(no subject)
This is the first year of my life that I don't consider there as home. I know that I'm always welcome, at least in certain places, at that there are people on either end who are always happy to see me. That means a lot. Sometimes I still wonder how my life would have been different if I'd stayed behind. I wonder if the choices I made here would have been the same as what I would have made there. I know I would have missed out on a lot here, but sometimes I feel like I missed out on so much there. There are questions that I find buzzing around my mind. "What would have happened with me and so and so? Would I have been in one of those bands? Would I have turned out the way I am?" But you know, in the end, there's nothing that I can do about it anyway. That's why I don't worry, just wonder.
I saw Gran Tourino last night. Clint was the fucking man. The thing that really got me, though, was the funeral scene in the beginning of the movie. There were parallels that I couldn't even begin to expect from the first five minutes of the film. But it got me thinking, and that's what it was supposed to do. Over the past year and a half I've been getting more nervous and paranoid about death. I've always known it was inevitable, but something about seeing her body in a box really solidified it for me. She was the last person I would have expected to die so soon. I've been having panic attacks, my insides flood with ice when I think about it. I think "I couldn't do without so and so!" or "What would so and so do without me?" You know what I realized? We would fucking live. We would deal with the pain, and the anguish, and all of the things that come with a death, but in the end we would remember the good things. Not the bad. When I think about her, I don't think about cancer, or lung infections, or leukemia, or chemo. Fuck that. I think of all the times that we would drive up, whether it was 3 hours or 10, just to be there for easter or christmas. Or how she would absolutely not let me use the mens bathroom by myself until I was 11, and I pleaded with her. I think about all of the food that she would cook for us, and how good it all was, and how no one cared if there were six sticks of butter in ti, because it was so damn good. In the end she didn't fear death. I wasn't there, but I'm sure of that. You know what I learned from all of it? I have to live my life. There are things that I want to do, that I'm going to do, that make life worth living. If I die, I die. There's nothing I can do about that. However, I'm going to knock out as many of these things that I can before hand.
Road Trip
-July 5th, 2009
Learn a song from an opera, in Italian
Write a song(music, lyrics, every instrument part)
-Perform said song in front of an audience
Get a childrens book published
Fill a composition book with my own poetry
Become an activist for some cause
See an opera
Meet one (or more) of my idols
-Jon Stewart, Anthony Green, Brian Jacques, David Sedaris
Teach a class
Have my own garden
Learn to cook
Beat an entire video game within 24 hours
-Ocarina?
Get in a fight
-Either a real one or a boxing match of some sort
Run a Marathon
-Or triathalon
Carry on an intelligent conversation with someone for more than 5 minutes
Get on television
If someone lets me, fly a plane
Stay awake for 48 consecutive hours
I'll add more as I think of them, but I think that's enough to be getting on with.
I saw Gran Tourino last night. Clint was the fucking man. The thing that really got me, though, was the funeral scene in the beginning of the movie. There were parallels that I couldn't even begin to expect from the first five minutes of the film. But it got me thinking, and that's what it was supposed to do. Over the past year and a half I've been getting more nervous and paranoid about death. I've always known it was inevitable, but something about seeing her body in a box really solidified it for me. She was the last person I would have expected to die so soon. I've been having panic attacks, my insides flood with ice when I think about it. I think "I couldn't do without so and so!" or "What would so and so do without me?" You know what I realized? We would fucking live. We would deal with the pain, and the anguish, and all of the things that come with a death, but in the end we would remember the good things. Not the bad. When I think about her, I don't think about cancer, or lung infections, or leukemia, or chemo. Fuck that. I think of all the times that we would drive up, whether it was 3 hours or 10, just to be there for easter or christmas. Or how she would absolutely not let me use the mens bathroom by myself until I was 11, and I pleaded with her. I think about all of the food that she would cook for us, and how good it all was, and how no one cared if there were six sticks of butter in ti, because it was so damn good. In the end she didn't fear death. I wasn't there, but I'm sure of that. You know what I learned from all of it? I have to live my life. There are things that I want to do, that I'm going to do, that make life worth living. If I die, I die. There's nothing I can do about that. However, I'm going to knock out as many of these things that I can before hand.
Road Trip
-July 5th, 2009
Learn a song from an opera, in Italian
Write a song(music, lyrics, every instrument part)
-Perform said song in front of an audience
Get a childrens book published
Fill a composition book with my own poetry
Become an activist for some cause
See an opera
Meet one (or more) of my idols
-Jon Stewart, Anthony Green, Brian Jacques, David Sedaris
Teach a class
Have my own garden
Learn to cook
Beat an entire video game within 24 hours
-Ocarina?
Get in a fight
-Either a real one or a boxing match of some sort
Run a Marathon
-Or triathalon
Carry on an intelligent conversation with someone for more than 5 minutes
Get on television
If someone lets me, fly a plane
Stay awake for 48 consecutive hours
I'll add more as I think of them, but I think that's enough to be getting on with.