Friday, September 10, 2004
They say them there ants go marching
So I reread the post I wrote the other day, and some of the stuff I said seems to apply even more now to circumstances, which is funny, when things you write seem to frame the recent future anyway ...
The thing about tens and cycles and progress. I decided on my birthday, or rather some time around 6 a.m. the next day when I was still metabolizing the bottle of Jack I drank, among other things, that I'm going home.
Where is home, you might ask? The place where I can't go out in public without seeing people I know. The same city where my entire immediate family sleeps at night. The one with a huge mall for rich people and rats alike with an extra long Washington tree during the holidays. The place where I can drive the neighborhood streets at 4 a.m. and feel like I own them. Where the fact that if you go sit on a park bench you can tell where the grass begins and ends and notice the concrete buildings, traffic and smog and smile through it all. The city with vegan chinese buffets, Dumpling King, Chachos and coffee shops. The city of free art museums on Thursdays. And the Flying Saucer. Who could forget $2.50 pint night and 80 beers on tap.
Home is an apathetic campus, crowded with people who are too busy having a life to give a shit about school. It's a ten minute walk anywhere, one-to-two cigarettes away from anything on campus for smokers. The place where if you win a football game it really is a large victory. A place you've walked around on little sleep, mind-altering substances and drunken missions for sandwiches at the once so precious and torn down a couple years ago Stop 'N' Go.
Home. Nostalgia. Ah.
I e-mailed a friend about being happy about all this when I'm not feeling like a failure. But the truth is, I feel brave for the most part. If I wanted to take risks and be challenged in life, one of the biggest ones you can do is what I have done. Taken chances and now am making plans to clean up my fuckups.
Somebody's got to do it.
So I reread the post I wrote the other day, and some of the stuff I said seems to apply even more now to circumstances, which is funny, when things you write seem to frame the recent future anyway ...
The thing about tens and cycles and progress. I decided on my birthday, or rather some time around 6 a.m. the next day when I was still metabolizing the bottle of Jack I drank, among other things, that I'm going home.
Where is home, you might ask? The place where I can't go out in public without seeing people I know. The same city where my entire immediate family sleeps at night. The one with a huge mall for rich people and rats alike with an extra long Washington tree during the holidays. The place where I can drive the neighborhood streets at 4 a.m. and feel like I own them. Where the fact that if you go sit on a park bench you can tell where the grass begins and ends and notice the concrete buildings, traffic and smog and smile through it all. The city with vegan chinese buffets, Dumpling King, Chachos and coffee shops. The city of free art museums on Thursdays. And the Flying Saucer. Who could forget $2.50 pint night and 80 beers on tap.
Home is an apathetic campus, crowded with people who are too busy having a life to give a shit about school. It's a ten minute walk anywhere, one-to-two cigarettes away from anything on campus for smokers. The place where if you win a football game it really is a large victory. A place you've walked around on little sleep, mind-altering substances and drunken missions for sandwiches at the once so precious and torn down a couple years ago Stop 'N' Go.
Home. Nostalgia. Ah.
I e-mailed a friend about being happy about all this when I'm not feeling like a failure. But the truth is, I feel brave for the most part. If I wanted to take risks and be challenged in life, one of the biggest ones you can do is what I have done. Taken chances and now am making plans to clean up my fuckups.
Somebody's got to do it.
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