April 27, 2014
I spent the afternoon painting the final bedroom and while doing so I listened to Annie Lennox’s Diva. Few albums evoke a time and place as potently as this one. Fewer still have provided such an essential soundtrack to a chapter of life which, though painful and ultimately self-defeating, remains perversely tender in an ironically poetic way. Every time I listen to it I find myself reconnecting with a part of me I long ago cut loose and relinquished. That said, I sometimes find myself hankering after an earlier time in my life when love was unpredictable, messy and raw.