The Comedown, Bush style

I really miss Bush. I really miss the Nixons, the Toadies, Weezer, Pearl Jam, NIN, old school Marilyn Manson. I really miss that feeling of being young, the world ahead of me, immortal. I miss that feeling of lying down on my blue carpet, listening to music while doing homework. I miss, more than anything, the days when I had six classes, volleyball practice and rehearsals, and STILL found time to get into all sorts of trouble with my friends. I miss the boundless energy of youth.

What I don't miss, however, is the horrible uncertainty that comes with youth. The body I took for granted. The innocense lost. The way I took everyone and everything for granted.

Would I go back? Hell no. Would I wish to relive even a day of that life......I don't think so. I wouldn't want to tarnish it with any knowledge I have now, because I would have made different choices. And that would alter who I am right now. While I have my faults, some glaring, some kinda cute, I am me.

And I don't regret, for one fleeting moment, being 16 and convinced the best thing for me to do was to take my clothes off every time I heard "Comedown" by Bush on the radio. Yes, even driving 75 on my way to Louisville with Kary, singing at the top of our lungs, topless. Ah, the wonders of having never been arrested......

Sometimes I really miss the feeling of home, the home I grew up in. I now have a new home, a new life, a new family (quite a few, actually). But there are times I stop and think about that girl I was. I think about Camille, Kirkwood, Southern Comfort and Mellow Yellow. People's Park and The Westside Disciples. Cruising on Friday nights, confronted by rednecks wanting a look or feel or to break something. Large belt buckles and too tight jeans, showing what they were seriously lacking. My friends and I, the original mall rats, bunny ears and McDonald's chicken nuggets. Green County Chapel Roading It, our code for "oh shit, we're gonna be late for curfew...Tory, YOU drive", swerving to miss deer on unpaved back roads. Shoneys after prom.

The boys making fun of me, throwing things at me. Holding the walls as I walked by, afraid my size 28 men's jeans waist would topple the building. Bubba yelled as I went from class to class. Crying every morning in front of the mirror, hating who I was and what I looked like. Wanting to be done but never knowing how to end the pain. Deciding to quit eating, maybe that would help. Angry music played to lessen the screaming in my soul and I doubted everyone and everything, including myself most of all. Telling myself it would all make me stronger, that I had to leave that fucking hell hole if I wanted to survive.

But I did survive. I survived all the touches I didn't want, all the glares as I walked down the halls, all the insults thrown at me. Being the only popular girl to be harassed as much as I was. Because I never took it lying down. I never verbally sucked the guys off and told them they were great last night playing ball when they really sucked. I never wanted to date them, look at them, impress them or like them. And for that, they made my life a living hell.

But I survived.

And sometimes, when I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for the "good" old days, I remember the pain of living back then. I remember the rumbling in my stomach as I wanted food but couldn't. Standing in front of my full length mirror, naked, crying and hating everything I saw. That goddamn teen angst poetry that I can laugh at now but kept me sane back then.

Would I go back, even for a day.

Not a chance in hell.