This Is Just Therapy

So I dont know who out there is like me, but those of you who are, can relate to the uncanny factor music plays in your memories.  I just got a job at Bed Bath and Beyond and its a pretty good job, but the music really sucks.  I mean that it sucks in the following way: sometimes good stuff will play, like today, When I Come Around, by Green Day, or one time I heard Big Me by The Foo Fighters.  But after any one of these good songs are played, Crappy Music is sure to awaken from it's slumber, find the front door ajar, items missing from the liquor cabinet, and it's daughter pregnant...and believe you me, it is PISSED.

What does Crappy Music do?  Well I'll tell you what Crappy Music does.  Like any normal Crappy Music, Crappy Music gets out his 12 guage, loads it full of himself, and sprays buckshot Crappy Music all over the parade of Tolerable Music.  Tolerable Music knows it is no match for Crappy Music, what with him wielding that 12 guage loaded with himself (yet somehow still reaching out of the barrel, and back around to the trigger...hmmm?) and all, so he just fades into obscurity behind Colbie Callait, that one song from the 80's (And so the conversation turned....until the sun went down...and many fantasies were learned....on that day.  Yeah, that one.), Nickelback, and any other member of Crappy Music's family that looks nice on the mantle in the picture frame that is marketable music.

Now, to be fair, I should explain why I hate the music so much.  The only time I ever listened to Colbie Callait was with an ex-girlfriend, and actually kind of took a liking to her music.  You know, the kind of liking you take to bad romance music when you're in a relationship, but would never listen to if you weren't?  Yeah that stuff.  Anyhow, I have, in the past, thought of myself as a sort of hunter.  This girl and I dated for a pretty long time, and so memories with her went way deep into just about everything I looked at.  Here, I'll give you some examples.

She used to sit sometimes :(

She used to wear shoes sometimes...actually, almost all the time :(

She used to eat sometimes...on a daily basis even :(

You get my drift.  While I joke about those up there, memories of her were everywhere.  I even found a small piece of purple ribbon paper one time, tucked into the corner of my room, about a year after she put it in my room for my birthday, and instantly knew exactly where it was, every memory that occurred around that area...it was just a mess.  So one time, in a fit of glumness, I wrote a poem I entitled "The Hunter".  In it, I allegorically described my life at that time:  A hunter wanders, ever precarious, through a dense fog, and there are noises and visions all around.  Every so often, without warning, and completely impossible to predict, a nasty, evil, grungy and black wispy creature would show up.  The creature would bare its fangs, and the hunter finds himself falling through a long tunnel.  When he lands, he is in pain, bones are broken, and the creature slowly ambles towards him.  He pulls his pistol, and (with a broken hand, mind you), has to dispatch the creature.  Sometimes it was easy, and sometimes I took a few reloads.

Now, here's the deal.  Some memories are easy to kill.  A short walk to the garbage can, boom, headshot.  Or a right-click, delete.  Boom, headshot.  It's all fine and dandy when I'm the master of the environment.  But what about when I'm not?  What about when I'm stuck somewhere and a song I remember playing the first time we __________ or the last time she ___________ or that one day we went to _____________ rears its ugly head?  I can't very well pull my allegorical pistol in the workplace.  Not only would a guy with jeans, dress shoes, a tucked in button-down, and no belt standing in the corner pointing his gun-shaped hand around the room shouting "BLAM!" frighten the customers and lose me my job, but it coincidentally would achieve nothing.

Here's a kicker though.  I find that with each listening of the songs, I can almost noticeably feel less of the fangs of the memory.  Now I mean I'm no longer into this girl, maybe just sometimes into the thought of having someone, but nonetheless, the memories can sting when they're memories and no longer actuality because of your own mistakes, and that you know you've irreperably hurt someone's feelings.  But anyhow, yeah, with each day, I find it becoming more of a song, and less of an ugly creature whose fur inexplicably swirls around as if it were under water, and stands in contrast to all else in the world, black as night.  (Melodrama, I never leave home without it)

________________, I'm sorry for the mistakes I made and that I hurt you.  But you owe me an apology too.  Your music sucked, and now I'M paying for it!