Everything will be okay.

It’s been a while, are you still there? I’m still here, which is pretty remarkable if you zoom out far enough. Scientists still don’t know how life first began on this planet, yet here I am. Here we all are. Hurtling through space. Feeling happy. Feeling sad. Eating. Worrying. Growing older. Wondering if we’re using the limited time we have well enough, hoping we won’t look back one day with regret. Or an excessive amount of regret, because life is inevitably full of regrets. Dealing with – accepting – these regrets, that’s the key. Or a key. Another key is to distract yourself from thinking about all this shit, but I’ve learned that I’m not terribly good at that. At least not lately. Even when I have boulder to push up the hill, I’m only able to really focus on that boulder for a few moments before returning to thoughts of my own mortality.

At the moment I don’t have a boulder, or a significant one, whether by choice or by circumstance, so I’ve been doing an unhealthy amount of ruminating. Which inevitably leads, at least for me, to a bout of depression. And depression is a tricky one. Because it festers. It begets itself. It becomes the boulder that won’t budge, but refuses to be ignored. And you know that all you need to do is push a little bit harder, but then you’ll just have to push again, so what’s the point?

This is my tenth year in New York City, and I’m starting to think it may be my last. This city is wonderful in many ways, but also horrible in many ways, and lately the latter seems to be outweighing the former. I can’t imagine growing old in this city, and I’m not sure how anyone does it without an enormous amount of money. At one point in my life I would have felt like leaving New York would be like giving up on my aspirations, and to a point I still feel that way, but the bar just keeps going up and up, and the subway keeps getting worse and worse. I used to say that every New Yorker has a love-hate relationship with this city, mine is starting to develop into more of a hate-hate relationship, and I really don’t have the heart for that much hate, so maybe it’s time to move on.

The good news is, my bout with the flu was short-lived, and was not (as the internet led me to believe) meningitis. Count your blessings, distrust the internet.

Everything will be okay.

from my window, last night

WTC Lightning Strike

“Seemingly out of somewhere.”

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine said that he’d been reading the old parts of my blog, “back when you were writing.” Yes, okay. Thanks for the out-pointing. Noted, and appreciated.

Last year was hard. This year has gotten better, because that’s what happens in all of this. The big picture comes in and out of focus, and it grows bigger with every passing year. Even if an older and wiser someoneorother does warn you about this, it won’t make sense until it does, and there’s nothing to be done anyway. Perspective is a gift, nostalgia is a curse. Who wants root beer?

I want root beer. I like root beer. People who don’t like root beer confuse me. People who hate root beer terrify me.

My girlfriend and I broke up last year. Don’t think I mentioned that in here. It’s probably why I resorted to reposting Instagram photos instead of writing, among other things. The breakup was for the best, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. When I moved out of the apartment in December I felt untethered, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. What the fuck do I do now? What the fuck don’t I do now? Does anyone really care what I do?

Then you update your Ok Cupid profile. You go out on a bunch of dates –– the bad ones are bad, and the good ones are usually an illusion. You get disillusioned. You watch too much TV. You eat too much kettle corn. You procrastinate. You struggle to fill your Brita in a sink full of dirty dishes. You start to play guitar again. You order from Fresh Direct because you have a coupon, but you have serious trouble opening the pickle container, so you tweet @FreshDirect and they promptly send you a .pdf with instructions on how to open it.

The frozen pizza you ordered is far too large to eat by yourself, which at that moment in your life makes you sad, because you know that @FreshDirect can’t fix it with a .pdf. But the pickles are delicious, so that helps a little.

You carry on. The short hispanic man downstairs repeatedly complains about the noise coming from your apartment, but you really aren’t making any noise, so you start to think he’s crazy, and then he calls the police, and when they arrive they apologize to you because they know you really aren’t making any noise and the guy downstairs is probably crazy. This makes you feel better, but it doesn’t stop the crazy man from banging on your door and telling you to be quiet. This is only a temporary sublet, so that’s a good thing.

At one in the morning you walk a mile to the CVS near your old apartment to buy toothpaste and vitamins.

You grow tired of online dating, and you start to wonder if you are expecting too much. From everything. The weather gets cold and you hide in your apartment. You intend to call people you haven’t called in a while, but you usually don’t, and when you actually do they usually don’t answer because phones aren’t for talking anymore –– don’t you know that?

Your favorite emoticon is poop.

And “seemingly out of somewhere,” the frozen pizza gets eaten, and it doesn’t even taste that good but it doesn’t matter because she’s eating it, too, and you’re wondering where she came from and what she’s doing in your living room, and for a moment the big picture comes into focus and it all makes sense.

And then the guy from downstairs bangs on the door and complains about the noise, but all you’re doing is eating pizza, and the cops seem to have stopped responding to his complaints anyway.

And you don’t know what to do with yourself but you’re okay with that.

Everything will be okay.

upcoming

shot by the internet. edited by me.



ambiguous

Walking down 34th Street this afternoon with a friend of mine, I used the word “ambiguous” while discussing the ending of film we’d just seen, to which a homeless man we’d just passed shouted: “‘Ambiguous?’  Wow!”

I turned back to him and responded: “Thank you.  I’ll be here all night.”

You’re a charming bastard, New York City.

more me

An Interview with Filmmaker Jef Taylor (Proxart)