Eight: Tell

Deep, deep, deep, deep down, I am a man in crisis. On the surface I am calm cool water. Beneath, a storm.

I have become far too enamored of my past. You know the mind tricks you and makes you think the past is the future. I think often about where I have come from and what I have been through, and all the now defunct futures I used to think I'd have. It  auses me to fail to appreciate my actuality, my reality, my present. It makes me think the present should be different but it really shouldn't be.

The past was not better, although in some ways I may have been better in the past, the truth is thst I am mostly better now and the main advantage that the past has is that more of the future was a blank slate then. I shouldn't glorify it. My glory days have not passed me by.

I am craving the past, though, as content. I wish I had written here more in 2012, 2013, 2014. I was on Tumblr a lot in those years and among that site's many faults is a ahit archive.

I have things I want to write and am in no shape to do so today. This post is nothing. Honestly you (I) deserve better than even this. Another hurried, unfocussed third-life crisis missive from beyond bedtime. I am in Oakville, in the bed I left at Mel's parents place. I have the day off work tomorrow. I have to go back to Toronto to get a shirt for her, for our engagement shoot. God I hope I find it. I will always knock myself out gor her happiness. Sometimes there is a bitter feeling that that is one sided.

I am a consummate wreck for reasons I cannot even say. I haven't even brushed my teeth.

More than probably everyone I work with I feel like I define myself by my past, where I've been rather than where I am going. Dangerous... but I think a storyteller needs a grip on the past for continuity, as much as an ability to imagine the future.

How about that ending of Game of Thrones...

Keep on rockin
Scotto