Feeling: Dancing-in-sock-feet happy
Listening to: Dixie Chicks, "Hole in My Head"
Reading/Watching: Lareign. Remember Goethe.

Music has always served a purpose.

You can't listen to it just to go, "aww... pretty."

It does something. Causes something. Sets off a chemical reaction in my blood. Every CD I have, I listen to at specific times.

Tori Amos is when I need to be alone and weird. Precious Things is for when I'm pissed off and need to howl.

Fiona Apple is for when I hate boys.

Caedmon's Call and Jars of Clay are for remembering high school, youth group, and Chris. Daring Daylight Escape is especially for Chris. He sang it to me all the time.

Trisha Yearwood is to mourn Chris. The Song Remembers When.

Stroke 9 and Blink 182 are when I'm hyper and loud and also when I'm missing Puppy.

Indigo Girls is when I want to sing. And write.

Sarah McLachlan is when I need to feel safe. And remember my mom. She sounds like Sarah (or at least I think she does). The harmonies make me think of my aunts, all four of them singing in a circle.

Garth Brooks makes me think of Charlie Brown. I kinda hate him for that, since I loved Garth before and now even his best songs are tainted. Except She's Gonna Make It, which is all about the after, not the during.

Dave Matthews Band makes me think of highschool.

Paula Cole makes me angry-dance. She and Fiona and Tori often make a shuffle mix on my CD player.

Ben Folds Five, Travis, and R.E.M. are when I'm happy. Simple happy. Uncomplicated. Dancing in sock feet.

Jazz makes me think of my music boys. Sam, Benny, Drew, Victor, all my music boys. It also makes me want to practice my scatting and piano like mad.

Dixie Chicks is alternately when I want to party solo and when I'm feeling ghost-hugs, longing for a chest to lean into. They're a strange bipolar mood.

Celine Dion is when I'm still a child, but I can stretch my hands above my head and grab the sky. It's powerful.

I forgot where I was going with this.

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