swings and roundabouts

I was talking about hormones today. How even when I'm crazy joyous they can strike. Like they did yesterday, despair and self pity, to be replaced today by this soaring, smiling joy. Until Bleecker Street. I didn't know I had a connection to that song, not in particular anyway. But I guess the last couple of days London has come up in conversation some, and then the early morning conversation with Bud ... nostalgia strikes hard each time. The first time I heard Bleecker Street was on a mix tape from Em.
My present is good, why does my past always smack me with such longing?

It has been an absolutely magical couple of weeks. Opening universal doors and inadvertantly letting something in... I don't know what it is yet, but I'm certainly enjoying myself more than I thought possible after such a 'moss covered rock' post-Jay period. I will write more about this in the coming days when my hormones have calmed down (cue Hercules Returns quote) and I can do this feeling justice without being Chekhovian and hyperbolic.

And, to add to the swinging melancholy, I have signed up to premium spotify...which has put not just the entire music collection of the anglo world at my fingetips, but here I sit listening to Kispal, while Ed tries to cover his ears to my singing.


After another wonderful skype date with Mum and Sandor (how did she find him, seriously, he fucking rocks) I said at the end that I looked forward to speaking with them both on Sundays... it was our Sunday thing. And I realised again that I talk to Mum because I want to. I write to my dad because I have to. The obligation weighs heavy on me, and I don't know how to lighten it. The weight of it makes me feel guilty and solidly bad and that hardscrabble searching for family is still not complete.