how to go back again
(On a tangent note, I did not fail to remember that today is May 15th, and, in remembrance, wore drawstring pant on my head this morning. I do not like citrus fruits and, to date, cannot bring myself to consume one.)
If I had taken today's (5/15/02) lessons more seriously, it is likely that a great many things would not have turned out as they did. I would have more hours and fewer scars. More people would trust me. My parents would hate fewer of my friends. But hours are expended anyway, and collagen is replaced and recycled. People forgive and forget. Usually. These are all likely matters. Likely. As time approaches infinity, predictability diminishes to zero. Multifactorialism, the butterfly effect, etc. I'll reiterate an irony: I used to hate the thought of statistics. But who doesn't love certainty? Yet I do believe this complexity is beautiful, also. So I'd better start using words like "likely."
Last night, I didn't have anything to do. No one wanted to see me and I didn't want to see anyone. There was nothing to do except study or watch movies. But being stuck inside on Saturday night gets me way too depressed. Especially when it's only eight o'clock and it's still light out. I thought about the things I had to accomplish and I thought about the fight this morning and I thought about how I had failed to make anything of my afternoon. I found one of my old straight razors in my sister's room; I believe I will keep a close eye on her this week. It was the last straw, though. I left alone.
I was in one of those situations where I couldn't decide if was lonely as hell or desperate to get away from everyone and everything. I drove through Royal Oak, only to decide that I'd rather spend some time at Xhedos. I began to drink coffee (which is instantly painful now...my stomach's gotten that bad lately), and I didn't care that the cup wasn't bottomless. I didn't care that the girl made me pay a cover. I got lost in acoustic music, and lyrics that didn't really seem to paint a big picture. So I took the songs line by line when the words were intelligible. My mind felt smeared across time, and an intense feeling of peace, at length, overtook me.
I stayed an hour, exactly. The third band had heavy percussion, and the sound was invading my biorhythms: my heartrate was increasing and becoming irregular as it so often does. I was ready to leave, but my time and money were well spent (if that is possible).
I didn't know where to go next. I was unusually tired for an evening only half-spent, but I decided to give Royal Oak a second chance. I took just long enough to walk to the car; to figure out the massive junction at Main, Detroit Zoo, I-696, and North Woodward; to find a space off of an alley next to a park you're familiar with. Just long enough to walk Main twice before returning to look over the fence into the park where you spent a very warm summer night. But what you actually hope will happen is you'll make out a blurry, familiar face in the half-light, exchange words, and walk ten paces in opposite directions. Or, thenafter, simultaneously turn around to face one another again and walk to Caribou to drink more coffee and talk of more silly familiar things.
Hoping. And I used to hate statistics.
If I had taken today's (5/15/02) lessons more seriously, it is likely that a great many things would not have turned out as they did. I would have more hours and fewer scars. More people would trust me. My parents would hate fewer of my friends. But hours are expended anyway, and collagen is replaced and recycled. People forgive and forget. Usually. These are all likely matters. Likely. As time approaches infinity, predictability diminishes to zero. Multifactorialism, the butterfly effect, etc. I'll reiterate an irony: I used to hate the thought of statistics. But who doesn't love certainty? Yet I do believe this complexity is beautiful, also. So I'd better start using words like "likely."
Last night, I didn't have anything to do. No one wanted to see me and I didn't want to see anyone. There was nothing to do except study or watch movies. But being stuck inside on Saturday night gets me way too depressed. Especially when it's only eight o'clock and it's still light out. I thought about the things I had to accomplish and I thought about the fight this morning and I thought about how I had failed to make anything of my afternoon. I found one of my old straight razors in my sister's room; I believe I will keep a close eye on her this week. It was the last straw, though. I left alone.
I was in one of those situations where I couldn't decide if was lonely as hell or desperate to get away from everyone and everything. I drove through Royal Oak, only to decide that I'd rather spend some time at Xhedos. I began to drink coffee (which is instantly painful now...my stomach's gotten that bad lately), and I didn't care that the cup wasn't bottomless. I didn't care that the girl made me pay a cover. I got lost in acoustic music, and lyrics that didn't really seem to paint a big picture. So I took the songs line by line when the words were intelligible. My mind felt smeared across time, and an intense feeling of peace, at length, overtook me.
I stayed an hour, exactly. The third band had heavy percussion, and the sound was invading my biorhythms: my heartrate was increasing and becoming irregular as it so often does. I was ready to leave, but my time and money were well spent (if that is possible).
I didn't know where to go next. I was unusually tired for an evening only half-spent, but I decided to give Royal Oak a second chance. I took just long enough to walk to the car; to figure out the massive junction at Main, Detroit Zoo, I-696, and North Woodward; to find a space off of an alley next to a park you're familiar with. Just long enough to walk Main twice before returning to look over the fence into the park where you spent a very warm summer night. But what you actually hope will happen is you'll make out a blurry, familiar face in the half-light, exchange words, and walk ten paces in opposite directions. Or, thenafter, simultaneously turn around to face one another again and walk to Caribou to drink more coffee and talk of more silly familiar things.
Hoping. And I used to hate statistics.