Sunday, September 8, 2013

Thursday's Child Is Full Of Indignant Rage, Don't Tell Me How Far I Have To Go! A Rant, And A Magic Cure Courtesy of Grouplove's "Ways To Go" by Allison

So there were poems or nursery rhymes that I totally, completely either interpreted in the most tormented of ways,
or they actually are awful and people should stop passing these horrors down,
generation to tortured generation.

Specifically, in my case,
There was the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead :
("When she was good, she was very good, when she was bad she was horrid.")

Because I had aforementioned curl, and was baby narcissist, and so I was like "Am I good?
Horrid? Probably both?
Horrid is a harsh word!""

And I seriously loathe that poem about what type of person you are,
 based upon the day of the week on which you are born -
 "Monday's child is fair of face . . ." -

I HATE that one.
I am not born on a Monday, so no fair face?
Not on a Tuesday, so not full of grace?
At least I escaped Wednesday, those poor people are full of woe.
 I'm not Friday, so am not loving or giving.
 Not Saturday, so I don't work hard (shut up).
 Not Sunday, so I am  neither bonnie nor blithe.

I'm Thursday's child, and I have far to go.

And OK fine,
I realize that one could interpret that as meaning I will go far in life.
Young Allison did not internalize it that way.

First, I got the words wrong and thought it was "Thursday's child has a row to hoe."
Is ludicrous of Young Me,
but I totally thought that was the verse.

That I was doomed to be a farmer in the heat hoeing rows,
which I did not then (or now) have a clue how to do.

I was like, "Bogus!"
" Can we pretend I was born on a Monday? Tuesday? Please?"

Even when I figured out it was "Thursday's Child has far to go,"
I was/am still protesting that curse.

Young Me was trying to find loopholes,
ways to change my birth certificate to Monday,
escape clauses,
evidence that poem was written by a Lying Liar Who Lies -

I did NOT want to have far to go.

In my head, far to go meant
"The starting line is here. You, Allison and the other Thursday people, walk ten miles backwards, and then catch up to us"
Or I envisioned myself at the bottom of a well,
 or having to climb a mountain,
 or all sorts of dramatic, ludicrous, idiotic dilemmas that I was cursed with because of the Thursday's child fate.

(Note: I did learn, while searching for possible other versions that were cool to Thursday people, using the DEWEY DECIMAL SYSTEM so clearly Ye Olden Days, that it traces back to Ye Oldener Days poem based on Ye Oldenest Days fortunetellers.)

(Subnote: This is why I do not go to fortunetellers.)

I overthought this stupid nursery rhyme, clearly.

But even now I want to go back in time (I always find new reasons for that!) and tell the poem man that he better write about something less horrible and confusing to Thursday children.
I don't think he'd listen to me,
Because he would likely think I had far to go in understanding what he meant in his children's rhyme. 
I would still argue with him, though,
because his poem is arbitrary, and how does he know anything?
And he is not The Boss Of Me and how far I will or will not go.

As a good deed to children then and forevermore, while back in time  I would also request poem man tell all his lullaby or nursery rhymes writing colleagues to STOP.
Stop writing the horror-filled children in peril being pecked at by birds or left in trees stuff.

(Seriously.  Most lullabies and nursery rhymes are evil and scary and creepy and wrong.

And once I got past absurdly overanalyzing nursery rhymes and taking them a bit too personally?

It turns out I did NOT get past it.
My brain will not let it go.
I don't care, my strange and winding brain clings to the early offense,
 and outrage,
 and being told I had to go far to do something I was sure I didn't want to do.

But why am I now thinking of my indignant rage over Thursday's Child mysterious curse?

Duh, I was listening to music.

Awesome music, by awesome band Grouplove.

Am fan, saw them last year, will see them soon at Most Excellentest Music Festival, yay and whee to that.

And the first song off of their new album, "Ways to Go," is magic!
It is a great song for many reasons - their infectious joie de vivre, even when all's not well yet is delightful to me.

And its magic!  They have solved my lifelong Thursday's Child thing.

Not kidding.

"I've got a little bit longer, I've got a ways to go . . ."
Grouplove's song makes it sound like, no big deal, we'll get there, lets be awesome now.

"Even when I can’t see my rearview/ Even if I call just to hear you/ Even when I sleep all day"

 Let's play some fab music and be cool and fun, ways to go, no biggie.

I am not exaggerating when I say this song, while on repeat with me chair dancing with my big purple headphones on, wormed its way into my strange and winding brain, and somehow met up with the part of my brain that is all mad at the Thursday's Child poem.

And as I imagine Grouplove does often, they saved the day !
(In this case, muted one of my long-standing rants)
Their awesomeness and super fab song with a great hook and ways to go, whatever, won!

See you later, stupid mean days of the week rhyme, I have some good music to listen to.

And now I have been using my newly Zen on the Thursday's Child thing as an excuse to listen to "Ways to Go" on repeat while writing this long rant on the thing I just said I was totally over.

So maybe not totally over it, but still. I've got a ways to go. . . .

I'm off to plot how to make the fact that all three of my girls were born on Saturday work to my benefit.

And as always, am benevolent benefactor:

This live version of Grouplove's "Ways to Go" (because I get to see them live soon and I am giddy and they are fab live) and the video.

Live at Bing Lounge:

and video: