May 3, 2006
I am not one to remember beginnings or ends, the significant things… (Or granted the things that become more pertinent when we have inevitably chosen to forget them,) the details that exist in much greater pictures. In truth if everything really began and ended in that exact fashion (i.e. – begin and end to start and finish) time would be more sequential than anything else… one would wake, knowing only that the day would end, rather than the instances between the monotony of Starbucks and Nyquil. If that were the case humans would be as suburban as there (Greater) California Valley housing. So we are instead looking for stories of the in-between… the things that seem to make the general standards of life slightly more livable- after the coffee…..
It’s a funny thing… time, and age, the human condition… “And I will never be like my mother.” The People and ism’s you encounter and then one day you’re doing-up the zipper of your hoodie and you remember your brother, and that’s how it works. My thoughts work in food, passion, and the capacity to love…my middle.
We all loved food; we may as well have been waiting to be christened in Extra Virgin Olive Oil… marinara sauce or the latter. The fallacy is that Disordered Eating is a supreme hatred of food or the like (separates the authentic.) On the contrary it is the supreme obsession with food that is (in itself) the disorder, and humans have slight passion for things they care little about. When I was younger, I dreamed about Lobster Bisque and Pasta. Now, (and more so in a testament to my own maturity) I dream about Lobster Bisque and pasta… fed to me by a shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal directly following my college graduation. Someone once said “the first corn of the summer is most likely compared to sex.” I don’t know the truth of that statement… summer corn is certainly delicious and I suppose it depends who you’re having sex with?
It’s no great suffering that I spent so much time consumed with things other than teenage normalcy… I’m no less of a bitch for it and I don’t claim to be, doing pot falls low on one’s list when she is forced (in fact) to live with the sources. There are those who live in the present… the “Shit I’m twenty and living in my parent’s basement” type. Those who live in the future… “I’m the classic over-achiever; my life’s been planned since infancy, and I’ve given up social skills for an Ivy League” type. And those who live in fantasy… “And your parents have money making you a shoe in for celebrity?” type. I’ve met them all, making my gift of labeling… almost resume worthy material. And that is my adolescent learned expertise… I don’t do Trigonometry, or proms, or know where they’ll sell you Heineken- (no questions asked,) but I do know a thing or two about people, acquired differently of course by the people I’ve met.
They say “no time is wasted time” which of course is just not true, if you’re spending four years in prison for a lucrative misdemeanor- when instead you could be saving aids orphans in Ghana, questioning American politics, or honeymooning. It’s really just a blatant deception… so that you’re chooses may seem even slightly redeemable. The wasting of savvy-ness following however is questionable; I suppose one could leave prison, full with experience, and publish a bestseller, titled…“Who put There Spork in my Neck.” Through a time perspective- definitely a waste, the incredible use of a situational experience however… was slightly fabulous. And that’s how I think of my life up until this very point, the one that preceded it, and the one after it, its circumstance.
Circumstance has not gotten dealt the most favorable cards, and its true circumstance can be unpleasant at times, in the same way that ice-cream can be unpleasant to a lactose intolerant or that Wentworth Miller’s last movie wasn’t even remotely credible. However not all situation is bad, on the contrary I’m not lactose intolerant (I don’t care if you are) and at least he took his shirt off, three times… which is almost worth my nine dollars. So that’s how it is, I can think of probably a million things I could have done or could be doing rather then what I was or am doing, or find then the more favorable things in my current nothingness.
For instance I know what an apple bong is, go figure I thought they were strictly for eating? I know that I will never (if I can help it) listen to misogynistic rap music ever again. I’ve made peace amongst bloods and crips, watched You Got Served and learned that there are some people of average (even slightly above average) IQ that agree with Bush’s politics. I know now that status is in your jeans, and that there are those who find Mary-Kate and Ashley credible sources for everything they hope to accomplish in life, and that summer corn- is in fact most comparable to sex.
These are my middle’s, my lack of sufferings… the last of my teenage angst’s I assembled as credible sources. I’ll probably never write a book, I’ll never get a Spork in my neck (unless in the event of an emergency tracheotomy) and high-school is nearly over… and alas no prom. One day however, I hope to eat the most fabulous ear of summer sweet corn followed by even more fabulous sex with Jake Gyllenhaal, and decide for myself truly which is better. No beginnings or endings, just nitty-gritty’s and the human perception.
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