2005 was a strange year for me. For a good part of the year I couldn't muster up enthusiasm for the things that used to make me happy.
Whereas everyone else in the world went crazy for making playlists and themed mixes, I could barely stand to read about music anymore. I gave up pretending to care about trends and genres of music that didn't interest me. Most of the year's buzz bands just bored or irritated me. I mean, the Arcade Fire are OK but they're nothing special. I didn't even know how to pronounce Kayne West's name for a good half of the year. Watching Much Music while home for the holidays was like seeing a broadcast from another dimension.
What this boils down to is that I guess I'm officially a boring adult. Heck, I started listening to Bruce Springsteen. But the biggest thing is that I finally stopped worrying about what other people might think. Because it turned out that those people only ever existed in my head in the first place. I managed to find some music I cared about this year and that's the only thing that's important.
I also couldn't bring myself to write whether it was about music or anything else. Why? Who knows. It's like I made some unconscious decision to see what life would be like if I stopped doing the things that made me happy. And guess what? I was miserable. Or at least highly unsatisfied.
In 2005 it seemed like I was trapped in some cocoon or stasis, trying to regenerate my old self back. I thought I needed time to myself. But it turns out the only thing navel-gazing gets you is a stiff neck.
Time to straighten up, fly right and rejoin the human race. Sorry to everyone I didn't e-mail, phone or talk to. I'll make it up in 2006.