So I started off the morning retelling the story to a friend of mine. I can't remember how the subject came up, but there I went. It started off as just "let me illustrate your point about this person." By the end of it, I felt like shit and was shaking. I really underestimated how upset I still am by the whole thing. Fuck.
There's absolutely nothing I can do about it, for several reasons. Best I can do is learn from it and move on, and I've done my best to do that... but I guess I haven't moved on all that well, judging by my reaction when I made myself relive the whole thing this morning.
I can't remember where I encountered it, but I once heard or read something along the lines of this:
There's two kinds of things I don't worry about: things I can do something about, and things I can't.This definitely falls into the second category. So just let it go, Taco. Srsly.
16 comments:
Eh. I really need to put it behind me better than I have. I did it to myself.
We need to drink. Lots. Bad mojo is in the air.
To Zebulon!
What is this...letting go...of which you speak?
I really need to. There's fuckall I can do about it and dwelling on it makes me feel like shit.
See, we want other people to feel like shit, not you.
Well, on the downside, I can't use what he stole any more, since I can't prove I wrote it.
On the upside, I guess it must have been good.
I've had other ideas since then... one or two of which I've actually gotten moving a little. Hell, I had a new idea this week. Maybe I'll work on that one. Or one of the others. I've got tons of them.
I mean, probably not. But I guess I could. And I'm damn sure more careful where I share them now.
Oh. That guy. I fucking hate that guy. I for one will not let that go until his ass has been kicked to my satisfaction.
There's a bit I haven't ever told you that'd make you even madder.
So... tonight we had Chinese takeout, and my fortune cookie said that a great opportunity would fall in my lap this month. That's good, right?
'72 Layla or '92 Layla?
There is only one Layla. Plug it the fuck back in Clapton!
See, this is why I love you.
Fuck you guys, I prefer the acoustic version. Actually, I prefer the acoustic version of just about anything.
YOU HEARD ME
I think it's a pretty brilliant rework of the song. I just prefer the original. That CD as a whole is pretty good though. I need to break that one out again.
The original Layla made me wish I was Layla so I could fuck this passionate man that wanted me so desperately. The acoustic Layla made me wish I was Layla so I could tell this whiney bitch to fuck off until he grows a pair.
The two versions fascinate me really, because it's the same lyrics, and basically the same melody, just played differently... and yet what the song means is different between the two. The first one is impassioned and fiery, the second one, he strikes me as tired and beaten down by his desire for this woman.
It's the difference in how you chase a woman you're fixated on at different stages of your life, I suppose.
I like both songs, but I prefer the fiery, almost angry version. Maybe my preference will change as I get older, and I identify better with the world-weary version of the song. I don't know. Maybe not. I'm Irish, and we definitely do angry. Then again, considering some of the old ballads, we do melancholy, too. Hmm.
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