Recently in my long drives I have been revisiting music from my past.

Just what does this mean? It means turning the dial to my car stereo all the way down (I have been driving this old car for 10 years, I haven’t bothered to figure out how to turn the after market stereo off) with youtube chewing up my bandwidth playing songs from my past on my tiny little out of date iphone.

I feel so old school if I wasn’t so tired and broken I’d feel rad.

Music from my past.

What exactly is music from my past. Embarassingly it’s the Cranberries, it’s Queen, it’s Tool, it’s Silverchair…It’s music by musicians that D. would call pussies without second thought. So I listen to my music when I drive alone and I can just breath and be quiet and think about life and where it came from, where it is heading and where it is not.

I searched and played MGMT the other day and Kids played and as I drove I wondered if that was considered old. I mean it must have been what…2004? 2006? when I worked to that tune in the tiny Leederville office with young Will. I always liked the line control yourself, take only what you need from it.

For the past 2 days I have really, and I mean really enjoyed-so-much-that-I-wished-I-had-my-noise-cancelling-headphones-on-me that kind of much, Silverchair’s Newcastle live version of Emotion Sickness. I remember I was 18 then, stuck in a dorm in cold Hobart when Neon Ballroom came out. I had taped the fluoro tube over the study desk with blue cello. Cut out the words out with the old in with the new, living with so much feeeeeeel until someone swapped the n and the w to the new to make the word men. But I was such a good, prude, straight student the joke was wasted on me.

I’m not entirely sure why my subconscious suddenly pulled out memories and fondness of this song. And this particular version. But currently it resonates with me as it sounded broken and fragile and angry and frustrated all at once. When burn my knees and pray was sung it makes me feel dejected because I don’t even pray anymore.

And yet…the build up of get up! Get up! sounded like my 18 year old self screaming at me to Get up! GET UP! and so I put my foot down on the accelerator and zoom back home on the freeway to my family of D., I. and Pop and wonder if I am entitled these emotion-sickness now that I am a mother.