So much to say.
Today my English prof., Mr. Rideout (amazing guy), said something awesome. He said, “ The best piece of advice I can give to first year students is to steal your parent’s car, take your mom’s bank card (I know you know the pin number), take out all the money and drive south as far as you can until it’s all gone. You’ll say, but I can’t Mr. Rideout! What will my parents think? I’ll get in trouble! What will I do with my life? etc. Who cares!! Tell them I told you to do it! I’ll take the heat! Trust me, 40 years from now you’ll think back and say, ‘Man, remember that Mr. Rideout? Do you remember what he told us to do? I should have done it.’”
Anyway, it was in reference to T.S. Eliot’s poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, in specific reference to the lines “And indeed there will be time /To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’” There are so many things in our power that we can dare to dangle in front of ourselves, tempting us with the possibilities. So many possibilities. On my walk home, I thought about what he had said, about taking the money and running in more than just an amusing, superficial way. Thinking about the consequences was actually really scary. I mean, not to mention the fact that I can’t actually drive at all.
Another odd thing: As I got on the 601 coming home, I saw an old friend on the bus that I used to work with, in fact, got me my first job. But when I got on, we did the “pretend we don’t have a friendship history and just be strangers” look. So lame, I know, but that’s what we did. I sat a few rows up from her and read this new Vancouver paper called out Dose. I felt so stupid. I had even expressed to several other friends that I was actually interested in talking to this person again and I suddenly have this opportunity and I wasn’t taking it. It felt too weird. And the longer I sat there pretending to play the stranger game, the harder I knew it would be to stop playing it. Then the sad part: I thought about my blog, how when I got home, I’d blog about how I bent under pressure and how lame that would be. So then I just got up, walked over and sat down in front of her.
“Hi, Lindsey!”
We chatted from there and, you know, it was alright. I’m glad that I did that. Though I think calling her once I got home to ask if she’d like to go out for coffee sometime to catch up was maybe the wrong thing to do. It sounded like a shut down to me. Ah well, I’ll get over it. Or maybe I’m not in the wrong...
Anyway...
I have a lot of hang-ups. Please excuse my naiveté, but why does the thought, let alone sight, of people that I love getting drunk or high (or both) hurt me? Will I ever understand this? Is it wrong that I feel this way? Is it a product of my pre-conceived, up-bringing inspired notion that those things are wrong? Are they “wrong”? What is WRONG? Is it simply because I’m judgmental? Dear God, I hope not. That’s the last thing I want to be. It leaves no place for love. I don’t think its judgment because that would feel more condescending and it’s not that. It’s emotional pain to me. So what does that mean? What purpose does that serve? Empathy? For something they themselves don’t even view as “wrong”? If they don’t feel upset by it at all, it has to be just me then. I’m the one with the issue.
Maybe I should just stop being surprised by disappointment. Maybe it’s my fault in the first place to even place someone in a position where they can disappoint. Is it wrong to expect/desire certain behavior from people? Am I judgmental?
I’m just blabbing on and on. I’ll shut up now.
Today my English prof., Mr. Rideout (amazing guy), said something awesome. He said, “ The best piece of advice I can give to first year students is to steal your parent’s car, take your mom’s bank card (I know you know the pin number), take out all the money and drive south as far as you can until it’s all gone. You’ll say, but I can’t Mr. Rideout! What will my parents think? I’ll get in trouble! What will I do with my life? etc. Who cares!! Tell them I told you to do it! I’ll take the heat! Trust me, 40 years from now you’ll think back and say, ‘Man, remember that Mr. Rideout? Do you remember what he told us to do? I should have done it.’”
Anyway, it was in reference to T.S. Eliot’s poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, in specific reference to the lines “And indeed there will be time /To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’” There are so many things in our power that we can dare to dangle in front of ourselves, tempting us with the possibilities. So many possibilities. On my walk home, I thought about what he had said, about taking the money and running in more than just an amusing, superficial way. Thinking about the consequences was actually really scary. I mean, not to mention the fact that I can’t actually drive at all.
Another odd thing: As I got on the 601 coming home, I saw an old friend on the bus that I used to work with, in fact, got me my first job. But when I got on, we did the “pretend we don’t have a friendship history and just be strangers” look. So lame, I know, but that’s what we did. I sat a few rows up from her and read this new Vancouver paper called out Dose. I felt so stupid. I had even expressed to several other friends that I was actually interested in talking to this person again and I suddenly have this opportunity and I wasn’t taking it. It felt too weird. And the longer I sat there pretending to play the stranger game, the harder I knew it would be to stop playing it. Then the sad part: I thought about my blog, how when I got home, I’d blog about how I bent under pressure and how lame that would be. So then I just got up, walked over and sat down in front of her.
“Hi, Lindsey!”
We chatted from there and, you know, it was alright. I’m glad that I did that. Though I think calling her once I got home to ask if she’d like to go out for coffee sometime to catch up was maybe the wrong thing to do. It sounded like a shut down to me. Ah well, I’ll get over it. Or maybe I’m not in the wrong...
Anyway...
I have a lot of hang-ups. Please excuse my naiveté, but why does the thought, let alone sight, of people that I love getting drunk or high (or both) hurt me? Will I ever understand this? Is it wrong that I feel this way? Is it a product of my pre-conceived, up-bringing inspired notion that those things are wrong? Are they “wrong”? What is WRONG? Is it simply because I’m judgmental? Dear God, I hope not. That’s the last thing I want to be. It leaves no place for love. I don’t think its judgment because that would feel more condescending and it’s not that. It’s emotional pain to me. So what does that mean? What purpose does that serve? Empathy? For something they themselves don’t even view as “wrong”? If they don’t feel upset by it at all, it has to be just me then. I’m the one with the issue.
Maybe I should just stop being surprised by disappointment. Maybe it’s my fault in the first place to even place someone in a position where they can disappoint. Is it wrong to expect/desire certain behavior from people? Am I judgmental?
I’m just blabbing on and on. I’ll shut up now.
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