The responsibility of he who does not know his calling is to make the earth more conducive to those who do.
I do not feel inspired. On the contrary, I feel quite complacent, as if I were in a state of artistic and intellectual vegetation. It is a strange but familiar feeling. Too familiar, in fact.
I am tired but I cannot sleep. I am not unhappy, but still feel depressed, despite a recent increase in my antidepression medication. I feel apathetic and lethargic, as if my actions are of no significant consequence in the universe, and the knowledge that chance can undermine a life’s work in a split second exonerates any remaining motivation to act.
The future seems so far away. I want to run an avente garde salon in L.A.. I want to write. I want to teach. I want to travel the country and, someday, the world. I want to be a chef in a fancy restaurant. I want to be a Marine. I want to be president. I want to be an addict, a felon. A model, a movie star. I want to swim with sharks. I want to go to outer space.
I want to experience life. I want to rule over it, like a king. I want to beg from it, like a peasant; to be at it’s mercy like a prisoner awaiting execution. I want life to shudder with fear as I walk by. I want to eat it. I want to drink it. I want to rip it to pieces, utterly destroy and disfigure it, wipe it out completely. I want to rebuild it and make it beautiful again, to protect it and take care of it.
I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel like a lone lifeboat in the middle of the ocean. I have a lot of great friends, but I seldom see them. I miss the intimacy of being in a relationship, but I am petrified by the thought of getting that close to someone again, and I know I need to focus on myself right now.
I want things to be how they were, but I also just want this part of my life to be over. I’m tired of trying to figure things out and ending up even more confused, of working hard but getting nowhere. Can’t we just fast forward to the days where I am happily married with a beautiful family and a big house and a yard where the kids can play and two nice new cars in the driveway?
Sadly though, I don’t want any of that. I want to be young and reckless and free like I am now. Or, more accurately, like I was.
So maybe quitting my job wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But like my little sister said, what’s done is done, and there’s no undoing. So I guess I’m right back where I started three years ago: living at home, no car, no job, no girlfriend, nothing but a little bit of money in the bank that is all going toward school and bills. No more vodka, no more strippers, no more cigarettes or cursing or parties or one night stands. No more $650 paychecks every other week. But at the same time, it could be worse. I already feel better than I did when I was living on my own. Even though I threw my life away and let a lot of people down, including myself, in a way it feels like this is where I’m supposed to be right now. Anyway, I’m signing up for classes at PCC this spring, and I’ll be looking for a part time job pumping gas or something. I was gonna join the Marine Corps but I have to wait a year because of my seizure disorder. That’s about it, in case you were wondering. Whoever you are and wherever you are at in life, I hope you are doing well. Don’t stress out too much if things aren’t exactly how you want them to be right now, because at the end of the day, it’s just life and one day it will be over, so make the most of it and try to have a good time.
It was about this time last year when we first met. Learned so much about each other and got so close so fast. Remember when we made it Facebook official and then walked around campus holding hands. Remember when you picked me a yellow daffodil on the way to Grocery Outlet and kissed me in the rain while we were waiting for the light to change. I remember sitting in your room for hours at a time running my fingers through your hair while you slept. I want to go back so bad. To that exact moment in your dorm room and everyone else is at dinner and I’m sitting there watching you sleep. God a lot has changed since then. We’ve both changed since then. We used to spend every spare minute together, now I’m lucky if I get to see you once a month. Usually I just come up with some lame excuse like I need something back or I have something you forgot when really I just want to see you again and if I’m lucky we’ll get to hang out for a few hours. But that’s about it. I have no clue what’s going on in your life anymore. I used to be the first to know and now I’m the last. I keep everyone else at a distance but there’s not a single thing you don’t know about me. I used to know you like that too. What kills me is that I still do, but so does someone else. One of these days I’m gonna have to face it though: we’ll never be little kids again.
Just watched Good Will Hunting for the first time. Kind of reminded me of myself in a way. Like how he had a hard time getting close to people and ran from his problems, and how he had a gift he didn’t use and didn’t take advantage of the opportunities in front of him. Got to see from an outside perspective how his stubbornness/pride/whatever you want to call it hurt the people who cared about him. Kind of what happened with me and Jini. Interesting that we don’t get to see whether or not he gets her back. Tempting to think it ends happily ever after but I know better. You can only say sorry so many times.
I had love, and I threw it away.
Watching South Park takes me back to our first nights together, when we would sit on the couch in the Sutton Lobby and kiss and cuddle until sunrise. I remember when you first laid your head on my shoulder; I was too nervous to make the first move. I was so shy around you at first I couldn’t even finish a sentence. I remember our first kiss. You were laying on your back with your head in my lap and I was stroking your hair. South Park was on in the background. We were sharing your red and pink blanket with hearts on it, the one that always left my jeans covered in fuzz. I sat there, gazing into your eyes, as you looked up at me. I was thinking how pretty you were, your big blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. Your high cheekbones and dark eye shadow. Your porcelain skin. The sweet, sincere look in your eyes. I knew there was something about you, something good, something different. I knew I could love you, despite never having loved before. Our faces moved closer, our eyes still locked. We both knew what was coming, but still we hesitated. We waited there for a couple of seconds, with our faces inches apart. It was so innocent, so natural. We had just met, but it felt so right. It was my first kiss, and I was afraid of accidentally doing something stupid to ruin the moment. Then, you lifted up your head, and our lips melt. It was magical. My whole face tingled. “Not bad for my first kiss,” I said. “That was your first kiss? I’m so sorry I took it from you.” “You didn’t take it from me,” I replied, “I gave it to you.” I didn’t brush my teeth that night. I went to sleep with the taste of your lips on mine. I didn’t want to lose that feeling. That night, you taught me how to kiss. Over the next six months, you taught me how to love. And for the past five, I have been trying to unlearn what you taught me. But it seems you taught me too well because, despite my efforts to get over you, I still love you.
Sometimes life feels more like a prison sentence than anything else, all of us here just doing our time, not really accomplishing anything, but desperately trying not to get beat up too badly or raped in the ass when we’re not looking. The jailer put us in our cell to learn something or to do something, or so he says, but we’re not sure what we’re supposed to be learning and there isn’t much we can do. It’s with malicious arbitrariness that he decides who can leave, and when, whether they want to or not. Let the wicked man live a hundred years to ruin the world around him, but take the innocent child before he can say his mother’s name. Some hang themselves in their cells but are spit upon by their fellow prisoners, others manage to escape and are regarded as heroes. I fail to see the difference. I don’t know what I’m in for or how long I’ll be here, I’m just looking for a way to pass the time.
—Some poem I saw on the max
When you came over last week it was almost like old times. We disagreed but didn’t fight, got frustrated but not angry, laughed, talked, walked around the 24/7 Walgreens across the street like we used to, bought peanut butter M&M’s and drank Mountain Dew Code Red (two of the few things we both like), cleaned the apartment we once shared, and just hung out. It all felt so right. Until he came to pick you up and I saw the way you looked at him and I went outside to smoke another cigarette and watched the two of you drive away. I haven’t seen you since but you haven’t left my mind.