The summer I was 17, in Provincetown, next to ocean trees and ocean sand, my boyfriend had this song playing all the time, along with the Beastie Boys’ Check Your Head and Liz Phair’s first and only great album, Exile in Guyville. I think I was free in a way that I’m not anymore, or in a way that’s been lost or taken away. Will I get it back? I don’t know. That’s the big question. Love sets you free. I still believe that. The rest is exile. It hurts to think about it. It hurts to not think about it. But sometimes a sad song is part of and accompanies a happy life. “The writer of the journal exists, solely as a perceiving, suffering, struggling being.” -Susan Sontag.