You can fall foul of the law, fall to the enemy, buy a TV that has fallen off the back of the truck, fall head over heels, fall pregnant. Statistics can fall, you can fall over yourself to get to something you want and in some countries, Fall is a season. At one of my schools I was dubbed ‘Falling Tree’ because of the way I would faint, straight over. Tim-ber! Some silly boy started it and it stuck for a while, until he moved on to finding someone else’s problems funnier than mine.
That reminds me of a song I used to love. Catch me, I’m falling. A much nicer boy once put this song on a mix tape for me. I love Real Life (the band). And OMD. Ah, those were the days! A little bit of synthie-pop-magic from 1983. Of course, actually in 1983, I didn’t know who these boys were, it took nine more years before I discovered them. Back in 1983 I had heard of Abba and Human League and Joan Jett.
I’m falling down again.
I know it’s a dream
But just the same.
There’s a face before
My eyes are closed
But I can recognise
The danger there.
Slumber comes and darkness falls
And shadows dance across my walls
Today, I’m falling under. I know I will surface again, but today is a day for letting myself sink.
My head feels like a separate entity from my body doing a nodding dog on my shoulders. It is heavy, it hurts. My eyes feel like they are attached to the suck end of the vacuum hose. I woke this way and it hasn’t let me be. This time of day is usually my respite time. My quiet time. My rest and prepare for the afternoon, time. But none of those things are happening while my eyeballs thrum away at the inside space of my head. I’m just here, getting on with today, one throb at a time. Looking out on the white skies of winter in short instalments between shut eyes. My screen brightness is turned down to low. The light hurts today. I type by touch and hope there won’t be too much to edit later.
It all makes me feel nostalgic, it’s like I can slip so easily into the eighties in my mind when the present day is too difficult. I’m back there, somewhere around 1987 sneaking over to friends’ houses to watch secular movies, listening to my walkman under the bed. Casey’s Kasem’s American Top 40. Whitney Houston, Nik Kershaw, mixed tapes and much unrequited love (mostly for the lead singer of A-Ha). I had Minnie Mouse on my wall and Rudi the sausage dog as my unwilling psychotherapist. That dog had to listen to endless hours of my teen angst. Poor sausage!
Nice to remember the old days.
Here is Real Life.