Thursday, May 25, 2006

Sun Comes Up, It's Thursday Morning

I love the Cowboy Junkies. Really love them. And sometimes I forget why I love them so much. Last night I remembered. I love them because they make me happy. No, scratch that. I love them because they remind me how to find happiness myself. I don't know why, but I always feel recharged, empowered when I listen to them. They remind me of the me that I love and occasionally lose and have to find in order to survive on a daily basis. It's a combination of really good music, meaningful lyrics, and simply an association--for me--with basking in independence. I was not introduced to their music by anyone else. No exes in my past are the ones who said, "Hey, you gotta listen to them--you'll love 'em." So I don't think of anyone in particular when I hear their music, and they don't recall memories from any specific era of my life. Since college, their music has been my own personal soundtrack and has some bizarre ability to snap me back into an awareness of myself, a consciousness that reminds me of what I love, want, am, feel, taste, hear, say, think, and choose.

Their lyrics are often simple, but elegant and direct, and they usually have some sort of narrative. They always soothe me. Always. But sometimes I forget this. Last night I listened to my favorite of their CDs, 200 More Miles, from beginning to end (it's a double-length) for the first time in months, and I swear, I almost recognized myself again. There's one song in particular that always reminds me that I truly do love to be single, even when there is a bittersweet edge to that singleness. I used to listen to it a lot shortly after my divorce a few years ago, and I listened to it about 10 times last night and this morning. Again, the lyrics are simple, but they make me so happy.

Sun Comes Up, It's Tuesday Morning
Lyrics by Michael Timmins

Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning
Sun come up, it's Tuesday morning
hits me straight in the eye
guess you forgot to close the blind last night
Oh, that's right, I forgot, it was me

I sure do miss the smell of black coffee in the morning,
the sound of water splashing all over the bathroom,
the kiss that you would give me even though I was sleeping,
but I kind of like the feel of this extra few feet in my bed

Telephone's ringing, but I don't answer it
'cause everybody knows that good news always sleeps till noon
Guess it's tea and toast for breakfast again
maybe I'll add a little T.V. too

No milk! God, how I hate that
Guess I'll go to the corner, get breakfast from Jenny
She's got a black eye this morning, `Jen how'd ya get it?'
she says, `Last night, Bobby got a little bit out of hand'

Lunchtime. I start to dial your number
then I remember so I reach for something to smoke
and anyways I'd rather listen to Coltrane
than go through all that shit again

There's something about an afternoon spent doing nothing
Just listening to records and watching the sun falling
Thinking of things that don't have to add up to something
and this spell won't be broken
by the sound of keys scraping in the lock

Maybe tonight it's a movie
with plenty of room for elbows and knees
a bag of popcorn all to myself,
black and white with a strong female lead
and if I don't like it, no debate, I'll leave

Here comes that feeling that I'd forgotten
how strange these streets feel
when you're alone on them
Each pair of eyes just filled with suggestion
So I lower my head, make a beeline for home
Seething inside

Funny, I'd never noticed
the sound the streetcars make as they pass my window
Which reminds me that I forgot to close the blind again

Yeah, sure I'll admit there are times when I miss you
Especially like now when I need someone to hold me
but there are some things that can never be forgiven
and I just gotta tell you
that I kinda like this extra few feet in my bed.


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