I was a very sick girl. Strep throat.
I know. I let you down. You want to break up with me. You want to leave me for someone who posts in their journal everyday.
The tail end of the strep throat action was not bad…as my voice was even huskier and I took to putting on Sarah Vaughn’s Whatever Lola Wants over and over and singing it around my apartment. Draping myself across furniture. “Whatever Lola wants…Lola gets. And little man, little Lola wants you….”
Then this little Lola got to see her favorite band in the whole world, The Psychedelic Furs. It was phenomenial. I had goosebumps for the entire hour they were on. If you don’t know them…that must change this instant. But be careful, there are magnets in the lyrics that will lure your poor self in…don’t say I didn’t warn you. Ah, smoky voice in a smoky bar…
While languidly lying in bed for a few days, I listened to the chirping of the baby birds living under my air conditioner (it’s apparently the most popular place for birds to live). When I was a little girl my Grandma used to tell me to take the leftover strands of hair out of my hairbrush and put them on my windowsill for the birds to find in the Spring and Summer. She said that birds can use it for building their nests. It’s like gold to them.
I like the idea of trading locks of my hair for their songs. I like the idea of the birds of New York City growing up in strands of my hair.