How silly it is to feel so crushed by the death of someone I never really knew, but there it is. I am crushed. Silly sad and mournful because while I never knew Prince, his music helped me know myself.
(Purple Rain? How many countless nights I fell asleep listening to Purple Rain on my Walkman thinking about slow dancing with boys. When You Were Mine. Starfish & Coffee is still my very favorite song to walk around and sing out loud. Don't even get me started on Darling Nikki, how I wondered for years if he met her in a hotel lobby masturbating with a magazine meant she was looking at a sexy magazine while sitting on some sort of couch in the lobby? Or if she was maybe rubbing the magazine against herself? The logistics, I thought about the logistics far too much when I was younger. I mean, I guess I still don't exactly know the involvement of the magazine.)
Like I said, none of this is new. If you grew up in the 80s and 90s, then Prince surely had a role in your sexual awakening. Wendy? Yes Lisa. Is the water warm enough? Yes Lisa. Shall we begin? Yes Lisa. How could it not?
I have hinted at my love for Prince before, how gifable his eyes were back when we thought that just meant fuckable. He was my spirit animal, that funny sexy little man with the world's best side eye.
Now here we are and he is gone. Suddenly, and nothing feels right. I started a new job this past week which might feel like a non sequitur but it's not. Right. Yet. Nothing is, how for the past few weeks it has felt like the change of something consequential which is maybe why I haven't been writing here. Zoey turns 10 this weekend. 10. I swear that, too, happened suddenly, and I don't know who to eat lunch with at work, who to tell my jokes to, who to say stop. Did you hear? Prince died. Fuck. This can't be right.