an explanation of sorts written on top of the last one
Tuesday, Dec. 20, 2005 x 2 - 19:05

So I'm in this little groove of writing and being where I'm almost laughably self-centered but in this detached analytical way. Or whatever. But I sit here at work and suddenly write something and then spend a few hours rereading it and thinking, wow, damn, hot damn.

I knew I was behind, I knew I was doing things as a sort of break-out revert-back-to-the-years-I-"lost" thing but didn't realize how much... I've been hanging out with people younger than me, first the teenagers and college kids in housekeeping and now the 24- and 25-year-olds at the law firm and I become one of them and live their lives. Like them I am now two almost three years out of school and like them what am I doing? I will go back to school and they will go to law school and we are all here for the experience but I am a pretender here for a different kind of experience than them.

But lately the last few months it's been about this thing called "hanging out", perhaps you've heard of it? I've been going to bars and drinking for hours, sitting with friends and getting drunk, cultural events - music movies skating - running around the city late at night, eating at restaurants and spending my money like there's no tomorrow.

Previously: I went to work, I went home. I went to shows and the record store. I wrote, I went to bed, I did my laundry, I went for walks, I cried. Alone.

Last week: hello can I even remember last week? These days I'm busy and have things to do every night or at least every other night and it's fucking fun, it's fucking fun. (I still cry.)

But I didn't realize. This is the kind of life that might appear hectic, maybe too much. A friend I knew way back when, we went out for a drink on Saturday and he thinks I go to happy hour every night after work, he thinks I have this kind of life that I don't have. But maybe I do. Drinking a lot isn't fun and it's a stupid waste of money but maybe that's what I've been doing. Every acupuncture appointment I have - Saturdays - they ask how I've been sleeping and I say, oh fine except last night I got three hours of sleep.

But I have this energy and the opportunity right now and I want this, I want to do things, I want to be in charge of my life and I want to experience the shit I'm experiencing and yes my heart gets ripped out and yes I should be putting money away for retirement but please! I have two more months of this retardedness, this phase was always going to end in February and while it's here I'm here, I'm here.

And what I've been writing I'm sure has been so melodramatically hilarious but maybe there's no way for me to convey how heartfelt so much of it has been, maybe there's no way to explain the anxiety and freakout and uncomfortableness that shoots around my chest periodically, maybe there's no way to describe the homesickness and lifesickness I've been getting but I write these things and reread them and maybe laugh at myself but I remember how terrible it was and I will remember these days, I will read these things and maybe hate them and hate myself but that's fine, at least I'll have this record.

And what I meant to say was, hey, so maybe I'm immature. Give me a couple months?