-private notebook. Somebody who knows ALL fucking about me.
I'm shaking. Really. It's not just the Dr. Pepper anymore. I'm shaking because I just read a journal entry I don't think I was supposed to find. I just read a love letter I wasn't supposed to know about. I just found out what somebody thinks of me. You know, you never REALLY know what people think of you until you find stuff they've said about you that they've hidden away someplace... (Boy, don't some of MY snoopy friends know that...) Now I know what somebody out there thinks of me... It hurts. It scares me. I hate it. I'm pleased. I'm touched.
And I was just thinking that there's no appropriate song for this. Maybe a few that come close...
...And that I wish I had a guitar, and I wish I knew how to play it. And I wish I could write a song.
Am going to go shower and have some applesauce and lie in bed thinking...
~Helena Thomas*