Sometimes I forget that life is pretty awesome and eternal and beautiful. Sometimes I get cold and frustrated and hungry. Sometimes I just really want to take a steaming hot shower, but something outside of my control prevents the instant gratification. Sometimes when my mom tells me about what is really happening in our lives, our familial financial state, the varying degrees of healthcare my outer relatives are receiving, the state of the economy and my place in it; when she tells me that I would rather just nod and make small noises of comprehension than actually realize what thin ice it is that i've been skating. I like to think that I am in control of my place in this whole thing. But the stubborn alternative high school student never knew a goddamn thing. I liked to think that i had the ability to debate the middle aged patrons of Bob Evan's with enough knowledge and grace to keep them coming back for more. But really, they saw through my bluff. And now, looking back, I realize what it was that I was lacking. Why I was never fully involved in the relevant discussion. I lacked passion. And to some degree I think I still do. I mean. I get overexcited or angry or really happy. But these are all fleeting emotions that can change momentarily. Never have I experienced an enduring passion, a need to know more, want more, touch more, get more. I envy Rachel because of her ability to engage a new topic so intensely that she is unable to concentrate on anything else. While I see the crippling effects of both extremes, I wish that I could just find something in the middle. I was thinking about Taylor a lot last night. I can't remember what her voice sounded like, or even the vocabulary she used. Every attempt at auditory recall comes out sounding squeaky and awkward. I remember exactly what she looks like. But i can't really remember details of the things we did together. But I do remember that when Taylor was my best friend, I was a passionate person. I was obsessed with music and knowing everything I could possibly find on the internet about certain bands. I loved school and applied myself heavily. Taylor and I used to talk for hours upon hours about our views of eternal life, or religion, or who if we would marry if we were forced to at the moment. Just days before she died, we even discussed what we would say to each other upon the effect of our dying. We loved each other so much that we promised, if it came down to it and one of us went, the other would kill themselves to join. But when it came down to it, I even lost my passion for that. I barely visited her grave, I took her pictures down from my walls. I curled up into a ball and never came out again.
And I believe that I am still encapsulated somewhere in the moments after her death. I have yet to escape that abandonment. I am still standing on the railroad tracks with a bottle full of pills.
Sorry about the melancholy. Our friend Josh Ward overdosed 2 years ago today. Funny thing about people dying in Warsaw, It always seems to land on the 28th. I think there are three different people who died within 2 years of each other on the 28th of some month. I guess today is a good day to die.
I'm not really depressed though. Just disenchanted. A little nostalgic, and a whole lot of lost.
Sometimes I just need to talk about Taylor. Because I really think she was the last good thing I ever saw.
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