regret

It hit me last night, in a small way, all of the things I might have liked to have done, but didn't. That's where regret lies, right, the things you didn't do, rather than the things you did?

I think about this nearly every day. And it pisses me off, a little, every day. And the list gets longer, every day.

Last night our local PBS channel broadcast a Pink Floyd concert from their Division Bell tour. It was great. A little over the top, but one expects that from Pink Floyd. David Gilmour has the richest, creamiest voice--even hit the high notes. I'm not a rabid fan, but I always liked them.

I never saw them live.

Nor did I ever see Elton John, who I had a crush on back in the early 70s (that is, before the stupid glasses and duck outfits). Pre-1976, he was brilliant. I actually made a sequined pillow with his picture on it. lovedlovedloved him. Back in the day.

In fact, it's getting so I can't remember what concerts I did see. I should be writing this shit down.

And now all these performers who I liked way back when are getting old (hell, even the Half-a-Who just opened in Philly; did I go? No.) ...it may be the last time they're around. But I have other more boring grown-up things to do than get jostled around at a concert.

The regret lingers, of things undone. I'm getting tired of my ordinary life.