wasted days

Aaah, down at the beach. I got swimming during the day and ride my bike around at night. My cousins are here, so the one who’s my age and I have a good time all day. We skimboard most days, but it’s getting rough on my feet, they’re all banged and bruised. It’s tiring, too, and we fall down a lot. But, it’s still fun. Maybe I’ll take some pictures.

Last night I saw The Barbarian Invasions. It was delightful. I highly recommend it, it’s the best movie I’ve seen in a while.

On an unrelated note, I have also fallen in love with Volkswagen sedans. Which is strange, since I’m not really into cars or anything. I just can’t stop looking at them whenever I see one.

that’s all for tonight, I’m turning in soon

God I love summer. I’ve been having such fun these past few weeks. And the weeks before that were nice as well, although in somewhat different way. I have gotten almost nothing accomplished in two weeks. I have settled into a pleasant pattern of waking up early, doing errands or chores, then seeing various people until 5:30 or so when I come home and have dinner with my father. Then I’ll go out again for the night, but go to bed early so I can wake up early the next day and start the process over again. It’s been going on like this for days and days and days. It’s beautiful.

Tomorrow I head back to the coast. Three weeks in New Jersey, with friends and family and the ocean to keep me company. Maybe I’ll get some work done, and some reading as well. ‘There’s never enough time to do all the nothing you want,’ Calvin said once. How true. But before I dolefully resign myself to never having enough time no matter how little I accomplish, I’m happy to realize how much fun I’m having.

background noise: Beaucoup Fish, Underworld

The lightning above Champaign tonight is exquisite. A parting gift from the afternoon’s tornado. If anyone else is looking up at the CU sky tonight, I hope you enjoy it.

background noise: “Moaner” Underworld

Thus we find our protagonist: Jealous and lonely in groups, but scared of being alone all the same. Doesn’t think about the afterlife because he can’t do theological computations that far out, figuring instead that he’ll “cross that bridge when he comes to it”. The wanderlust grows and grows within him like a coating of tar on the heart and lungs, dusting the inside of his ribcage and making him giddy. Anything for a little leap of exultation, another deep breath to bring the life back into his veins. His legs will push the pedals and he’ll throw his head up and suck in air, a little noise escapes his throat. As he bikes down the middle of a suburban street his whole body hinges and bends, the breaths keep coming, his lungs are like a pump forcing that dust out of his chest, filtered through his mind and finally released into the atmosphere. But even this won’t help the loneliness, sitting up nights, too attached to the rest of the world to enjoy being alone but too needy to get enough of a fix of humanity.

Thus we find our protagonist: A little bit frightened, a little bit subdued, a little bit desperate, a little bit lonely, a little bit less sane but a little bit happy that he’s a little bit alive in a world that’s a little bit sharper in focus.

Thus we find our protagonist: He’ll go on, he won’t give up because he doesn’t know how, and he’ll feel better soon enough. An imperfect memory is something to be treasured. He’ll wonder if ignorance is bliss but know he can’t quite bring himself to choose it. He’ll lie, but he won’t steal; he’ll tap his foot, but he won’t dance; he’ll feel bad, but he’ll know better.

Our protagonist will seat himself at the table, pull in the chair, and smile into oblivion. Because life is as life does, and this is his. He’ll put his arms behind his head and lean back laughing, he’ll go tearing out of the house into the backyard screaming, he’ll throw something across the room, he’ll talk to his reflection in the mirror, he’ll climb the nearest tree, he’ll stare at the ocean, he’ll watch the sun set, he’ll wonder where he’s going. He’ll love it, he’ll hate it, he’ll not even notice, but he’s wise enough to know that in the end it doesn’t make a difference.

Everything is only a matter of time now.

It’s been a while since I bothered to write anything. I haven’t been at home. I was on the East Coast for the past week and a half, on LBI, in Baltimore, and for one day in Long Hill. It was good to see people I hadn’t seen in two years. Somehow it was a lot less alien than I thought. The town has faded much from my mind, or more accurately my perception of things has changed so much that it looks completely different. Not completely different from the way I remember it, really, since I barely remember it by now. Just like a town that has some similarities to where I once lived. I make connections between places and spending time there or seeing them often, but there’s no familiarity. Almost exactly the opposite is true with people. There’s almost nothing alien about the people I saw, they all seemed to be exactly as I expected them to be. They look just as I thought, still act largely the same way. I wonder if the same is true for me. I feel so different, but who knows. Maybe I just keep telling myself that and have succeeded in convincing myself its true.

background noise: “You Could Make a Killing” Aimee Mann