Tuesday, September 07, 2004
You Say It's Your Birthday
Hey, remember last year when I wrote about being 23 like Bridget Fonda in Singles? The whole living in airlocks with five kids bit.
Well, it had me wondering about 24 last night, or this morning, sipping on whiskey and staring up at the moon as if it were going to give me some profound answer to a question. Or magically transport me back to the pier on the Vaughn Bay underneath a blanket of stars. A birthday wishing heaven.
I wondered what is the voice of the 24-year-olds. The Truth of My Youth. What lessons have I learned to apply to this? This afternoon I looked over something I wrote in my private diary toward the end of summer camp. It was about growing up and realizing it, because one of the things camp taught me was that I'm not a kid anymore, and haven't been for some time.
You'd think that part of adult life would be possessing the learned ability to prevent yourself from emotional trainwreck. And then you remember the number 10 Tarot cards, their cyclical nature reminding you the apple doesn't ever fall far from the tree, and the feeling of coming back to where you started really can be a natural progression. The word progression implies progress, doesn't it. It bears it, anyway.
I hope this makes sense, and isn't all just vague philosophical dribble, but if it is and you are somehow still reading it, it's my fucking birthday and I'll do what I want.
There's a reason for this. There's a reason for this mood. There's always a reason. I don't feel like being original, so I'll just share with you something I wrote the other day:
"It's almost as if I feel the forces of nature working for and against me. Good against evil on the universal scoreboard. Cara's roommate kicks her out (-1). Cara's broke (-1). Cara's coworker gets mono so she gets to work an extra shift (+1). Cara gets ready and realizes she can't find her shoes. Spends last $15 + several quarters in change on shoes (-1). Cara is overjoyed when she receives $50 tip (+1). Cara's favorite coworker asks her if she would be interested in checking out her three bedroom house and possibly moving in (+1). Cara gets flat tire at 3 a.m. on way home from work (-1). Air pump at gas station is broken (-1). Nice drunk couple stops to help Cara (+1). Cara gets home safely and goes to sleep (+1) ... and it continues."
Excuse me while I deploy some of this negative energy I am experiencing into cyberspace. I apologize in advance if it hits you on the ass. I am homeless, or would be with the exception of a few very generous persons. My car is overheating, and I haven't been able to drive it for a couple days. I'm broke. I'm also stubborn, apparently, since I could have gone back to Houston last week but refused to bolt under the pressure. I'm broke (did I mention that?), and my current job only gives me part time hours while my previous job gave me more than full time, allowing me to afford all my bills, my car, food and school. The job thing wouldn't bother me; in fact, I would gladly get a second job, if not for the present problems of not really having a concrete living situation or an appropriately working vehicle.
And I'm lonely because this is the first birthday I have been away from my family ever.
Brutal. Bitchy. Honest. Above all, I'm finished. I'll try to come back with something positive eventually.
Hey, remember last year when I wrote about being 23 like Bridget Fonda in Singles? The whole living in airlocks with five kids bit.
Well, it had me wondering about 24 last night, or this morning, sipping on whiskey and staring up at the moon as if it were going to give me some profound answer to a question. Or magically transport me back to the pier on the Vaughn Bay underneath a blanket of stars. A birthday wishing heaven.
I wondered what is the voice of the 24-year-olds. The Truth of My Youth. What lessons have I learned to apply to this? This afternoon I looked over something I wrote in my private diary toward the end of summer camp. It was about growing up and realizing it, because one of the things camp taught me was that I'm not a kid anymore, and haven't been for some time.
You'd think that part of adult life would be possessing the learned ability to prevent yourself from emotional trainwreck. And then you remember the number 10 Tarot cards, their cyclical nature reminding you the apple doesn't ever fall far from the tree, and the feeling of coming back to where you started really can be a natural progression. The word progression implies progress, doesn't it. It bears it, anyway.
I hope this makes sense, and isn't all just vague philosophical dribble, but if it is and you are somehow still reading it, it's my fucking birthday and I'll do what I want.
There's a reason for this. There's a reason for this mood. There's always a reason. I don't feel like being original, so I'll just share with you something I wrote the other day:
"It's almost as if I feel the forces of nature working for and against me. Good against evil on the universal scoreboard. Cara's roommate kicks her out (-1). Cara's broke (-1). Cara's coworker gets mono so she gets to work an extra shift (+1). Cara gets ready and realizes she can't find her shoes. Spends last $15 + several quarters in change on shoes (-1). Cara is overjoyed when she receives $50 tip (+1). Cara's favorite coworker asks her if she would be interested in checking out her three bedroom house and possibly moving in (+1). Cara gets flat tire at 3 a.m. on way home from work (-1). Air pump at gas station is broken (-1). Nice drunk couple stops to help Cara (+1). Cara gets home safely and goes to sleep (+1) ... and it continues."
Excuse me while I deploy some of this negative energy I am experiencing into cyberspace. I apologize in advance if it hits you on the ass. I am homeless, or would be with the exception of a few very generous persons. My car is overheating, and I haven't been able to drive it for a couple days. I'm broke. I'm also stubborn, apparently, since I could have gone back to Houston last week but refused to bolt under the pressure. I'm broke (did I mention that?), and my current job only gives me part time hours while my previous job gave me more than full time, allowing me to afford all my bills, my car, food and school. The job thing wouldn't bother me; in fact, I would gladly get a second job, if not for the present problems of not really having a concrete living situation or an appropriately working vehicle.
And I'm lonely because this is the first birthday I have been away from my family ever.
Brutal. Bitchy. Honest. Above all, I'm finished. I'll try to come back with something positive eventually.
Labels: birthdays
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