Not to self-pity but last week I had to go down to a place I donâ€™t like and sit through stuff I canâ€™t stand. To get through this ordeal I played too much â€œYeezusâ€ and â€œMy Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasyâ€ over and over again, top volume, Highway 101. Every time â€œPowerâ€ came on I hit repeat.Â â€œSend It Upâ€ â€“ like five times. Now Iâ€™ve got to come down.
Sigh. I know I listen to a ton of rap â€“ usually to help me blast through. Itâ€™s become indispensable to my job. Then, afterward, Iâ€™m like, wait a minute, I canâ€™t believe I bought into all that Maybach machismo bull. In the real world, I donâ€™t want to be around anything like that attitude. I hope my kids donâ€™t listen to my playlists. Went to a womenâ€™s college, write books for children. I drive a Volvo! Only too late, itâ€™s in my head. Iâ€™ve got several choice lyrics about Kanyeâ€™s anatomy/ego stuck on my inner soundtrack.
Help! I need a musical palate cleanser. Because right now I feel pissed at the world because itâ€™s not mine.