I woke up yesterday morning and said, ” Fuck, it’s April 3rd.” I found my self tracing back the days on my calender to make sure none of em had snuck by without me noticing. Sure enough: On Monday I went to class, got high at the pool, took a nap and got drunk playing NBA 2k9; Tuesday I went to class, worked then played beer pong and smoked out of a gas mask at Robbie’s; Wednesday I went to work then got drunk at the Sun’s game, and yesterday I got drunk at the frat, ate a brownie and went to see Adventureland. And all I had to show for it were bruises and an empty wallet. I’ve never understood how to make time stand still, so subsequentially I’ve been suspiscious of those who claim that they will. For those are people who pose like pictures of something they think they should look like. Who alter their styles to emulate the sluts on t.v. When I turned from my calender I began to wonder if the reason my time doesn’t stick (I’ve had previous problems with this, see Young Amnesia) is that I spend all of it questioning and critisizing the way other’s spend theirs. Granted, I’m drunk a lot, but not a majority of the time. Not by like, a handful of hours a week, at least. So what is it? Is it just the nature of things? I suppose it’s easier to understand when you look at the bigger picture; when you think about how insignificantly fractional our existence is, like a drop of rain in spring time Seattle. When you think about how many of us are all heading in the same direction, racing towards the same destination. We’re all taking different means to get to the same end. And by the way, I find that those who refute this follow an ideaology contrived before we, as a species, knew that the world was round and that fucking with people who weren’t white was wrong. But shit, if they are right, hell is going to have a long line to get in. I spent the rest of the day depressed until I talked with someone we’ll call (to protect his identity), DadJuan. Thank Ala, Abraham and Buddha for that man, Jesus Tapdancin’ Christ. ” This lack of supreme mission in our seemingly insignificant existence gives us an excuse to live for something better. Like the pursuit of love, happiness and the truth. To live and strive to be the best fuckin’ person you can. If the purpose of all of this was just to get into heaven then the beauty would be forced and fake.” The way to make your time stick, he told me, is to accomplish the aforementioned and then revisit the time you spent doin’ it as much as you can. Then I got an email from the bobJuan, ” oh my little brother on the path… As you know, i know about funk/anxiety/paranoia and clinical depression. These are all good things, reminders of what we need to remember about life! I know each time I would be “there” it would seem permanent and pointless, and at times, breathless, frozen still. It took many times for me to recognize that is not the case, at least the permanent part. The pointless part is important. We need to remember the pointlessness of everything! It’s not much more complicated than that, though we seem to like things complicated, I know I do.” ” You’re at the cusp of a new life. Go find all the women you can. Play and work and love and play and don’t give a shit about not remembering it. You’re 19 fuckin’ years old, quit talking like your 45. Take it easy.” I got back to my dorm room with a renewed appreciation for life, as if I had been struck by something. An epiphany wouldn’t be the right thing to call it, as I decided to get drunk with my roommates that night. But there was something. Although I felt guilty tossing back that first brew, I had a great god damn time doing it. And the next morning I woke up with the best fuckin’ hang over I’d ever had. Another bobJuan quote: You tell yourself. You tell yourself into it and you tell yourself out of it. Once you see that you can tell it, that you are telling it, you can’t wait to start telling it well.
Filed under: Nights with Patches
