Don’t be deceived, trying to be a good person is an insanely different thing than actually being a good person. I read back in my journal recently as I do from time to time and over a year ago I entered that “I was truly the person that I always wanted to be.” I hate that I did that, I hate that I jinxed myself outright like that. In retrospect I think I was actually telling myself the truth. The girl I used to live with and was horribly in love with gave me the book I wrote that in and I still use it.
The thought passed through my mind to burn that book many times, like I held in my possession the book of the dead or something, the cover bound with our collective flesh and heartache. Am I holding on by not cutting my life free from a time when I thought the world was actually perfect?
Don’t let go, I tell myself don’t let go because you can always get back what you left behind, that’s the point of so many books and movies, that you can get it back, your past doesn’t die, it doesn’t flake away, it stays in perfect still life. The past is untouched and all you have to do it grasp for it, like tall grass out the car window. I have learned however, that like the tall grass, if you grab for long enough you’ll pull some in but you won’t be able to choose the strands.
I slept in a van a lot at that time, in Wal-mart parking lots, its hard for tall guys to sleep in vans, more so than other people, because you push and stretch but as far as you push you can only temporarily alleviate the discomfort. So instead of sleeping I would dribble a basketball around inside the store and talk on the phone to anyone who would listen. My girlfriend would call and leave messages as she went to sleep about how she loved me and how she wanted to get married and I would smile. That was the hard thing about being away, its impossible to solve anything over the phone. You could scream and scream and profess anything you wanted but you could never prove it.
We used to live together and I had a dresser in the hallway that had three rows of drawers. It hasn’t changed since that time that I can fit everything I own into that much space. One drawer for all of my t-shirts was full, the second was for sweaters and other utility clothing, and the third holds my three pairs of pants. I don’t need three however because I only wear one, I don’t wash them and I don’t give a fuck. I live in her room, we moved in together fast as blazes but it kills me how I feel about her, even now. We watch a lot of TV which I sort of hate because I have a bunch of friends who like to party. At this time getting drunk is getting old and being with her is everything. This a crash course in getting to know someone. Live with them sleep with them see them every minute of the day, from the moment you first kiss to the moment you fiercely scream at each other and almost get into a car on human collision.
Its impossible to chase someone out of your soul. I’ve tried and the sorrow in fighting the inhabitants of someone from your mind is far worse than just letting them stay. Its over, at a time for all of us, yeah every beginning has an end and all of that completely over done shit. Believing in that only means that you believe in death, the real kind of death, one that means what’s done is done. I suppose if I believed in the life after no human parting would affect me. Things go sour, but is it really the end? There has to be more understanding, there has to be a resilience to not let history destroy you. History is weak isn’t it?