Nobody knows how a life can properly be determined. Can we live or die without love? Are we better off living free when all we ask for is more and more support? Do we strive to be individuals or do we strive to be more alike to each other? I guess it’s all that nature / nurture type thing like they explain to you in college psych classes.
Anyway, so I wasn’t myself when I wrote that last little excerpt from my life, wasn't in my right mind, and I would apologize, but I don’t really feel bad about it. To be honest, if you were one of those offended people with your hate mail, you can go fuck yourself. Everyone is so fucking touchy and politically correct these days, it churns my stomach. But anyway, I’m too stoned to care anymore. I’m too stoned to do anything these days except work and waste my pay check within the same week. I can’t even read anymore without passing out on my La-Z-Boy.
So I finally came to the conclusion that it’s time to give up on adolescent dreams, to wash away these glorious ideas and fogged up mirrors. I finally felt something that felt like truth, like it was time to get my life on track and realize that I don’t have talent and there’s nothing special about being known. Being regular is just as good, as long as you’re happy, and since only money can bring me happiness, it’s time to give in. Where do I sign up?
I just finally felt it today at work, mindlessly staring at lists and collecting useless books off the shelves about fairies and horoscopes and Christianity and all the other fucking bullshit. My job at the bookstore was ironic, as I shuffled through hundreds of pages of lists of books to be removed from the shelf, and then box it up, to be sent back to the publisher and receive a full refund. If bookstores were in charge of providing knowledge, it was my job to make sure the knowledge can be taken away. And I thought, and I finally felt the need to grasp it, that I was living in an idealistic world, avoiding reality at all costs. A distorted perception of reality, and like I said before, a foggy fucking mirror I’ve been looking at.
And I came to a second realization. I act much differently with others compared to how I act with myself. And it fucking depresses me and it has to end, but that’s a whole other story.
I’m on the metro again this morning on the way to work, sitting among passengers with footprints of crows stamped onto the edges of their eyes. The train stops at Jolicoeur and a cute one wearing a black and yellow dress walks in. A small black and yellow dress. The kind of small black and yellow dress that attracts attention from pubescent boys and married old men. Then another one walks in at the Verdun stop with green eye shadow, strawberry earrings and pink toenails. She had on a green T shirt and cigarette black jeans. And I fell in love with both of them and wanted to marry them, but then my stop came, and so it was goodbye again.
I walked up the cracked steps of Mcgill metro and the turnstile swiftly knocks against my ass as I walk out of the God forsaken place, as this will be the epitome of my excitement today. I continue standing on escalators as I get up to the store, slowly dragging myself towards monotony, one word, not Mono Tony, the Tony we used to make fun of in high school for contracting mono after making out with a French girl nobody knew.
At the bookstore, Sebastian, the other fucker who’s stuck picking up books nobody wants to read, which eventually end up with stripped off covers, started talking to me. He’s twenty-five and apparently wanted to shed some wisdom.
“You got a girlfriend, Jordan?”
“Nah man.”
“Why not?”
“You know how it is, I, uh, well, I like to keep my options open… if you know what I mean.”
He laughed and looked down at me as I was kneeled in the fucking New Age section.
“Trust me man,” he said, “you’re what? Eighteen? I was eighteen too and I thought the exact same shit as you. You think you can get with any girl you want at any time, and maybe now you could. But take my word man, start looking for a good girl. It’s not always as easy as it is at eighteen.”
“I know, I’m already starting to realize that.”
“Well you’ll realize it more and more. Just keep your eyes open is all I’m saying, it’s not as easy at twenty five years old as it is when you’re eighteen.”
He repeated this twice.
So this guy who I thought was dumb suddenly becomes my best friend, and he got me thinking about Julie, the beautiful one, all day too. Then I became friends with the Greek security guard at the bookstore named Costa, and both he and Sebastian made me question myself. Things like, why the fuck am I wasting time with this? Things like, why can’t I take anything seriously and why am I wasting my parents’ money when I won’t even be able to do anything worthy with it. Why do I even question myself as often as I do, and why don’t I just accept life as it is and like everybody else does. I finally learned that importance is in simplicity rather than complexity, and I know, like my teachers say, I should be SHOWING you this, not TELLING you this, since this is my story after all. Well, I’m telling it, and you can listen if you fucking want to.
So that is why I am the way I am now, and this is why I gave up on the nonsense.
Besides, I feel like falling in love now, anyways.
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3 comments:
I did not enjoy this as much as your other works.
Why?
I'm not exactly sure.
Nothing about it sat well with me for some reason.
And the last line upset me.
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