I. Promised. Myself. I. Wouldn't. Cry.
It's getting close to Valentine's Day, and it's hard not to think about past associations. I usually just do the usual: ignore it until it all goes away. Unless I hear "My Funny Valentine," then it all goes to shit.
Someone in my office bought a "cheerful" valentine-themed Starbucks compilation, "Sweetheart: Love Songs". It sounded pretty harmless. Until we played it. Guess which song is first?
I must say that the particular compilation, while well meaning, was less than cheerful. They aren't love songs, they are songs of people in agony. It is an entire CD of SAD. If the CD was a person, it would be someone's bitter maiden aunt, dabbing on perfume that reminds her of a long time ago when she still had the capacity to love. If it was a television show, it would be My So Called Life, gloomy and sighing and leaning up against its locker. If it was a movie, it would be Almodovar's Talk to Her, a fragile soul discovering that the world is not kind to the weak.
Now I'm all, "I promise I won’t listen to sad music and cry. I promise I won’t listen to sad music and cry. I promise I won’t listen to sad music and cry."
It's supposed to work better if you repeat it.