I’ve been making wishes all night. I’m conflicted, and if there were a time machine sitting in front of me I’d sprint toward it and dive in. Give me that December 1996 feeling one more time.
I’d been living in Atlanta for two months and it was going terribly. The weight of my internal thunderhead clouds was only slightly distracted by the same two things that have always distracted me. Boys and music.
This time around it was an epic 20-song album I was recording and a 17-year-old boy imprisoning my brain.
This article appears in Aug 12-18, 2010.