curb your capslock enthusiasm
so my brain is not the information powerhouse it claims to be. to everyone I’ve flaked on accidentally triple-booked nights: I’M SORRY. those omega-3 capsules really don’t live up to their claims, and really I shouldn’t be relying on them so much, would you still be my friend if I became a SUBSTANCE ABUSER, would you Stage An Intervention if I started rubbing my nose conspicuously
anyway the obvious course of action is to write stuff IN CAPSLOCK on my bedroom walls, which is the equivalent of shouting myself awake every day in an effort to plough through my tremendous to-do list. apparently it works: the other day I wiped my walls clean of all those persnickety little tasks that’re easy to keep putting off, and the shock of being On Top Of It All went clean through my system and drove me to systematically clean out the house and bake monstrous loaves of olive bread with kay in an effort to stem the rising panic that comes when I realise I AM STILL IN THIS CITY WHAT AM I DOING HERE
what am I doing here? I am hanging out with friends who are learning all my new verbal tics and mannerisms and the stunned look I apparently get when struck with an AMAZING NEW IDEA and force them to join me in convoluted adventures. I am running into acquaintances I haven’t seen in years, who knew me from a different time and place and I think it’s safe to say I’m a lot less angrier now than the person I was back then. I am, I guess, distracting myself from the lingering awareness that Life is waiting for me at the end of the year, and I can choose to make the respectable decision and settle down to a life and a career here, or I can flip the finger and take off, I don’t know. elsewhere. anywhere. GOSH CASS, YOUR LIFE IS SO HARD. you have friends and family and prospects and so many reasons to stay here and STILL you’re complaining into your wine spritzer (kill me)
just then I pulled out my diary to write in my next job interview and a wad of papers fell out of the cover flap, revealing:
- my candian social insurance card
- guttersnipe contributor business cards
- unused canadian stamp
- ticket stubs to passion pit and jonsi
- unused free tickets to that french club night during the olympic frenzy
- promotional flyers for the theatre production I did pr work for
- loyalty card for the korean diner around the corner from work we all used to frequent (OF COURSE)
it’s kind of like—oh, man. I completely forgot about all this junk, the accumulation of memories that are too trivial to cram into my scrapbook or mention in sufficient detail on this blog but still have significant memories attached. every time I try to pack away the stellar, life-changing (sigh) period of my life that I guess I’ll title TWENTY-ONE in order to look toward the future, I’m confronted with more reminders of the past. you know what sucks? being one of those shitty frat-dudes who spend the rest of their lives working mindless office jobs and recalling their college glory days of kegstands and scamming on girls with fond nostalgia, as if it were the pinnacle of their lives and everything that followed couldn’t possibly compare. I guess I’m not a frat-dude but the similarities are there but, you know, I really don’t think I could wear axe/lynx deodorant with any conviction.
yesterday I wrote on my wall FORGET AND MOVE ON, which is dumb and a catch-22 once I’ve achieved it and cleared the list and I don’t want to erase the past. how could you learn from it otherwise?
anyway listen to the spinto band’s oh mandy. can’t stop. lovesong for a person-or-city, how’s that for complicated
