saml

Help me understand as I attempt to force the glimpses of revelation confined to note form into one coherent blog. I’m not my usual self right now and my thoughts cannot form without registering this trying unfamiliar fog. I could be sick, but with what is a question I’m not ready to asses. Instead I assume it’s a combination of exhaustion and withdrawal from leaving behind [however temporarily] my comfy college life and entering this pseudo home in the middle of fucking nowhere, California. 

I’m light headed, I’m tired, and I’m hungry. It’s frustrating because it’s unlike me and this alien lethargy weighs heavy on the motivated mentality I’m trying desperately to gather. There is so much I want to get done. And where is the usual vigor that permits my seemingly speed induced productivity?

It’s not just psychological. This is some sort of physical consequence resulting from the events of these past few weeks which I can only begin to describe by prefacing with analogous artful imprecision.

This chapter in my life has been most enlightening and like this opening from ­A Tale of Two Cities (Which I have yet to read by the way), I have come to appreciate its graceful chiaroscuros. Ambiguity is what makes life poetic. Living in uncertainty- wanting to be good but craving to be bad- loving unsure of how far down your body that love extends- getting a selfish thrill at someone else’s expense knowing it will hurt but refusing to allow them undue empathy- Letting yourself have feelings for someone because they’re cute or you get along and you’d like to entertain the idea of not being alone- Knowing it’s nothing less selfish than that and accepting that you have control over what you choose to value- experiencing the power in non-attachment and learning that it’s just another repressive world-view one can get attached to- and finally realizing that the ability to relate is only half the battle; that a relationship is worth nothing unless you sanction the possibility of relating to each other. Anything else is just some fucked up form of sadomasochism to which I have often childishly fallen victim out of fear of many things, among them; dullness in life. But there is nothing dull about balancing vulnerability and composure and getting close to someone as they struggle to do the same.

My life will always be melodramatic. I unconsciously/subconsciously/consciously make sure to keep it [or perhaps see it] that way. The world I’ve created within the light and walls of my perceptions is one I will spend my entire life depicting and insisting that what may seem ordinary is in fact a work of art. I’m like the not-so-anonymous, less conniving Gossip girl (speaking of melodrama- what a fantastically awful show) who insists her observations are news worthy only because they threaten to expose you. But I do not wish to be cruel- I only enjoy making sense of my conscience and emotions by deciding what values are self created, which are imposed and in turn which deserve my time and energy.  Hugh Hefner said something like “You only get one time around in this life and if you don’t make the most of it, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

For me, part of making the most out of life has come to include the consistently mentioned exploration of individuality but my maturing ideals now include a socially constructed method of success. I desire to be a hard-working student, yes out of the love of learning and the thrill of intellectual growth but I’d be lying if I said the ego boost and opportunities that come with good grades are not a motivating factor. This goal has risen up the value scale to at least priority two if not higher but a conflicting priority that will always rank somewhere near the top is; experience. It has always been in my nature to take advantage of every moments potential for adrenaline. I suppose that’s what still draws me to drugs.

Because of society’s constant reminder of how disgraceful and illegal drugs are, drugs will always, if nothing else, pack the adrenaline punch of rebellion. [Breaken’ the law, Breaken’ the law…] I say “if nothing else” because quite frankly, sometimes drugs really suck. Sometimes they induce obsessive self deprecating thoughts, sometimes they are sickening, sometimes the symptoms of a high are out of sync which leads to paranoia as you ponder what chemicals might be added, sometimes the company at the time is unfamiliar and the situation becomes unforgivably awkward, and sometimes you realize that drugs do not alleviate boredom as they are not an activity and the only thing that has really altered your situation is an anxious refusal to sit and accept your lackluster circumstance.      

However, because drugs carry such a disgraced stigma, because they are believed to be so substantial in their negative side-effects; they will always be the dare devils poison. If only they weren’t so anti-glorified and people would tune down the over drama and instead nonchalantly advocate the hard hitting truth about drugs; they’re kinda fucking stupid.

I would never deny that in most cases they are counterproductive and a waste of precious time but I will be so bold as to ask what if a person has the time to waste?  What if someone, hypothetically speaking of course, has just finished there last final and is chilling on an empty college campus for a week, belongings all packed and sent home, waiting anxiously to see a favorite band’s concert. What if this person is stuck in love triangle of personal politics, secret alliances, power struggles, deep trust, mistrust, obsession, deception, disorder, disorders, empathy, attraction, philosophy, distraction, revelation, common ground, addictions, prescriptions, loneliness, competition and sexual tension? Is anyone else intrigued by the potential for adrenaline from this hypothetical melodramatic experience?

[It was a dark and stormy night…]

She and I were both similar kinds of crazy; he and I were both analytical observers of our post rehabilitated lives. She was his ex-girlfriend and the only one willing to save him from utter abandonment. He promised to conform to the hazy boundaries of loyalty she outlined, violating what he technically could but perhaps shouldn’t. It all depends on whether your moral scale weighs in favor of boy or girl, prodigy turned prodigal or the adviser turned adversary, self-serving or self-righteous?

 She believed in G-d, he believed in drugs, and I guess I believed in some of both. The story will be told with justice to its many facets one day but for now it’s important to know she was gone for that week. I was lonely and desperate for adventure but still apprehensive to borrow his company.

Below is a conversation with a mutual friend of hers and mine who once ironically played a role in our tensions as well.

THM: i know... i just wish i could. She [being the third side of the triangle) is so naive... what is she doing??