An Irrevocable Decision.
Right now I could sit down and tell you the worst moment of my life in graphic detail. It’s so incredibly easy for me to pick this memory out of my head. So easy. Yet, at the same time I could not sit own and tell you what the greatest moment of my life was. I honestly have no clue. This is certainly not to imply that I have never had a moment’s joy in my life I just can’t decipher what among all my memories would be the greatest. Or worse, what if the memory I picked seemed tawdry to someone else? What if it was shallow? What if the greatest moment of my life didn’t define who I am in any particular way?
Terrified by this revelation (which I discovered last night at around ten-thirty) I ran to all my room mates and asked them to tell me the worst moment of their lives. They all had answers ready-and-round-to-go. I asked them about the greatest moment and they were mute. I asked them,
“Why? Why is it so easy to pick out the worst thing that’s ever happened to us and so impossible to pick out the greatest?”
I thought about it a lot. I thought maybe we couldn’t pick out a greatest moment because we hoped it hadn’t happened yet. After all if the single greatest thing that is ever going to happen to us in our lives has already passed, then why go on living? This would also explain why it is so easy to pick out the worst. Deep down, we’ve all got our fingers crossed that the worst has already passed. Maybe it’s selfishness that doesn’t let us pick a greatest moment, or share it anyway. Maybe we want to keep this great thing solely to ourselves, that way the only meaning it ever takes on is our own.
Of course, we all want to share our pain. In a sick sort of way we all want our scars to be deeper than every one else’s. It allows us to feel more justified when we take on an unpleasant emotion, anger, sadness, envy…they’re all okay if you had a fucked up childhood. That’s where society and humanity fucks itself over big time. We make it not okay to feel these emotions and this leads us to all constantly try to one-up each other in the pain department. We’re all aiming for the ultimate justification for when we lie down and die. The ultimate apathy. The irrevocable “I give up”.
Damn. I thought about this in a philosophical way for an hour that night badgering my room mates with it until finally they retreated to their respected rooms with locked doors. I sat on the couch and smoked (twenty irrevocable decisions). Half a pack later I was sick with emotion and philosophy and had to get it all out by vomiting in the sink. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and went to bed hoping that the worst was over and the best was just something to look forward to.
And this is how I speant Monday night.
P.S. On Valentine's day I learned how to blow smoke rings how cool is that?