These days I’ve been drinking a little more, and smoking a little more, and smoking a little more, and sleeping a little more, and cursing a little more.
Don’t let em lie to ya kids, I’ve spent my days in a lazy haze and accomplished what I set out to accomplish. I have enjoyed my time, and wasted it at my will and not that of some over-powered opinionated majority. I have seen what I wanted to see and experienced what I though necessary. Life is overwhelming, don’t make it worse.
Nothing satisfies me more than satisfaction, and as nothing outside of myself delivers this sense of pleasure, I continue to pleasure myself.
Coming back from the dead and trying to start where I left off is much more difficult than I had imagined, but progress has always been slow, and results are not visible until after the aftermath.
My accomplishments are limited, and as I watch my creativity creep away with age, I wonder if this absence of inspiration is not due to my progression through time as much as it is due to my failure to stay focused.
And now I’m 26, which feels no different from 25, but it’s hard to believe that ten short years ago I was 16.
I have a tendency to distance myself from what may be an answer. Perhaps I am content in my discontent.
And sometimes I think when I can no longer bear to think, I think of you, and proceed knowing I don’t want to be that.
Once again, cramped in a small space waiting for my roommates to arrive to cramp themselves in an even smaller space. I have no room to complain.
Running low again on supplies, I am growing sick of always worrying about restocking. Oh well.
Reruns of Cheers wreak havoc on my me time, my hour of creativity. But that’s not altogether fair, because I have me time all the time which I think may be the ultimate problem.
And now I know that my home shall always be by the ocean, and although I do miss the mountains, I have more of an appreciation for the Gulf.
There is always time for music, and when your favorite musicians are being offered up live, it is necessary that you attend, no matter what the expense is. I finally had the privilege of seeing one of my favorite early nineties bands for the first time recently. A few nights before, Eddie Vedder was booed by a Colorado audience for stepping on a Bush mask on stage, and I just knew that Houston would ban them, but Pearl Jam arrived, and instead of Bush, Eddie decided to abuse Bill Gates’ mask instead. They put on an amazing show, and even played my favorite song, Rear-View Mirror. The show ended with the Neil Young song, “Rockin’ in the Free World” – classic! Nothing could have made me happier, except for a surprise appearance from Mr. Young himself, which didn’t happen. I even bought myself a concert t-shirt, which is something that I haven’t done in ten years.
Hurricane Claudette was a disappointment for me, but perhaps if I owned a beach house I’d feel different. I love when the weather is bad, but as a little girl I used to run crying to my mother every time the southern sky saw a darkened cloud. My older brother would only make it worse by teasing me and telling me he saw a funnel coming down, and I believed him every time. Now, we both have reoccurring dreams about tornadoes, which we’ve discussed on occasion. Guess it’s safe to say that we both have a sick love affair with Mother Nature and her stormy weather, and while I was not always a fan, I overcame my fear and fell in love with what I used to loath. So now that I know it’s possible, what do I do about it? Unable to do anything else with my time besides watching my anti-cable TV, I am sinking lower and lower into my zombie-like state of wasted air. But it was that last summer that sparked the change and made me rearrange, it was that one summer that rendered me somewhat ineffective and altogether cold. In spite of it all, the rivers, and mountains, and hikes, and bonds, I knew that I would never again see the world in the same naïve way as I always had before. I knew that I had brought an end to my idealistic view of the world and all of its inhabitants. Soul-searching sucks if done correctly, and although I have uncovered the truth about myself, I repeat, once again, what do I do about it? I used to find inspiration in my want for higher ground. I had my eye on traveling the states by vehicle with my closet friends and we would “highlight the map as we go” but now we are no longer friends due to time and death, and even if they were around, I no longer crave the open road. I no longer crave snow-capped mountains. I no longer crave higher elevations. Oh, how we do grow, but screw that, because I’ve grown into a wasteland of good intentions. I’ve matured into boredom and accepted the act of becoming accustomed. But what else was there to do? One of the rules at the Bunk House was that you couldn’t burn incense or candles because they were a fire hazard, and recently, a flyer was slipped through the front door of my efficiency apartment reporting that my lease states that candles and incense are forbidden, and a fire marshal will be checking apartments for these items in the next coming weeks. Memories from yellow rock. Once again, I find myself stashing, not only herb in my closet, but also a collection of soothing fragrances too strong to be concealed. If found, I could be evicted.
The way things change, I can never predict, and all those verses devoted to shelved dreams, what to do with them now? I think I should never want to be there again, there in the dark, there on the edge, there on the brink of disappointment, but yet “back in the day” always seems extraordinarily perfect when the future is at hand. Here I am in an unknown life losing interest, losing perspective, losing optimism, losing faith, losing friends, losing face, losing. Chipped away from the aftermath of adolescence and baptized in the youthful idealism and carelessness of young adulthood, I am now left with hasty decisions and pessimism. At least I am aware of inevitable outcomes and glorified fantasies not meant to be acted on. I am certainly aware of discarded aspirations, but without misguide goals and childhood dreams, what else is left? I suppose I should find a husband, have some kids, get life insurance, and prepare for death like any normal citizen of society, but I’m not ready to settle in for a lifetime. I still dream big. I still want.
We venture forward moving further and further away from one seemingly important time freeze. Handcrafted land markers are set forth behind each celebrated step, and then they are replaced and repeated.
