Choking on The Ashes of Her Enemy

Yesterday, I was so depressed I could hardly lift my head without wanting to cry.

Many reasons, but mainly because I can't seem to build credit. You need good credit to build credit and if you have NO credit, it's just as bad. I don't see the logic of that. I've managed to pay everything without using credit at all, that should make me seem responsible-ish, wouldn't you think?

Anyway, I was kicking myself because Dad always told me I needed to have a credit card and just buy little things and pay them off so that I could start building good credit. But that seemed to me to be stuff that adults do, and I have never considered myself one of those.

Trying to buy a computer without adult-type credit was a rude awakening to just how adult I've become. And still how childishly I deal with everything. Like wanting to cry when Dell turned me down for a line of credit.

Julie and I always used to joke [during the time we were both teaching] about how adults need to incorporate tantrums more into their daily life.

"BUT I DON'T WANNA GO TO WORK!!! WA WA WA!!! [stomps on floor, rolls around, clings to leg]"

Mine yesterday would have been:

"BUT I WANT A COMPUTER AND I DON'T WANT TO PAY FOR IT ALL AT ONCE!!! I WANT CREDIT!!! BOO! WAAAAAAAAAA....!"

Anyway, it was pretty disheartening and I felt more rejected than I ever have before. And believe me, I sprinkle rejection on my Corn Flakes in the morning--I am well versed in the feeling.

******

I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana lately. I smile because it completely takes me back to a time in my life where I was just so full of angst. I was Generation X, Jr. [being too young to really be considered part of the official Generation X]. I guess it fits me again since I'm fairly angsty these days as well. But I remember I couldn't listen to it for years after Kurt Cobain died.

I remember my sister playing me Nirvana and Pearl Jam for the first time. We were in the back of the Golden Chariot (our affectionate term for our nasty-ass station wagon) and Amy never liked to listen to whatever Mom had on the radio (being an angsty teen herself) and she leaned over to me with her headphones and said, "Here, listen to this--"

It was Pearl Jam's "Alive," followed by "Smells like Teen Spirit" and then "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails.

And I was totally blown away. These songs hadn't made their way onto the radio yet, and I felt that I had just gained entrance to a secret world where THEY GOT IT. They understood how frustrating it was to grow up and feel jaded and weird and out of place and kinda pissed about it all.

Mom (not really accepting anything Amy had to offer)--

"You're not letting her listen to that Devil Music, are you?"

"No."

And it was our little secret. Cut to everyone liking that music (including Mom) and I could listen to it without shame or secret. Doing dishes in the kitchen with my long blonde mane and using every once of energy to head bang to it all. I spent hours a day gracefully placing my arms in first, second, third, and fifth positions; spending all my time thinking about my turnout, my hip placement, my posture, my body...and this stuff was RELEASE. It was alive. And different. And dirty. And I never felt more satisfied to be that dissatisfied.

My favorite Nirvana song of all time is on the Unplugged in New York album. It was the height of their popularity and my family sat around together and watched it. And the last song that they played, after bleeding out of their acoustic guitars was "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?" And at the very end of the song, Kurt sighs. Later, I feel that little sigh spoke volumes about what was happening within him. The exhaustion of it all. The desire to be done and gone. The desire to disappear like the little sigh that had just escaped him, magnified by microphone and pained expression. This is what I consider to be the defining moment of how I see Kurt Cobain. Powerful and captivating, and yet uncomfortable and reclusive about it. Tired. Sore. Pained. Exhausted. Beautiful.

When Cobain died, I felt the first real concept of loss sink in. I wore all black to school. I became known as The Girl Who Wears All Black. But I can't really remember other than a Friday the 13th that I actually wore all black to school.

I'm still mad at Kurt for dying. I'm still searching for that music that just gets it. And that releases it in me. Ani comes close, but I guess they're right about what they say--

You'll always remember the first.