Coldplay Is My Pink Floyd

For some reason I can only write while listening to Coldplay, and it needs to be played REALLY LOUD. And I mean, REALLY LOUD, like, the kind of loud where you can’t even hear the phone ring or your husband sneak up on you from behind. I think because all their songs sound the same they blend into the back room of my consciousness and drown out all the distractions in my head.

Currently I’m slightly buzzed on vodka and orange juice – just enough to make my lips numb and to make Coldplay sound REALLY GOOD. Sometimes I think I would make a great alcoholic because I’m a nicer person when I’m buzzed. I was just reading about the Comfort Zone of toddlers in The Girlfriend’s Guide to Toddlers – things like blankies, binkies, and thumb sucking – and I thought to myself, What if my Comfort Zone was a strong margarita? Would that be socially acceptable?

What if, when playground politics stressed me out or I thought there were monsters under my bed, what if I chucked the blankie aside and poured myself a stiff one. It sure does comfort me, and isn’t that the point?

The things that toddlers get away with….

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