Please press play and read.
No copyright infringement intended. Just an appreciation of music and lyrics to set a mood to my mood.
I wrote this opening statement for my blog post this week:
I'm killing myself this week. My heart is literally aching.
I left it. Went to go pee. Washed my face. Brushed my teeth. You know, bedtime routine. I came back. Got comfy in bed. Set to write again. I read that opening statement.
"GAD FRIGGING ZOOKS," I said.
Realizing it was, or at least sounded like, the beginning of my online suicide note. Not at ALL WHAT I was going for. I mean, yes, I am feeling (a touch) sad-ish. AND. My heart is aching. BUT. It's simply because I've been listening to achy, longing, heart wrenching, love songs alllllll week. As in, I am (figuratively) "killing" myself because I am making my heart heavy. SO heavy.
I mean. I have had a terrible week. An emotional. Gut wrenching. Soul sucking. ShXtty week. BUT. I've also had singing in my car. Dancing in the bathroom. Dog giving me kisses. Week.
So, it's good. I'm good.
I had another "love" dream a few nights ago. As in, Morrissey (who was no where to be seen in said dream) last night I dreamt somebody (other than my Mother who loves me unconditionally and sometimes, when they're not being pissy teenagers, my children) loved me.
Loved loved me.
I loved loved them back.
It was super keen.
(And, true story, they didn't once flick the water off their wet hands at me, as they were walking past me, because I happen to be standing in front of the tea towel at the time they needed it-and not in a fun, playful, kind of way that might make you smile, even laugh, EVEN feel loved. Who would even?!)
So, yeah, love. LOVE.
That dream. Sigh again.
This time, during the dream and when I woke, I remembered who I was dreaming about. (Not like a few posts ago.) Which almost ALMOST makes it more heart wrenching.
Thing is. It was good. SO good. And easy. The love thing. WE made it seem like the most lovely, uncomplicated, WITHOUT complications, thing EVER to exist. Dream or not. And, if I never have another (love) dream in the remainder of my toss-y turn-y nights I will leave this existence contented in the fact I was loved-truly loved. Sort of. For one night. Or, at the very least, 15 minutes.
I could get used to the idea of subconscious dream-y love.
So, I was trying to be all serious and take these pictures today because I thought my hair looked all cool and snake-like and then that happened, tongue and all. What can I say, she loves me. AND, that IS what I was wearing on my feet 'cause I just did the treadmill in a vintage dress, tights, banana socks, and sneakers.
Check out my Instagram, too. In which, "she" shouldn't boast, but will, I'm failing to post somewhat regularly.
All images copyright ©2018 PamperedTart. Steal my images, or my artistic concepts, and karma will bite you in the a**. Hard.