Self awareness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be . . .

I am crap at dates. I’m surprised I made it through AP World History. At the same time, the most peculiar sense memories evoke precise moments in time. As though some giant deviant crystallized certain songs and scents like so many pieces of amber or ginger in an effort to tease me with the pieces at later dates.

I think it’s quite telling that most of what I remember of my life consists of very embarrassing moments. I’m afraid I’m going to reach the age of eighty and all my life will consist of at that point are fumbled friendships and memories of my every mistake in life. Hopefully all of the other socially awkward and hyper self aware geeks in the world share my torturous talent for instant embarrassment recall. If nothing else, it might make me feel slightly better.

Music, especially, seems to bring out strong memories of phases in my life, which is odd since I just discovered the wide world of music a relatively short time ago. I never got the chance to truly explore the infinite varieties of man made sound until high school, and even then it didn’t become the soul searching occupation that many teenagers build it into ’til college. Once I got into it, though, my love of all forms of art exploded into the usual obsession with bands, artists, and songs. Alternative, classic rock, folk, synth pop, and the list goes on.

. . .
Urk. Brain melt. I just saw the new Spice Girls music video. You’d think they would have left the crack back in the 90’s but it’s all still there. The crackiness and the cheesiness. Zomg. I want to shoot whoever directed that video. Shoot him/her with a shot of anti-crack.

On another note, I’ve now got Restless Buttocks Syndrome. Oh, joy.

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