Do you remember the 21st night of September?

A little Earth Wind and Fire, y’all.

Honestly, I did not fully realize the AWESOME that is Magic 92.5 until just the other day.  I finally listened to it all day today at work, and on my drive home.  Hearing “Just The Two Of Us” and “Let It Whip” just put a smile on my face.  I think my blood pressure dropped.  My mood lifted.

Apparently, I AM Old Skool.  And it’s pretty damn awesome.  I wasn’t bored with what I was listening to (from not being able to update my iPod that often due to my laptop being on its deathbed).  And I didn’t want to yank my radio out of the car and throw it out the window (due to hearing the Black Eyed Peas for the 43rd time in 4 hours).

I even have it on as I’m typing this. 

I love it all – the synth, the bass, the groove, the horns.  Even if I don’t know the artist, most likely I’m at least familiar with the song.  Taking me back to being 5 or 6 years old and listening to the radio on our stereo that had both a turntable AND an 8-track player.  WHAT.

I’ve been writing more lately, at least on this blog.  I suppose my loneliness and missing Eric so much has something to do with it.  *cringes as the peanut gallery says “OMG MER, SHUT UP ABOUT THAT ALREADY. HE’LL BE BACK IN 3 WEEKS!”*  But my writing always came out of being miserable.  I suppose that’s the case for most writers.  Catharsis.  Expressing your pain.   Trying to turn it into something beautiful. 

And of course, now I’m getting more readership, as I become less shy/scared about posting my links on Facebook.  It could be seen as a case of “Look at me! Look at me!”  I am an attention-whore, after all.  (I still have not bought even if my friend Sonya likes to joke that that’s my website.  Sadly, it looks like it’s already been purchased.)  Regardless, I like to think I have something to say.  Something people can relate to.  Something for people to remember me by (not as in RIP MeredithElaine, but like “oh YEAH, I remember that chick!”).    I’ve always been the girl not wanting to burden others with my problems, my sadness.  This way, if you click the link, and don’t like what you’re reading, you can just click the X and escape out of it.  If you want to know, you can know.  If you don’t…well, maybe the next post will be better.

But I always have this feeling at the core of me.  And writing, over the years, has become the way for me to sort it all out.  To make sense of myself.  If I dug out all the notebooks I wrote in (before the internet and the blogs and such), a lot of it would be embarrassing.  Some of it would be downright frightening.  My style has switched up (evolved might be a bit of a stretch) over the years. 

But here I am, still writing.  Still trying to figure it out.  You’d think by the time your mid-30s rolls around, you would have it pretty much together.  I know a bunch of 30-somethings that do.  But this is one 34-year old who is still as lost as ever.

But at least thanks to the great tunes I’m bumpin’ right now (Isley Brothers!), I am more at peace with it all.

About meredithelaine

forty-something. jersey girl in texas via california.
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1 Response to Do you remember the 21st night of September?

  1. Kristy says:

    You’re far more found than lost.

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