I am not above the remaining portions of mankind, but as we gather together in a blind attempt to capture or expel something more than what is obvious, we finally surrender to ignorance and welcomed defeat. I am now standing on the outskirts of a remodeled future, but you know as well as I know that the future never really arrives – a mirage in disguise. Void of spring showers, and as a dangerously dry summer hangs heavily above our heads, I look to the start of hurricane season for release. Conversations about the weather and record high temperatures remind me of when I ventured outside of this metropolis and headed for higher ground. A retreat to the mountains where I used to be a stranger, introduced an entirely different lifestyle far removed from surf boards and seagulls – far removed from humidity and hurricanes. But the cold was bitter and the wind set fire to my exposed ears. I was ill prepared for summer snow storms. Intoxicating, nonetheless, how drastic is change when miles are conquered. The remaining portions of mankind extend to regions of the earth where I could never in one lifetime venture to see, and perhaps those less familiar with the modern world could explain to me the equation for importance. Perhaps I am much too complicated to understand simplicity. Have we grown stagnant throughout the course of growth, and since the period of those enlightened, have we advanced in our thoughts? Stationed among intellects and aspiring minds, I look for traces of individuality I admire and strive to accomplish as best to my ability, but it occurred to me that I fail to make connections in my attempt to socialize because strangers are often intimidating and friends are sometimes nothing more than acquaintances.
What were you thinking you selfish…? If you knew the pain of the living so well, how could you impose more pain upon those you knew and loved? We already know the cruelty, loneliness, and meaninglessness of the world, you didn’t need to remind us and make our suffering worse. Perhaps if you could have given the world a chance, you might have found something worth living for. But these words have no meaning anymore, and your life is wasted by the ignorance of your own hands. The thought of you makes me sick to my stomach, and when she talks about you over and over and over again as if new memories are still being made, I cringe at the self-developed picture I created of you in my mind. The noose, the reel, the plunge, the decision. I didn’t eat for days, I think. I cried only in private, which was very seldom, granted, but my stomach remained uneasy, queasy, and unsettled. Suicide. What a perfect way to end the day, a self-inflicted prey, useless and drawn astray. Tainted buildings dwell in tainted towns where local derelicts still see you around, but I am a stranger to these desensitized freaks, alone in my nature where charity weeps. Alone in my nature I silently keep.
This is just a quick note to say that I have revealed the unthinkable to “you know who” and have found new meaning to friendship. I guess it’s safe to say that you and I are strangers now, and you will probably never know exactly how I feel – maybe you have a clue, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re too wrapped up in your new plastic, loveless, artificial life. Speaking of life, have I told you how permanently you messed up mine? The face of my “lifelong” best friend is also the face of my lifelong enemy, and I am lost in this mix and somehow despondent to you and your existence. Can you see the change in me? You must have calculated the occurrence of my resentment for you when I hit adulthood. Are we really this messed up? I will protect those I love from the truth, but as no one was able to protect me from you, including myself, I dedicate my dreams, accomplishments, failures, and future attempts to overcome your influence to the little girl who needed attention.
Nothing used to give me more pleasure than to sit alone amongst myself and chase away the night with anti-social creativity. I should be so much more advanced than this, but I forgot to grow with my self-given talent. Two years are stagnant in my mind, body and soul, and after the aftermath, I am left stripped of my motivation, enthusiasm, and youth. My life hit a climax and now I am wrestling with preparations for a future that may never arrive. Perhaps it has passed me up all together. I am stuck in a prologue and unable to find meaning or closure in any aspect of my hasty chapters. I am at a loss. But much as changed, life has evolved, and as the presence of time continues on its obtrusive plight, I am distracted by the inevitable. By nature, I was inclined to record the minute details of my generic life, and with a touch of charisma and a knack for relating my experiences to an invisible audience, my instinct tricked me into believing that I was actually on to something. Now, I am inclined to ignore the importance of capturing a seemingly unimportant day. I am caught up in excuses and minor responsibilities that shouldn’t keep me from accomplishing more than what’s required. How expensive is inspiration these days?
I am trying to make friends, but everybody my age is married with children. I can’t relate. Stuck in my own world again, I pacify myself to pass the time. Jumping over imaginary barriers, I relish in the idea that I might be going somewhere. My generation is losing its youth, and as I compare my accomplishments with that of others, I lose much needed esteem. I don’t want to be married. I don’t want kids. I don’t want a nine to five job. I don’t want to grow up. So, what is left to do when “the norm” is not desired? I’ve bided my time crossing state lines and sleeping till three. I’ve worked meaningless jobs and took college at a slow pace as an effort to postpone decision. I’ve outdone myself by stepping up to the plate and taking a dive when I never really learned how. I’ve watched death creep through my life like a disease with no cure. I’ve chased ghosts and wasted energy on negative outcomes. I’ve seen passion come and go and realized the many sub-categories that go along with the territory. I’ve experimented with all those enticing sins they tell you to stay away from. I’ve watched time fly by in a series of freeze frames and fragmented illusions.
Enticing as it seems, I am resisting moderate dosages of mind-altering temptations. Not to say I haven’t indulged myself, for that would be a fib, but tomorrow arrives early and time must be mine to sleep off. On nights like this I am reminded of the way sunlight dances through tree branches alongside a busy highway. Vision is blurred, but the source of the reason for obscured sight is too inviting to deny. And so tonight as I look for my friends, I realize that they are spread across boundaries where I have never ventured, and I know that some of these kindred souls I shall never see again. I look to those closest in range to me and wonder why they have become strangers, but in that same thought I remember why. A three day distance between here and there has been simplified to one hour, but characters well-defined in my past remain extras now. I am losing my allies one by one. My life is no longer here, but here I must stay until I establish credentials worthy enough to claim. I face the hour by the minute, and as lines deepen on my tarnished face, I am reluctant yet hopeful to grow.