Of all the records that I “borrowed” from my parents, there is one that has survived in all its fantastic glory. But maybe I should start at the beginning.
Years ago, just as I was moving on from my second phase in music (Maroon 5, in case you were wondering) I started listening to a few rock albums from the eighties. I had the Greatest Hits for Journey and Boston, Styx and Kansas. I had the pleasure of seeing three of those bands live. Granted, they were less a few members but the music was still there.
My writing process consists of myself seated at my desk, whiskey in hand, and a record playing. Tonight I was focused mainly on some of my records that I hadn’t heard in a while. During “Office Wage-Slave 437″ I listened to Strange Desire by The Bleachers. During my bit about A Song Of Ice and Fire I listened to The Fray’s Scars and Stories. And during the Hunger Games I listened to This is War by 30 Seconds to Mars.
But now I’m listening to A Night At The Opera.
It takes me back to a drive out of Arkansas one summer day. It was just my mother and I, and we were listening to Queen’s Greatest Hits. Bohemian Rhapsody came on and I sang along as I often do. When I got to the line, “Sometimes wish I’d never been born at all,” my mother turned to glance my way. She put her hand on my knee and gave me a look that said she hoped I would never mean those words.
I have my hobbies, I have my vices. They’re all too mundane to use those words on, but the fact remains that I’m not perfect. I’ve disappointed my parents countless times, I’m sure. I’ve failed in my personal life and school, and bitched about work every step of the way. Through it all though, one thought is in the back of my mind.
Sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.
I think about how I’ve never meant those words.
MrZakGuy 