It can be exhausting. Bad days, I can't even listen to that record. It hurts, which is something my friends don't seem to understand. I know it's sick and sad--imagine, music so good it must never be played, touched--don't even look at it! Then there's the fear you get if you've had your heart busted: What if, one day, the White Stripes decided they didn't like me anymore? What if the CD refused to play, and took off with my Vines record? And what if the Hives then started sneering at me from the stereo, blasting "Hate to Say I Told You So" over and over?
I don't know. I guess I'd bleed. So big deal. I've bled for better bands than that. It hasn't killed me yet. It has made me live some.