An Actual Post

Tomorrow is the last day of my internship. How did three months fly by? Well 2³/4 months fly by without my realizing it. As usual I did expect this. There was June, which was filled with with perpetual worry and acrewing my list of things to complain about for the remainder of the summer. Then there was July, birthday, moving and boredom sum up that month. Lastly, now is August and I am about 13 days away until the semester. There was Katherine Hepburn. I suppose this was the summer Iguana met Hepburn. Checkmate indeed!

What has become of this summer? I ask you? I've done much, but so little. I moved, I aged, I crawled out of depression. Okay those are some accomplishments. I've also been stupid and wraith-like at times. Those moments don't need to be relived, they are on file. Reading Long Day's Journey has totally made me realize what I am like when I've been hopped on illegal substances. I think about it, shrug and keep it on file as well.

Mary Tyrone is fascinating, as is Violet from August: Osage County. Two ladies who can't break the habit. Yet, because one was written in 1940 and the other in the 2007. The results are startling similar. My favorite part in A:OC goes something much to the vain that she got clean off drugs, then went back because she liked the world better that way. While Mary apparently has the same feelings, but because every one's to polite to ask. She spends most of the play pretending she's not even doped up on Morphine.

It's not an easy task being fascinated with depression. And no, I haven't found an answer in these characters. I just can understand the point you can get caught into, that you would delve into an altered reality when you face the mundane.

What are years? What is time? It's just a tunnel from one event to the next. There are in between moments, but they're repetitious. You see people, you get to know them. They repeat themselves. You go to work the same time everyday. You sit in the same cubicle. You go to the same place for lunch. You come home and start over once the alarm clock goes off again.

I had these feelings years ago when I read A Home at the End of the World by Michael Cunningham. There's a chapter where Bobby [I think his name was] suddenly jumps seven years because he's sort of given up. I was amazed how Cunningham chose to skip seven years of a character's life. While the others he skipped less.

It was a moment though where I realized that seven years can go by, and there is nothing wrong with that. Sure you're seven years older [30, if I started now]. Life still goes on. You've stalled, but the world has continued to turn.

Now, years later, when my life has taken a turn. A sharp left on a road that was normally straight forward and only a couple of rights every now and then. I want to just be stationary for a while. I want to standstill and breath. I want to openly cry.

Tonight I danced around in my living room with Elizabeth. She watched me play PS2 and then we put on the video I posted before this. And I sang out of key and did my best Annie Golden impersonation. I laughed until I couldn't breath, I made a lean cuisine. Stationary!

What is this? I'm not 10, I'm not just getting used to this. How does one sort out these thoughts correctly? I know at the end of the day I'll still be odd and off. I'll still be loud and awkward. Those are scars of the last 2.5 years. Right now though, I am entering a place I haven't been allowed into. I'm still lost as all hell, but this is a good resting point for the time being.