I'm going to get to my point, eventually - stick with me.
Back when http://www.slate.com was owned by MSN, they had some really interesting, good features that have since played out.
One that I loved especially was a weekly Diary. Five days written by someone. Anyone. One by a sorority girl going through Rush and talking about Cherry Limeades at Sonic. Once a school nurse, sometimes people you've heard of, often people you've never heard of.
The one that stuck with me was written in 2004 by a guy in a band in New York. The name of the band was Les Sans Culottes - and they were a faux French pop band. They sang in French, and Franglais - and they had faux French names - Jean-Luc Rétard (author of the Diary), Celine Dijon, Cal D'Hommage, Clermont Ferrand, and so on.
In 2005, there was a schism in the band. It started, in part because something off the cuff that Jean-Luc said in the Diary about Clermont Ferrand. And since Clermont is, in real life, an attorney - he sued for the right to keep the name, and Jean-Luc and others formed under a new band name - Nous Non Plus - which cleverly means both Us No Longer, and Not Us, Either. So.
It's actually a fairly interesting story, if you want to go down a quick rabbit hole.
And here's a link to the Diary.
I have a few recordings - one from the original-ish crew, pre schism, and one of the later Nous Non Plus discs.
I am partial to one album, and on that album, I love every single song. And that's where I'm going with this long and winding post.
There is one song that pops into my head at least daily, and has since March.
The name of it is Tout Va Bien - it translates into it's going well, or everything's fine.
The first five words are on a permanent loop in my brain:
:Tous mes jours sont pareils
All my days are the same.
The song is the story of a woman who gets coffee every morning, gets on the train to work, and in the crowded train is pressed up against someone she likes. They get off at the same stop, ride the escalator to the street, and he disappears. She consoles herself saying "he wasn't for me", and steps out into the rainy Parisian day.
It's not really sad - it is just a recounting of a daily ritual.
But it's the first five words...
All my days are the same. I can hear it every morning as I make breakfasr. And a million other times.
It makes me want to go to Paris. Where my days would all be very different. Maybe.
It is worth a listen.