The other night as I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep for the heat, I started thinking about music. It has lost it's place in my life much like reading has lost it's place. I spend so much time sitting in front of the television that I have made a permanent dent in my couch. I use the excuse that I am home with a baby, that I need the voices and the talking, but there really is no reason for the TV to remain on in my house from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed at night. That is just pathetic.
I was thinking about how I missed music last night, how I miss the power that it can have. I miss hearing a song that is so perfect that it wraps me up, makes the hairs on my neck and arms stand up, takes me out of myself and the drops me back on the ground too quickly so I feel compelled to play it on repeat for days. I miss feeling lyrics line up exactly with my insides. I miss the way my fingers tap out beats and follow notes without me realizing it, a habit that keeps me awake if I try to listen to music while going to sleep.
I don't want my daughter to grow up and know the tune to What Not to Wear but have no idea who Modest Mouse is.
Yesterday afternoon I was listening to Frou-Frou, something I listened to over and over again last September. As soon as the first notes played I was shot straight back to my first trimester even feeling that same strange feeling in my stomach. I do that, assign certain soundtracks to certain times in my life. Everytime I read The Hobbit I hear The Cranberries playing in my head and everytime I read All Creatures Great and Small I hear the Blues Brothers. Apparently Frou-Frou is the soundtrack of my first trimester.