Can't Leave Well Enough Alone
“Samuel rode lightly on top of a book and he balanced happily among ideas the way a man rides white rapids in a canoe. But Tom got into a book, crawled and groveled between the covers, tunneled like a mole among the thoughts, and came up with the book all over his face and hands.”
I have not been sleeping properly. You might say I am nocturnal. I spend most of the nighting fighting myself into sleep, which I only reach when Dawn's rosy fingers begin to peel back the night. So I sleep through the day and get nothing accomplished. It is true that I am sick. Flu. Earache. Period cramps, et al. And just to spice things up, a little MSG migraine for dinner. So I have every right to lay about and not work on my papers, learn German, find a job, etc. But I haven't been doing anything for a month now and it is starting to work its way into me. I am not just loafing around, I am mentally lazy as well. Everything in me is beginning to atrophy. I have all the time in the world now to think about whatever I want and therein lies the rub. I am not a particularly useful person. No horrible job seems to break me and my stubbornness grows harder every year. I have one useless degree and I can't seem to force myself to finish the other. I am unemployed. I am rather pathetic for an adult. 25. I can't keep pretending I am still in that transition stage anymore.
In 1971, HST wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a harsh epitaph to the 60's and everything it stood for. Further proof that love and peace had failed came in 1972 when Nixon was elected president. I don't think Hunter was ever prepared to live in a world that had Nixon in power. In January of 1973, the anti-inaugural protest broke into factions and turned against one another. The last protest was over. For Hunter, this was the end of the great coming together and the beginning of pettiness. Anyone who lived through the Summer of Love only to find himself in a Nixon administration has the right to go mad, to become the animal Hunter was so famous for being.
You have heard it everywhere, over and again, even when we were freshmen: America's obsession with style over substance is indicative of an empire preparing to collapse. Sometimes when I watch mainstream television, I hear actors make statements about women being pretty and greed and sex and it all seems so silly. Who lives in that world? But then I remember that I used to. I used to ache to be thin and buxom and tan and loved because being beautiful meant being loved. This of course was not the way I thought about it, but it is at the heart of it, all my petty desires to own and possess. But I was 16.
When I hear all the flak about disgraced politicians, the up-skirt gossip of Hollywood alcoholics, the obsession with celebrity, and the entitlement that walks hand in hand with materialism ... well it makes me think that if I ever had a child, I wouldn't know her. When I look at all the crap my sisters grew up with, cellphones and everything electronic, and I think back to my favorite toys when I was a little person, my stuffed bunnies that I still own and the china faced doll my grandmother gave me -- will she ever play hula-hoop or will she require a wii for even that?
Sometimes I catch a whiff of air that smells just like the first day of high school. It was the first time I got to pick what I wore to school in 5 years. I was so excited, so proud, so aware of being a teenager, a high schooler, with all the baggage and all the hope. I had hopes.
Here is one: It is night time under photo reactant, black light, glow in the dark, day glo and christmas lights and mirror ball glitter. Small stuffy room, driving music but laid back feeling. I am witty and charming and wanted. I can control just by lowering my eyelids and looking sideways. I drink a jello shot. And I am not afraid.
Maya was the person who made me feel most the way I wanted to feel. It is selfish and true. And maybe that is all the reason for why I love her. And I don't think it is a bad reason either. With her, I was invincible. Full hilt highschool, milkshakes and Disneyland, endless waves of laughter and the salty smell of sea soaked sweat, mini skirts and red paint. And we road the rollercoasters together. Drunk on ambition and adrenaline and the certainty that with enough gumption, moxie and cleavage we would make it. We chewed more than we could swallow and choked on life.
But that isnt true either. Because I was just beneath the surface terrified and hurt and pretty sure that sooner or later someone was going to find me out. And what if it was Maya? So I did scary things to impress her and sometimes I was heartless and cruel so she would love me.
And those are the things I will always remember and never regret.
But here are regrets:
-I was never a cheerleader
-I was not single for more than a month in high school, and from 14 to marriage, I never have been.
-I did not go to a rave
-I did not drink
-I never took drugs
-I was a prude in whore's clothing
-and those three combined alienated me from my friends who though I would disapprove of them, and they were right
They say that it is what you did not do that you regret the most, but that isn't true. If I could go back, I would like to soak up more experience because marrying young means missing out on a lot. But I don't regret that. I don't even really regret what is on my list. But sometimes late at night, I wonder.
In truth, the things I regret most . . . they all had penises. I am pretty sure that I would be a pretty okay person, probably even a better person, if I had skipped the two biggies. Sometimes I smell Roy's aftershave (it isn't common) or the acrid smell of cat urine that always reminds me of Seth (not of his smell, but once a cat pissed in his house and no one could find the source so the smell just sat there), and I get hot with anger. With myself. I hate myself for being with them. I keep forgetting that back in high school, I didn't have many options. How was I expected to find someone who was hot, intelligent, funny, kind, liked good music and knew how to kiss? Still, why did I keep settling for guys who met none of those qualifications?
Twenty-Five. Quarter Century. Undeniable Dilemma.
Maybe it is because I have been sick and haven't gone out or even been to the gym. Maybe it's because I wasted two years on a meaningless degree and then failed to find meaning when I was rejected by Teach for America.
