I spend a lot of time in my own company, often in cars late at night. I suspect that the process of coming to terms with the break up of my last relationship has been going on in the background without me really have much of a say in how it goes. Such is my refusal to do an extended period of mourning, sitting around with boxes of tissues and sad songs, and getting all Bridget Jones on my own ass.

I talk to a lot of people when I'm physically alone - by MSN messenger (Windows Live Messenger to give it its proper name) and telephone. This year has seen some new friendships form, and has also seen some others strengthened. It's been good in those respects.

Although I think May was a low point (and if I read my own blog, I'll probably find that it was something like April through to early June), generally I've kept myself chipper, with the occasional flashes of downheartedness (except for those weeks where I just HURT, which seem to have stopped happening since I decided to quit my job and force myself to start anew).

Anyway, occasionally something surprises me with the emotion it evokes. I'm currently listening to one of the CDs I bought yesterday. I was out charity shopping it looking for a particular track for someone else. What I failed to mention in my blog on the subject yesterday is that I did snag a few bargain CDs. In fact, one particular charity shop sells its CDs at £1. I can't be held responsible for that. One of the CDs contains Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto (in C Minor). As I was listening to this, which sounds vaguely familiar, though I don't recall ever having listened to it specifically, a feeling of desolation and loneliness starts to birth itself.

I was confused. Why should a bit of Rachmaninoff remind me of sitting around crying into tissues. Why, despite feeling in good and cheery spirits, having sung my way into the office and smiled like the criminally insane at everyone, should I suddenly get a taste of rejection and wailing? Then I listened to what this music was telling me. It was crying out something about "I never needed anyone" and "those days are gone". Rachmaninoff? Writing a power ballad about being alone? That's wrong. Wait.

If in doubt, ask Wikipedia.

Aha... the song All By Myself was BASED on this exact piece of music. So, my memory of Bridget Jones crying her self into a fat-faced bleariness (that's the character's self image, not my own criticism of faces in general) has been reawakened by the original themes which were "borrowed" to make a song of self pity. Since the song is the version of the themes I most know, the original now has the role of eloquently orchestrated film-music-variation on those feelings. Music and feelings can be anchored closely together.

So, it wasn't my own feelings being awakened at all.

It was Renée Zellweger's. I'm still in good spirits. Yay!