Friday, April 28, 2006
Hi: A few things.
Feels like every time I want to write I don't have time or thoughts or privacy -- one of the three.
I've been writing regularly in my private diary, so I'm getting it out, but I haven't had the opportunity to translate all this shit into a blog.
Dig: I've been at this job for two months, so I've got plenty to say about that.
I've got plenty to say about lots of things.
Oh, yeah, and I've fallen in love. With a guy I believe I referred to as crazy on this thing a few months ago -- "or at least, on par with me."
Turns out we are crazy. But the good crazy. I believe there is good and bad crazy. And we're crazy about each other, and that can't be bad.
I feel like so much in my life has changed I wouldn't be able to begin, while so many things are, at least in the fact that they are somehow tangible to all the old things, the same.
I think about so many millions of things a day that I either stay up having long talks about them, or fall fast asleep and wake up unrested, like I've had nightmares, only I can never remember them.
I'm reading The Basketball Diaries. It's rad. And I think Jim Carroll is my hero in a way, even though he wrote it when he was a self-admitted junkie.
He says in the book he's doing all the junk, dope, codeine, uppers downers, grass, and drinking just to stay sane.
And I can relate to a lot of the things he is thinking, except I don't really do that stuff, and most of it I've never done. It's funny how people can come to the same conclusions through different experiences, while some can reach completely different conclusions through the same experience.
My sisters are my best and oldest friends. No one I will ever know in my entire life will ever know what we have known and experienced together. At least, I've felt that way in-and-out of years when I've seen friendships come and go that I thought would last, even years deep into them.
But as my dad was telling my boyfriend, Chris, the other day, we all grew up in the same house and came out completely different. With our own individual minds and opinions and quirks and hobbies and ideas and just, differences. Then Chris told me he saw it like maybe we all took different pieces of my mother with us in life. Something like that.
I do know that a lot of times I feel restless, and helpless. Like the world is so big and there's so much I want to do other than to get by. And I know there is so much more I want to do than copy someone's shit. Or The Man's invitation to a Gala so it can be copied and filed.
Or dropping some monkey paper trail crap into some secretary's inbox. And yes, I said "secretary." I know in some circles it's not proper to say that word in social circles.
I also never thought I'd know a secretary to turn down her nose at a mailroom girl.
Guess there's some sort of hierarchy in everything. A pecking order.
The other day this guy I work with quoted James Dean, or prolly misquoted him because this guy's a fucking idiot. But anyway, he said he had an epiphany, and asked us if we knew what an epiphany was, what the fuck, and then said he decided his purpose in life was to drive across the country and live like he was going to die tomorrow.
So this girlfriend of mine and I started joking about he could run a travelling hot dog stand. Hahaha, fuckin A.
Then he says, no, but that's what he's going to do. He just needs a few more years to plan for it first. Maybe somewhere around '09 he can start living today like he's going to die tomorrow.
Pfff. What a motherfucker.
Anyway, as you can see I'm a little jaded, but damnit if I don't find the humor in all this fake ass shit with all these self-important people who are just somebody's bitch. A spoke in the wheel.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I ended up in this mess, and trying to forge a plan to not be like them. To see if that's possible, while reminiscing back about the time before I crossed some line and started thinking about insurance and evenings off and bonuses, when all I want to do is roll out of bed and shower and take a ride somewhere in my torn jeans with my wet hair dripping down my shirt like I just don't give a fuck.
I miss it, man.
Feels like every time I want to write I don't have time or thoughts or privacy -- one of the three.
I've been writing regularly in my private diary, so I'm getting it out, but I haven't had the opportunity to translate all this shit into a blog.
Dig: I've been at this job for two months, so I've got plenty to say about that.
I've got plenty to say about lots of things.
Oh, yeah, and I've fallen in love. With a guy I believe I referred to as crazy on this thing a few months ago -- "or at least, on par with me."
Turns out we are crazy. But the good crazy. I believe there is good and bad crazy. And we're crazy about each other, and that can't be bad.
I feel like so much in my life has changed I wouldn't be able to begin, while so many things are, at least in the fact that they are somehow tangible to all the old things, the same.
I think about so many millions of things a day that I either stay up having long talks about them, or fall fast asleep and wake up unrested, like I've had nightmares, only I can never remember them.
I'm reading The Basketball Diaries. It's rad. And I think Jim Carroll is my hero in a way, even though he wrote it when he was a self-admitted junkie.
He says in the book he's doing all the junk, dope, codeine, uppers downers, grass, and drinking just to stay sane.
And I can relate to a lot of the things he is thinking, except I don't really do that stuff, and most of it I've never done. It's funny how people can come to the same conclusions through different experiences, while some can reach completely different conclusions through the same experience.
My sisters are my best and oldest friends. No one I will ever know in my entire life will ever know what we have known and experienced together. At least, I've felt that way in-and-out of years when I've seen friendships come and go that I thought would last, even years deep into them.
But as my dad was telling my boyfriend, Chris, the other day, we all grew up in the same house and came out completely different. With our own individual minds and opinions and quirks and hobbies and ideas and just, differences. Then Chris told me he saw it like maybe we all took different pieces of my mother with us in life. Something like that.
I do know that a lot of times I feel restless, and helpless. Like the world is so big and there's so much I want to do other than to get by. And I know there is so much more I want to do than copy someone's shit. Or The Man's invitation to a Gala so it can be copied and filed.
Or dropping some monkey paper trail crap into some secretary's inbox. And yes, I said "secretary." I know in some circles it's not proper to say that word in social circles.
I also never thought I'd know a secretary to turn down her nose at a mailroom girl.
Guess there's some sort of hierarchy in everything. A pecking order.
The other day this guy I work with quoted James Dean, or prolly misquoted him because this guy's a fucking idiot. But anyway, he said he had an epiphany, and asked us if we knew what an epiphany was, what the fuck, and then said he decided his purpose in life was to drive across the country and live like he was going to die tomorrow.
So this girlfriend of mine and I started joking about he could run a travelling hot dog stand. Hahaha, fuckin A.
Then he says, no, but that's what he's going to do. He just needs a few more years to plan for it first. Maybe somewhere around '09 he can start living today like he's going to die tomorrow.
Pfff. What a motherfucker.
Anyway, as you can see I'm a little jaded, but damnit if I don't find the humor in all this fake ass shit with all these self-important people who are just somebody's bitch. A spoke in the wheel.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I ended up in this mess, and trying to forge a plan to not be like them. To see if that's possible, while reminiscing back about the time before I crossed some line and started thinking about insurance and evenings off and bonuses, when all I want to do is roll out of bed and shower and take a ride somewhere in my torn jeans with my wet hair dripping down my shirt like I just don't give a fuck.
I miss it, man.
Labels: Change, Relationships, Restlessness, Writing
