“…what I am is what I am, ’cause I does what I does – and maybe I’d relax, let my breast just bust open. My heart’s made of parts of all that surround me… and that’s why the devil just can’t get around me. Every single night’s alright, every single night’s a fight – and every single fight’s alright with my brain.” – Fiona Apple, “Every Single Night”
When I was 12 or 13, Fiona’s first album came out and I remember thinking that this was a person who really got it. She referenced Maya Angelou and FELT ALL THE THINGS, EVERYWHERE! … and I just really appreciated it. She used “big words” and made soap float upward in her “Criminal” video and wore body suits to appear naked when she really wasn’t.
Then a couple years ago, I saw her in concert. And watched her devolve on stage, eventually feeling everything so much that she just rocked back and forth in a corner.
I’d never considered that Fiona Apple was just plain crazy.
It occurred to me as I listened to “The Idler Wheel…”, Fiona’s latest album, that maybe we never outgrow our craziness. We feel everything because we have to. There are no other options.
I mean, I’d rather feel something than nothing. It implies presence to me, though I know that’s not exactly true. I am here – and for now, I feel it. Even when I am merely going through motions. Which is a delicate balancing act, if you think about it. And there is very little that is delicate about me.
(Except for maybe my fragile heart. But even Fiona’s got me beat on that one.)
Last week, I met a guy who was tipping more toward the side of “you might be legitimately crazy” than “Zooey Deschanel quirky”. He told me that a dog looked like Jennifer Lawrence, or maybe Renee Zellweger, in the eyes. So I guess I can be grateful that even though I am an angsty 16-year-old at heart, I am able to stop myself from making statements like that.
…And now back to our regularly scheduled craziness. I am off to bed, as I am getting sickly – and if this didn’t make sense, it’s because I am delirious. Have a good night, everyone.