It's sad, but true, that one of the highlights of my week is Joey Comeau's "A Softer World" updates. This week's was just what I need, but still can't allow myself:
I'm going to start setting realistic goals for myself. I'm going to
skateboard every day for as long as the weather allows. I'm going to
practice picking locks more regularly. I'm going to improve my French.
I'm going to improve my Arabic. I'm going to learn to fight. I'm going
to live in a decommissioned submarine with my friends. Good morning,
Jeff. Ping. Are we out of toast? Ping. We'll have to send someone into
town. Ping. I'm going to start going out at night, dressed all in
black, with my hood up. I'm going to stand in the shadows where a lot
of people walk past. I'm going to encrypt my hard drive for fun. I'm
going to encrypt the words, "You do good work" and I'm going to send it
to every intelligence agency I can think of.
I'm going to play chess more. I'm going to live my life like it's a
chess game. No. I'm going to live my life like it's a game of rock
paper scissors. I'm going to sit very still in the park until I am
surrounded by pigeons and then I am going to leap up with my arms
outstretched and they will all take flight. I am going to do this to
teenagers in the food court, too. I am going to read books about
economics and apply those principles to my love life. I am going to
write thank you notes on nude photographs of myself and send them to my
heroes. You know what? Forget heroes. I'm going to send them to
strangers. To people who catch my eye. To beautiful broken future best
friends. That is a pretty good way to make friends I think, but maybe
I'm the wrong person to ask.
While I'm still young and healthy, I am going to make a video tape
where I am shaking my head sadly. This is for me to watch when I am old
and I regret everything. Regrets? Fuck you, future Joey. If they ever
make a biopic about me it will be that first dip on the roller-coaster
and it will last the whole movie, clutching the bar, screaming and
crying and terrified, with a belly full of tiny donuts. Today I feel
optimistic about tomorrow.
Things have gotten messy, and I spend too much time debating which would be worse: institutionalization in Hendersonville, or having to go back to Erie without finishing the semester. It's not as if I'd allow myself to take either option, but nor can I stop myself from weighing the two, as if to scare myself straight. Too much caffeine tonight, and not enough sleep. Tomorrow, there will be an oil change and essays on Yeats. Tonight, it's all about Ally McBeal and Dracula-inspired nightmares. Today, I gathered the nerve to e-mail the professor I've deified for three years; it was my first outreach, and probably the only one I've got courage for, but I can't help feeling proud, anyway. Yesterday, I wrote a short story about God and death and piano lessons; now, I'm working on a fiction piece, even though I despise writing fiction, because I want to tell a story about someone named Hannah and I don't know any real Hannahs well enough to write about. It's the first cool night of the season, the first time I got to wear a jacket out. I love this time of year, every year; fall is, once again, my favorite season, until spring comes along. It's good for me to sit and watch the seasons change; it's only a matter of time before I'm forced to follow suit.
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