At times like this, music is the only thing that can lift the spirits, allowing you to shut your eyes and let some sun-soaked melody flood your brain and alleviate the spirit-crushing misery of another sullen, cloudy day.
In the interest of not inviting my own bodily harm at the hands of my acquaintances, I have decided to approximate summer to the best of my ability even when the weather outside is driving me to listen to The National and brood about the void of human existence.
I turned up the volume on my stereo, and a devil’s choir of dissonant riffs and unearthly howls poured out. Nothing made sense anymore, except this. The raw, seething hatred spoke to me in a way that my friends and family could not.
She may look like a cheerleader, but she’s a proper, hair-chewing, boy-crazy nut job, manically scribbling in her journal with a pink pen, dotting her i’s with hearts and day dreaming about that slightly geeky guy from her algebra class.
Her love songs are great, but her breakup songs are the best breakup songs I’ve ever heard. They make your pain seem epic and noble – like you’re the last person with a heart of gold left in a world of unbelievable idiots.