@cloudedwrath / She enjoyed time spent in the record shop, because usually it offered her a good enough excuse to have headphones in and not talk to anyone. It was rude, was what her father told her, and a bad coping mechanism according to Dr. Thompson ( when she’d pointed out he said that to her while gnawing on a pen, which WAS, in fact, a nervous tic, he had promptly shut it down, saying that projecting was also a poor coping mechanism ) — but in there, it was normal, to keep your head ducked down and your mind absorbed by music. HOWEVER, there had been a caveat to Dr. Thompson’s evaluation of her proclivity for tuning out the world. I want you to talk to a stranger, he said. This week, strike a conversation with someone. She hadn’t —— and she saw him again tonight. And she knew he would know that she hadn’t done it and it filled her with so much DREAD, that as she walked past Nirvana vinyls and discounted Britney Spears CDs ( the local store was eclectic, to say the least ) and pointed to the choices of the first person she saw. “ That’s a good one, ” She blurted out, half stammered. “ OK Computer, right? Radiohead? Subterranean Homesick Alien is my favorite song, I uh, I listen to it all the time. ” She did. The feeling of wanted to be taken away, swept away to a land of people where the lonliness she felt was virtually obsolete, and the sameness she though everyone else felt was finally something she could relate to was soothing, to say the least, to someone so lost and disconnected from everyone else. SHE DOESN’T LOOK AT HIM.