I need to be in the desert at night. I want to be a crime.
I have not been sleeping properly. You might say I am nocturnal. I spend most of the nighting fighting myself into sleep, which I only reach when Dawn's rosy fingers begin to peel back the night. So I sleep through the day and get nothing accomplished. It is true that I am sick. Flu. Earache. Period cramps, et al. And just to spice things up, a little MSG migraine for dinner. So I have every right to lay about and not work on my papers, learn German, find a job, etc. But I haven't been doing anything for a month now and it is starting to work its way into me. I am not just loafing around, I am mentally lazy as well. Everything in me is beginning to atrophy. I have all the time in the world now to think about whatever I want and therein lies the rub. I am not a particularly useful person. No horrible job seems to break me and my stubbornness grows harder every year. I have one useless degree and I can't seem to force myself to finish the other. I am unemployed. I am rather pathetic for an adult. 25. I can't keep pretending I am still in that transition stage anymore.
In 1971, HST wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a harsh epitaph to the 60's and everything it stood for. Further proof that love and peace had failed came in 1972 when Nixon was elected president. I don't think Hunter was ever prepared to live in a world that had Nixon in power. In January of 1973, the anti-inaugural protest broke into factions and turned against one another. The last protest was over. For Hunter, this was the end of the great coming together and the beginning of pettiness. Anyone who lived through the Summer of Love only to find himself in a Nixon administration has the right to go mad, to become the animal Hunter was so famous for being.
You have heard it everywhere, over and again, even when we were freshmen: America's obsession with style over substance is indicative of an empire preparing to collapse. Sometimes when I watch mainstream television, I hear actors make statements about women being pretty and greed and sex and it all seems so silly. Who lives in that world? But then I remember that I used to. I used to ache to be thin and buxom and tan and loved because being beautiful meant being loved. This of course was not the way I thought about it, but it is at the heart of it, all my petty desires to own and possess. But I was 16.
When I hear all the flak about disgraced politicians, the up-skirt gossip of Hollywood alcoholics, the obsession with celebrity, and the entitlement that walks hand in hand with materialism ... well it makes me think that if I ever had a child, I wouldn't know her. When I look at all the crap my sisters grew up with, cellphones and everything electronic, and I think back to my favorite toys when I was a little person, my stuffed bunnies that I still own and the china faced doll my grandmother gave me -- will she ever play hula-hoop or will she require a wii for even that?
Sometimes I catch a whiff of air that smells just like the first day of high school. It was the first time I got to pick what I wore to school in 5 years. I was so excited, so proud, so aware of being a teenager, a high schooler, with all the baggage and all the hope. I had hopes.
Here is one: It is night time under photo reactant, black light, glow in the dark, day glo and christmas lights and mirror ball glitter. Small stuffy room, driving music but laid back feeling. I am witty and charming and wanted. I can control just by lowering my eyelids and looking sideways. I drink a jello shot. And I am not afraid.
Maya was the person who made me feel most the way I wanted to feel. It is selfish and true. And maybe that is all the reason for why I love her. And I don't think it is a bad reason either. With her, I was invincible. Full hilt highschool, milkshakes and Disneyland, endless waves of laughter and the salty smell of sea soaked sweat, mini skirts and red paint. And we road the rollercoasters together. Drunk on ambition and adrenaline and the certainty that with enough gumption, moxie and cleavage we would make it. We chewed more than we could swallow and choked on life.
But that isnt true either. Because I was just beneath the surface terrified and hurt and pretty sure that sooner or later someone was going to find me out. And what if it was Maya? So I did scary things to impress her and sometimes I was heartless and cruel so she would love me.
And those are the things I will always remember and never regret.
But here are regrets:
-I was never a cheerleader
-I was not single for more than a month in high school, and from 14 to marriage, I never have been.
-I did not go to a rave
-I did not drink
-I never took drugs
-I was a prude in whore's clothing
-and those three combined alienated me from my friends who though I would disapprove of them, and they were right
They say that it is what you did not do that you regret the most, but that isn't true. If I could go back, I would like to soak up more experience because marrying young means missing out on a lot. But I don't regret that. I don't even really regret what is on my list. But sometimes late at night, I wonder.
In truth, the things I regret most . . . they all had penises. I am pretty sure that I would be a pretty okay person, probably even a better person, if I had skipped the two biggies. Sometimes I smell Roy's aftershave (it isn't common) or the acrid smell of cat urine that always reminds me of Seth (not of his smell, but once a cat pissed in his house and no one could find the source so the smell just sat there), and I get hot with anger. With myself. I hate myself for being with them. I keep forgetting that back in high school, I didn't have many options. How was I expected to find someone who was hot, intelligent, funny, kind, liked good music and knew how to kiss? Still, why did I keep settling for guys who met none of those qualifications?
Twenty-Five. Quarter Century. Undeniable Dilemma.
Maybe it is because I have been sick and haven't gone out or even been to the gym. Maybe it's because I wasted two years on a meaningless degree and then failed to find meaning when I was rejected by Teach for America.
I need to be in the desert at night. I want to be a crime.