Ch6: Standing still (Marble statue woman)

The way I see it, these years of our lives are some kind of nighttime, and as soon as we wake up, the problems we have now will seem to have been a dream compared to the reality in which we'll find outselves.

What problems? I'm not sure. Whatever you've got. They're but nightmares, vexations in your head set to occupy you while you sleep.

I think this is comforting. Others see it as nihilistic or fatalistic. I don't know. The idea that problems seemingly so daunting are ultimately conquerable by the sheer force of time feels, to me, like the safest way to go. Then again, knowing the types of problems mom's seen recently, perhaps not.

All this is the thought of an idle mind, trying for once to say something bigger than "today was the usual blend of boredom and apathy."

I now understand why housewives find themselves so compulsively cleaning. It's good to feel like you've got something to do, otherwise you might just go insane. Short trip for me, I know, but let's pretend I'm not normally abnormal.

Although there are days when I wonder if maybe I'm the sanest person out there, and everyone else can only hope to attain the type of perspective I have. Then I remind myself that the amount of perspective one can get living in one's mother's basement, unemployed and drinking copious amounts of soda and Kool-Aid is rather limited, even under the best of circumstances. So clearly I'm the unusual one.

After months of half-heartedly searching, I at last went full bore and located my cache of Aerosmith CD's. Boy am I glad for that. My saving grace in this dull, throwaway day.

The ex contacted me a few weeks ago. The last thursday of the school semester. I say "the ex" because, regrettably, there's only the one, and I can't always bring myself to name her by name. I had randomly opened my MSN (Adium, really, on the Mac,) during a rather ponderous presentation in Globalization. Maybe Argentina, or one of the others. Anyway, I was only online briefly, checking to see who was there. And all she says is "Scotttt" with several "t's." I had to do a double take to see if that was really who was messaging me, and sure enough, it was her. I, being as willing to confront her as a mouse facing a viper, hit "Command+Q" instantly. Cowardly? Yeah, but I know her game. I think. The way things ended with us was an ambiguous "try again later" deal that I doubt I'll ever own up to. She gets keyed up every year or so, I guess about this time. It was in late April last year she told me she "missed me" after an extended period without conversation, and it was in that same month we first agreed to the arrangement that would technically be called a "relationship." It's just something I don't want to deal with, and thus will continue to avoid.

And that, my children, is a problem that exists merely as a nightmare in this slumber of youth.

And having gladly brought the blog full circle, I'll call it a night.

I hope you're well. I'd like for us to talk sometime soon. Not about anything in particular, but you know we'd enjoy it. You probably don't know who you are (or if, indeed, this is a plural "you," I won't say,) but I know you agree.

Keep on rockin'
Scott