The Storm's Over...
and for some reason, it's really nice outside. I just sat outside for a while, watching the rain come down and hit the trees, listening to the silence of the early morning, smoking a cigarette. I dunno. It was pretty peaceful. An interesting contrast to the chaos that brought it.
I've been feeling this nostalgic longing lately. Things are changing. I'm growing up and I can feel it. I mean, there is - and as far as I can tell, there'll always be - that part of me that loves a good ruckus, the drinking, the smoking, all that jazz. But then there's this other side, slowly creeping up on me, and that piece of me worries me the most.
See, I had a dream a few weeks ago. I dreamt about Seneca, first of all. The old days, high school. As I type out "old days" I realise how silly that sounds. It's not been much over two years now since I was there, and yet two years seems like an eternity ago. All the things I used to do there, all the people I knew and hung out with. Hell, even the people I didn't know and talked too only in passing. Most of them are gone now, moved on to other places, other things. Some of them are ambitious, others not so much. I dreamt about what I used to do and think, how I used to act. The mistakes I made, the arguments I had. All the stuff that you don't want to dream about.
And then I dreamt about the future. Not just a dreamstate fantasy future where I had six cars and a mansion, but a blatantly realistic dream. In this dream, I was teaching at Seneca. I had a car and I lived in some sort of small apartment or something. It wasn't anything glamorous or even exciting. It was mundane, banal. And yet, it was comforting, as scary as that may seem. It was nothing how I ever imagined myself to be - I'd always joke about how no teacher I'd ever talked to ever said they grew up wanting to be teachers. I guess that's coming back to haunt me in some way.
I used to think that Germantown was this prison, this limit on my life. It was suburbia, bleak. Somewhere I had to get away from. As I grow older now, I find comfort in it. It's familiar and peaceful. Cozy. I find myself less adament about spending the rest of my life here with each passing day. Hell, and that got me thinking.
People have character flaws. Certain integral parts of themselves that they can't change, no matter how hard they try. Personality quirks, I guess you could say, but it extends beyond personality and into the way they act even when alone. In myself, I find many flaws, and anyone who knows me would agree on just about any of them. No one's perfect. It's just the cards you're given when you get made.
I find that I'm first and foremost a very neglectful person in about everything I do. It's not laziness, per se, although it would be easy to lump it in with the general state of lethargy and apathy that has permeated a good portion of my life. It's more than that; it's a part of me. I can't maintain what I have. I see it in everything I do, and even when I do make an effort to change it, I eventually just revert back to the way I was before. I see it in my car, in my room, in my music, in my failed relationship. I take stuff for granted and I neglect it. I see it right now looking at the mess of papers, bottles, cans, dvd cases and clothes that have built up a carpet on the ground. I'll clean them, eventually. But only when I have to, and even then, only after much deliberation. Sometimes, it works, and it only helps to continue the cycle of neglect. I know, for example, that I'll be able to clean the house before my parents get back ,so I neglect it now. When the deadline approaches, I'll do it at the last minute. Sure, I could do it now. In fact, to an extent, I did . However, I know me, and I know that things will look worse soon enough. Sure, sometimes it works. Other times, it's too late.
And I'm terrible with money. I'd like to think that it's because I'm an overall nice person, but I know it's more that I just neglect to place value on it. I throw money away with little more than a second thought. I'm always doing that, never thinking about saving, or the future - unless I have to, of course, and even then with much prodding. It ties back in to the neglect thing. When I have money, I'm wasteful of it. When I don't....well, I dont. It's a bad thing.
I'd like to think that one day I'll be able to live securely, within a modest means. I'd like to think that I'd be able to pay off bills and have a car and a house and this mundane dreary dream life and not have to worry about when the next paycheck is coming and how much I can do with it. I'd like to, but the stark reality of my situation keeps on nagging at the back of my mind, the same one from the beginning of this essay - telling me that the spiral I'm leading myself down is only going to end in disaster. Without going into details, I'm quickly finding that I lost one of the biggest, if not the biggest, pillar that was holding me together, keeping me wrapped in at least some sense of security. And it was my fault, my neglect. And the reality of growing up is quickly looming larger and larger. I just don't know what I can do about it.
Buckle down, of course. I don't know though. I've been in a constant state of introspection as of late, largely due to the hours on end I spend at work now. With all that time to ruminate on myself, I'm quickly discovering my true feelings about things. Myself, I guess. And there's this dark sense that, even if I did push my hardest, I'd just eventually peak and fall back down into the cycle again. Meh, I dunno.
I'd like to think I'm getting somewhere with my music, with college, all that stuff. In some ways, I am. But am I really doing the right thing? I don't know. I think about my parents, who worked so hard to get me where I am now, literally went through years of hard times and problems. I think about how I argued with them back then over things that, in retrospect, seem more pointless and petty than ever. I feel bad for them, for everything I had to put them through to get to this point. More often now, I find myself telling them I love them. I guess I'm making up for all those years where we barely spoke, where I was a stranger, an alien, in their house.
So, what was the point of this? I don't know. Had to get it out of my system. I'm going back to college at UMD next year. Moving into a house, my first time living away from the reaches of home. Getting my name out in musical circles. Developing a reputation, cred. Working two jobs, hardly doing anything other than working. I find comfort in hanging out with friends and just relaxing, but it's an ominous comfort. I've already seen the heyday of my youth pass and now every day is overshadowed by this cloud, the future and all my doubts about what's to come.
Whatever, I guess. I don't try and mask my apathy anymore. Shit happens and you adapt to it, I guess. Maybe?
