I used to waste a lot of time in thought. It affected almost everything I ever wanted to do with myself, whether it was in the workplace, in my downtime, and any other form of time there was to waste. In reality people are cut up into two categories: Those that think, and those who act. This was part of my life education once upon a time. I must have thrown away a good two years feeling sorry for myself, until one day I came to the realization that nothing gets solved without acting, because the pity game can go on forever.
One Easter — this was probably two years ago — I was talking to my uncle about god knows what, and he told me “That’s the problem with experience; you always get it right after you need it.” I’ve butted heads with him over various stretches of my adolescence, but if that wasn’t the smartest goddamn thing I’ve heard out of him then I don’t know what is. Last Christmas Eve, his wife — my mom’s sister — and I had this big falling out because apparently I used the word “Fuck” and she didn’t appreciate it very much, but that’s the last time I had any sort of beef with any of my family members. For the last 5 years or so I’ve been a reclamation project, but I imagine last Christmas is the last time I’ll open my big mouth to create a stir.
I don’t understand what compels me to write in retrospect as often as I do; it’s like there are little fragments of my life that I’ve lost along the way and I’m constantly trying to find them, or give them meaning; the truth is probably too sad for me to admit with any kind of consistency, and that’s that mostly everything is meaningless, so to write about it is to fall victim to more time wasted.
About a year ago I was having a conversation with my older brother, it was just he and I, outside his apartment; I don’t remember what we were talking about, and what we were talking about doesn’t particularly matter, but I recall him telling me he was a fatalist, which is basically, as he defined it, the belief that whatever is happening in the world is meaningless, and it will only get worse from now until the end of time. At that moment I couldn’t help but to think that was the saddest worldview I’d ever heard someone tell me in such a matter-of-fact way, yet, as I write this, I feel like I’m sounding like him. Even though I don’t look at reality in such a hopeless manner.
In my heart I think I’m an optimist; I think life is one big challenge — I’m fond of challenges — and the throne is up for the taking. I truly believe this. I don’t think the government is out to get me, or anyone is trying to hold me down; I think everything is within my control and it’s up to me to take care of business. I’m generally not wont to make excuses unless I feel absolutely justified in doing so, and yeah, I’ve been wronged about as much as I’ve wronged others; that’s why it’s hard to fault anybody for doing anything they want to do. I’ve been there. Actually, I’m here.
For me, it’s just a matter of time and opportunity. When I was a little kid I thought I would have been one of those people to strike it rich and have a shitload of money at a young age, get married and start having a family by age-23 and the storybook ending would start writing itself from there. It hasn’t, however, worked out that way. I’m 23 at the moment, and only now have I carried myself to the point where the chips are falling in the right places, and it’s up to me to take it from here. No excuses, just time. It’s just taken more time than I expected, or envisioned.
The time for thought has ended. I would say the time for action is here, but it’s been here. My story is old and tired.
There’s a perfect combination of words out there, I just haven’t found them yet. They’ll set me free from whatever bullshit has been holding me back for so long, as it’s sapped my energy and happiness and stolen away my youth. What was once a boy without a care has turned into a lugubrious asshole living life with a chip on his shoulder. Once I find this perfect combination of words I’ll use them and take another crack at what I’ve always had my eyes set on, but until then I’ll just wait. I can’t wait forever, and neither will anybody else; I’m racing against the clock for something that isn’t going anywhere. But since it’s me, and since I don’t possess a bone in my body that thinks I can’t do something, anything, I think it’s mine to own and nobody else’s. I’m a selfish bastard, but if you could see what I see, you wouldn’t blame me.