I lye here, in my bed, sick like fucking death. After spending a week struggling to get up, struggling to move, I find out my illness has a name – tonsillitis. It’s kind of nice knowing what’s causing you to wish you were deaderthandead, and this particular killer is in my eyes, also a bit impressive – a step up from the common cold, though nothing nearly as romantic as scarlet fever, still, there’s time, there’s time. So now I’m on a course of penicillin, taking as much nurophen as I can, and drinking as much tea as I can whilst sleeping/crying/smotheringmycat/youtubing various things that popup as recommended videos.
The soundtrack to all of this is The Cure, for though Friday I’m in Love is a constant favourite, my taste for the painfully Romantic side of their music only seems to resurface when I’m in desperate need of something to cry myself to sleep to, which as luck would have it, is exactly what I need right now for inspite of all pain meds i needneedwant to Van Gogh my ear (it’s the best solution for all involved). Of course I’m a tragic Romantic at heart and my parallel love of Schumann and Chopin is no coincidence – give me tragedy and suffering and I’ll eat that shit up. In my more self-pitying moments I imagine myself as Keats (tonsillitis practically is tuberculosis, no?), though of course I haven’t and won’t be telling my respective Fanny Brawne about this particular fantasy as he’d just laugh, the fucker. You keep your mouth shut too.
So anyway, here’s my playlist for ‘times when you want to curl into a ball and die but crave something semi-upbeat to listen to’. If you want something darker I’d go Amy Winehouse, something lighter Vampire Weekend. And no classical music, except Mozart+piano. Of course this is no time to get all judgy about my taste in music – take it or leave it, but leave a sick girl’s musical taste out of it, but, if it is to your tastes, and you ever find yourself in a similar situation, please do use.