wasted days

Well, I have returned from my travels in the distant lands of Southwest Florida. The weather is beautiful this time of year, but geographically that place is a hellhole. It’s nothing but flat swamp in every direction that isn’t the ocean, except where it’s been filled in to build high rise apartment buildings and swanky strip malls. But, hey, I’m not complaining, because I spent a very pleasant week down there doing… nothing. I did manage to get a good start on my play, and read a book (I would have read several if I had only thought to bring more than one). And I ate a lot. I consumed massive amounts of food. We went out to dinner every night but one, I ate large breakfasts and lunches and several snacks between each meal. I ate so many strawberries I thought my stomach would explode. But it didn’t, so good times.

background noise: “Sweet Dreams” Marilyn Manson

Today nothing went right, but nothing went wrong. One of those days, when things consistantly don’t work out, and it’s sort of disappointing, but at the end you’ve just given up, accepted that things certainly could have been worse, cut your losses and move on. It’s a good type of day to force some perspective down your throat, and teach you the value of a little patience. At least, this is what I have gotten out of today. I’m not sure there’s actually much of a basis for such lessons, I may be pulling them straight out of my ass. But hey, that’s better than nothing.

background noise: “wake for young souls” third eye blind

One time at a summer camp, I believe it was after 7th grade, I was talking with a few of the counselors who were in charge of my little cabin. They were a rather crazy bunch: one huge guy from Slovenia, one guy with two scars on his back from where he was shot by another kid when he was 13, one crazy-ass English guy whose idea of fun was doing ‘about a pound of acid’ and watching the Wizard of Oz with Pink Floyd on, and one relatively normal guitar virtuoso. For all this they were a lot of fun, and probably overestimated our level of conversational ability, but that’s all right.

At one point there was a comment made by one of them, and I don’t completely remember it, but an observation that was something to the effect of this: People from relatively disadvantaged families will often work hard and achieve success, provide good lives for their children, only to have their children tend to fall from that same level of success. Due, presumably, to being brought up not to work as hard, because it isn’t as necessary.

These are obviously gross generalizations, but when I think about it I guess it makes a certain amount of sense. Lately I’ve suddenly become aware, if not exactly afraid, that there’s a chance that I’ll follow a path that will prefer ease and comfort over success. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that, indeed one could argue against the importance of material wealth and that not caring about such things represents a freedom from worthless worldly obsessions. If I were to do so, however, it would be not for any lofty idealistic purposes but arise merely from sloth and indolence. On my fridge we have magnet poetry. Someone wrote there, and it remains, “never question comfort”. As much as I’d like to offer all sorts of complicated philosophical reasons for being such an epicurean, I’m afraid I’m just lazy. And it’s killing me.

Winter has lasted too long. It’s time for winter to finish itself and let spring come, because I need to get some fresh air. It’s still too cold to really enjoy the outdoors. I want to spend all of Saturday afternoon in a park, walk places just for the fun of it. Cold weather is starting to eat at my soul. I dyed my hair blue yesterday. It’s pretty. I looked like a lunatic walking down Springfield with a plastic bag covering my head and my coat put on backwards (so as not to get dye on it). But hey, whatever, I don’t mind looking crazy from time to time. This week has dragged on for an eternity. But tomorrow’s Friday, and a good Friday I think it will be. And as for tonight, this is the one day when I don’t have any studying to do, so looks like Relaxation.

My family has become somewhat ineffective at dealing with itself. Everyone but my dad is highly self centered, and generally gets furious with the rest of the family’s uselessness. My dad good humouredly weathers almost all of it, but generally retreats to the basement and putters away the weekends with little regard to us. I don’t blame him, he’s got the right idea. No one hates each other, we’re not dysfunctional, nothing so melodramatic. We just sort of get on each other’s nerves when forced to actually converse, but quickly forget our gripes. My mom is frustrated and tired, and is becoming increasingly moushish. She just moves various ornaments around the house to occupy her free time. My sister and I are lazy and unforthcoming. I usually just vent all of my frustrations at the rest of the family, regardless of whether it has anything to do with them. My dad’s nice to all of us, but my sister doesn’t talk to him much and I seem unable to hold up in dialogue.

I’m reading this book, Wobegon Boy. One of the Garrison Keeler (sp?) novels. At least my family beats out the crazy midwesterners it tends to gravitate towards, but I’m afraid that if we live together here long enough the differences will become indistinguishable.