Some things grow with you. Most don't.

Last night I was working on a mini album that is a totally lift of AE. One main staple while scrapping is music, need it, crave it, each CD marks a project with its flavor. Last night I stumbled across Jagged Little Pill. AH! I thought, this is perfect, good chick rock music with good memories attached to it. So into my trusty player it went, and shortly after I remembered why I have forgotten about it. Those songs that once were yelled with glee while driving my '66 Buick special on the way to Lit class, pumped out of an old tape deck that was bolted to my dash, now sound harsh, under produced, and whiny. It was with glee that I removed JLP and put in its place the Queen of reinvention, Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor. Perfect One.

Now I am off to read and snuggle with Alex and Casey by the little of his origami balloons lanterns and Christmas tree that we don't have the heart to put away yet. Perfect Two.

Then I will go soak in a hot tub with the door shut and curtains drawn as I fall into a new book. Perfect Three.