It’s 2:17 AM in Canmore, Alberta. I’ve been tossing and turning in bed for hours trying to fall asleep and I finally gave up and put Oh Wonder‘s self-titled debut album on my iPod Classic in the hopes that it would calm me down. ‘White Blood’ comes on (the 7th song in this shuffle) and this image resurfaced in my mind. A girl, slow-dancing in the middle of a house party to whatever music is playing in her earphones. Her love interest finds her through the crowd, takes an earbud and places it in his own ear and they slow dance together amongst the throng of people dancing to a much wilder beat. It’s an image I had tried to write into a romance story 9 years ago. It’s been almost as long since I’ve thought of it and its return has taken me completely by surprise.
Earlier tonight, my mother and I were watching an old classic, When Harry Met Sally, on TV. In my head I’m making excuses for myself. “It’s a chick flick but I like the writing.” “That relationship isn’t supposed to be real life but it’s so interesting to watch unfold.” The idea that some love interest might come and find me on the dance floor listening to my own music is depressingly unrealistic. As much as I want to block out the shitty techno crap, earbuds are not going to cut it at a house party. Love interests can’t be relied upon to show up.
And I’d never dance alone.
Who is the love of your life? You expect some wonderful person to sweep into your life; before you know it you’d find yourself completely upside down without them. It should be yourself. You should be able to choose yourself.
Golden grill of sadness, mid-life wasted youth
Always ends up like this, always gonna lose
Dazzle me, dazzle me, dazzle me with gold…