  Lately, I've been feeling really immature about my taste in music. I feel so hypocritical, because I don't always practice what I preach.
Perhaps the most obvious thing is that I love John Mayer. It makes me seem so usual , so nothing-new. I embody the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old girl who obsessed over meaningful lyrics and falls in love with their author. Even as I'm writing this, I find it hard to believe what makes me so happy could be all that bad.
And is he really? "This is a song about talking to the person you haven't even met yet... and maybe their rolling around in the hay with someone else, but there not as good as you'll be. You just gotta wait your turn. He's out there; she's out there, their just learning what to contrast you against. " It's like he's speaking right to me. And if the music moves you, why is it wrong? If I've come to this realization, does that turn me full circle?
I'm getting ahead of myself. See, I used to think that if I liked the song-- the music-- than that was all that mattered. Where did I get so jaded? When did I start judging people by the bands they liked? Does this now mean Nicole's love of Good Charlotte is valid? So now, if I think that all that matters is the given music, what the fuck does all my self-discovery via music mean?
Oh my god, this last year can SO NOT have been a waste of time. And now I'm more confused. I truly wish I could stop being so analytical about little thing in my life. Here I go again; if everything matters, than shouldn't I analyze? Affectionately... Anna the Confused 
