I was able to get Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, Jonny Lang, and Solomon Burke CD's for a really good price at the store. I walked in to buy one book and came out with 4 CD's. Such a shame!
Music has always been that scapegoat for me, though. When I'm upset and get sick of my occasionally robotic life, I just pop in a mellow CD (usually Django Reinhardt), make myself a cup of tea, and slip on my comfiest pajamas. If I'm lucky, there will be a bright moon. I daydream that I live in a meticulously decorated apartment in Paris. I have a handsome man who can serenade me with classic love songs, wear the scruff 'n horn rimmed glasses look, and shares my love for the night. We both look out at the Parisian night sky and immerse ourselves in the atmosphere while I willingly munch on a delicious flaky croissant. I close my eyes and think about my life. I then open them to find myself in my real room. The hawaiian candle casts a rich amber light in my room and the smell of mango, coconut, and pineapple fills my small space. I hear the gypsy jazz from my headphones and realize I'm back to reality. Instead of hot french men, Paris, and croissants I have James Dean on cable, a picture of Paris in my room, and a stale donought I bought a couple of days ago.
So my life isn't exactly movie worthy, but I am glad to have it.
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