I've barely touched this journal in a long time. I was never good with keeping things prompt. I really don't know why I keep this anymore, anyways. I was never good with journals. So this will probably be the last time I write in here. Anyone who needs to hit me up knows where they can find me. Peace.
I've been feeling this nostalgic longing lately. Things are changing. I'm growing up and I can feel it. I mean, there is - and as far as I can tell, there'll always be - that part of me that loves a good ruckus, the drinking, the smoking, all that jazz. But then there's this other side, slowly creeping up on me, and that piece of me worries me the most.
See, I had a dream a few weeks ago. I dreamt about Seneca, first of all. The old days, high school. As I type out "old days" I realise how silly that sounds. It's not been much over two years now since I was there, and yet two years seems like an eternity ago. All the things I used to do there, all the people I knew and hung out with. Hell, even the people I didn't know and talked too only in passing. Most of them are gone now, moved on to other places, other things. Some of them are ambitious, others not so much. I dreamt about what I used to do and think, how I used to act. The mistakes I made, the arguments I had. All the stuff that you don't want to dream about.
And then I dreamt about the future. Not just a dreamstate fantasy future where I had six cars and a mansion, but a blatantly realistic dream. In this dream, I was teaching at Seneca. I had a car and I lived in some sort of small apartment or something. It wasn't anything glamorous or even exciting. It was mundane, banal. And yet, it was comforting, as scary as that may seem. It was nothing how I ever imagined myself to be - I'd always joke about how no teacher I'd ever talked to ever said they grew up wanting to be teachers. I guess that's coming back to haunt me in some way.
I used to think that Germantown was this prison, this limit on my life. It was suburbia, bleak. Somewhere I had to get away from. As I grow older now, I find comfort in it. It's familiar and peaceful. Cozy. I find myself less adament about spending the rest of my life here with each passing day. Hell, and that got me thinking.
People have character flaws. Certain integral parts of themselves that they can't change, no matter how hard they try. Personality quirks, I guess you could say, but it extends beyond personality and into the way they act even when alone. In myself, I find many flaws, and anyone who knows me would agree on just about any of them. No one's perfect. It's just the cards you're given when you get made.
I find that I'm first and foremost a very neglectful person in about everything I do. It's not laziness, per se, although it would be easy to lump it in with the general state of lethargy and apathy that has permeated a good portion of my life. It's more than that; it's a part of me. I can't maintain what I have. I see it in everything I do, and even when I do make an effort to change it, I eventually just revert back to the way I was before. I see it in my car, in my room, in my music, in my failed relationship. I take stuff for granted and I neglect it. I see it right now looking at the mess of papers, bottles, cans, dvd cases and clothes that have built up a carpet on the ground. I'll clean them, eventually. But only when I have to, and even then, only after much deliberation. Sometimes, it works, and it only helps to continue the cycle of neglect. I know, for example, that I'll be able to clean the house before my parents get back ,so I neglect it now. When the deadline approaches, I'll do it at the last minute. Sure, I could do it now. In fact, to an extent, I did . However, I know me, and I know that things will look worse soon enough. Sure, sometimes it works. Other times, it's too late.
And I'm terrible with money. I'd like to think that it's because I'm an overall nice person, but I know it's more that I just neglect to place value on it. I throw money away with little more than a second thought. I'm always doing that, never thinking about saving, or the future - unless I have to, of course, and even then with much prodding. It ties back in to the neglect thing. When I have money, I'm wasteful of it. When I don't....well, I dont. It's a bad thing.
I'd like to think that one day I'll be able to live securely, within a modest means. I'd like to think that I'd be able to pay off bills and have a car and a house and this mundane dreary dream life and not have to worry about when the next paycheck is coming and how much I can do with it. I'd like to, but the stark reality of my situation keeps on nagging at the back of my mind, the same one from the beginning of this essay - telling me that the spiral I'm leading myself down is only going to end in disaster. Without going into details, I'm quickly finding that I lost one of the biggest, if not the biggest, pillar that was holding me together, keeping me wrapped in at least some sense of security. And it was my fault, my neglect. And the reality of growing up is quickly looming larger and larger. I just don't know what I can do about it.
Buckle down, of course. I don't know though. I've been in a constant state of introspection as of late, largely due to the hours on end I spend at work now. With all that time to ruminate on myself, I'm quickly discovering my true feelings about things. Myself, I guess. And there's this dark sense that, even if I did push my hardest, I'd just eventually peak and fall back down into the cycle again. Meh, I dunno.
I'd like to think I'm getting somewhere with my music, with college, all that stuff. In some ways, I am. But am I really doing the right thing? I don't know. I think about my parents, who worked so hard to get me where I am now, literally went through years of hard times and problems. I think about how I argued with them back then over things that, in retrospect, seem more pointless and petty than ever. I feel bad for them, for everything I had to put them through to get to this point. More often now, I find myself telling them I love them. I guess I'm making up for all those years where we barely spoke, where I was a stranger, an alien, in their house.
So, what was the point of this? I don't know. Had to get it out of my system. I'm going back to college at UMD next year. Moving into a house, my first time living away from the reaches of home. Getting my name out in musical circles. Developing a reputation, cred. Working two jobs, hardly doing anything other than working. I find comfort in hanging out with friends and just relaxing, but it's an ominous comfort. I've already seen the heyday of my youth pass and now every day is overshadowed by this cloud, the future and all my doubts about what's to come.
Whatever, I guess. I don't try and mask my apathy anymore. Shit happens and you adapt to it, I guess. Maybe?
I've barely touched this journal in a long time. I was never good with keeping things prompt. I really don't know why I keep this anymore, anyways. I was never good with journals. So this will probably be the last time I write in here. Anyone who needs to hit me up knows where they can find me. Peace.