They are plentiful and organized.

Ants have taken over our bathroom. We keep attacking with sprays and traps and they keep fighting back. I swear, earlier, I saw one play dead. Another time, I saw one carrying its wounded back to the nest.

CIA? Yeah, it's Melissa. I've got a suggestion for you.

I have come up with a new way to torture people. Sit them down at a desk in front of a glaring computer screen and force them to transcribe hours and hours of audio interviews. For those who have committed truly heinous crimes, make them do the interviews with the really boring speakers who say "like" and "um" a lot, and throw out a lot of jargon and speak incredibly fast. Oh yeah, you're not allowed to slow down the audio, either.

Why hasn't the government figured this one out yet? If you really want to wear someone down, don't just poke them a lot, make them do something that will make them want to tear their own eyes out.

I have been transcribing interviews for over six hours and I already want to change professions. Why doesn't some sort of software exist that can do this for me? My computer can play games with me and tell me what time it is, why can't it transcribe my interviews for me?

If you can organize music autobiographically, can you organize life musically?

I listen to music autobiographically.

I think that's one of those things that sets true music lovers apart from the "let's just put something on in the background" crew. It's not that the content of certain songs reminds me of things that have happened in my life. It's that, when hearing certain songs, I am reminded of sometime in my life.

I still remember the first time I heard Elliott Smith's Say Yes. I was in love. And I remember the feeling of utter joy when I was randomly browsing the vinyl section at a Virgin Megastore (before I even owned a turntable) and came across a copy of either/or. Love. Whenever I hear Everclear's Songs From An American Movie (Part 1: Learning How to Smile), I am reminded of all the long drives I took in the summer of 2005. Piebald reminds me of when I moved out for the first time. I was listening to All Ears, All Eyes, All The Time when I made the trek to my new home, I listened to it when I was homesick and crying, and I listened to it when I moved back home five weeks later. Party Like It's Hot still reminds me of dancing and lip syncing with my friends in a basement, bickering over whose turn it was to play the lead. Counting Crows' This Desert Life reminds me of being fifteen and needing something to listen to at work, an all the weeks I listened to this, the only good CD on the shelf. All the weeks I spent hiding it so it wouldn't make its way back upstairs.

I have songs that remind me of boyfriends, of breaking up with boyfriends, of fighting with my parents, of being angsty and sixteen. I have songs that, a thousand plays later, still make me laugh because they remind me of what I was doing when I first heard them. Just now I was listening to Stickshifts and Safetybelts by Cake and was reminded of how I felt reading the final Harry Potter book, because that's what I was listening to at the same time. In general, I can listen to a song and remember exactly where I was when I heard it first. I can picture it, hear the sounds, smell the air.

Sometimes my musical memory surprises even me.