the end of apathy

I have five minutes until my hair dye should come out. Right now, my head looks like an Exxon mistake, a syrupy blue black swirl to the ends, an erratic hairline of an eerie indigo.

It's seven thirty, and my mascara is already gone. Tonight, the National makes me weepy. I have no reason to be weepy, except that maybe I have feelings again, and this is what happens with emotions. I feel tired, and therefore fragile, and suddenly Matt Berninger singing go ahead throw your hands in the air tonight makes me tear up. Itunes tells me I've listened to this song fourteen times since I bought it, but it wasn't until this evening that I heard that lyric as permission to surrender.

I'll go braving everything
Through the shine of the sun

If I lived in New York city, I would want to be Matt Berninger's pal. I think we are similarly neurotic, Type A and then floundering in private. We could sit on cafe patios tsking at people walking by and then confess to each other feeling guilty for the time we'd wasted.

Oh, you wouldn't want an angel watching over, surprise, surprise, they wouldn't want to watch
Another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults