There is this song called “Portland, Oregon” by Loretta Lynn and Jack White that really has nothing to do with Portland at all.  But it always makes me tear up, and that’s dumb.  Because it does not have anything to do with me or the life I have “lived” in Portland.  I have a secret cache of songs like this hiding on the iTunes. It’s sick.

My iTunes tells me I have not heard Little Elf by the Out Crown in over two years.  There was a good year where this song was pretty heavy in my life. Not a good year, the BEST year.  Yeah I associate it with a girl. Well, a couple of them.  The beginning and the end.  The beginning of the  end.  This was an “our song” before this was a my song.

But I am listening to it now, and it’s a no-one’s song.  I have put it on repeat, and the absence of nostalgia is acute. The absence of trips to the Oregon coast, to the middle of America, to New York, to London, to Greece, from the dry warm Mojave desert to rain soaked Avenue A, laughs and screams and twinkle eyed optimism and blood boiling rage and sullen resentment. It’s not there.

Good.

Well, now it’s baseball season, so whatever I was doing before will now go out the window.  Why did I re-re-resign up for Netflix when I know I won’t have time to sit around watching movies anymoregod DAMN it.  Tomorrow is tuesday and the game starts the same time The Best Show starts.  This conflict will happen, oh, nearly every week.  DAMN it. Say good-bye to listening to The Best Show Livenand now whatgod DAMNit – don’t check your who is haunting your Facebook friend requests, just don’t.   I’m not going to like my dreams tonight., that’s all I can say  Though to be fair, though, when do I?  The only time the do not lack the luster of a life I whouldwouldcould lead I am throwing myself down the stairs of sorrow. Thanks for the tip, Brainy. Or TRIP.  Oy.

Though Mid Monster just died. Maybe I will have nightmares about being a junkie.