Looking at old playlists is similar to looking at old photographs of yourself.
I manage to capture who I was and what I was feeling with every mess of songs:
In love, hopeful, miserable, imprisoned; they're all there.

And now I am at the edge of a precipice yet again, staring into the wild unknown and wondering how I did come to find myself here.
It is not as if cannot remember what has happened--that history is stored deep in my internal hard drive just as surely as my last playlist.
But unlike all of my musical madness, my life doesn't have a designated theme, a predictable order, or, God forbid, the foresight of what is coming next.


I just don't know how this is going to turn out.
I keep forgetting that I'm in charge, that it's up to me.

And so it is....

When I get to the end of the road,
And all that is behind me is dirt, and rocks and man eating beasts,
don't worry.
Gasping through the darkening before my eyes,
Clutching my arms to my chest, elbows tucked for the free fall,
there I went.
Did you see me go?

Like a boulder, tumbling,
Never knowing its greatest strength.

Mother, get the needle, this job is too big for that bandaid.