You probably can't do things like that.

So it's my birthday. Seeing Ben Folds last night really gave me a kick in the ass. Music. It's right in front of me all the time. It's in my head. It's in my hands. My fingers. Time to start making use of it.

I also passed my test this morning, so that was pretty nice. I suggested an intervention that showed incredible foresight on my part, apparently. My instructor was impressed. I shrugged. It happens. I smiled and walked out of the room. I didn't get to give blood, though. It was disappointing. They close so early.

Birthdays feel like regular days now. There's no big slumber party. There's no huge get together. There's no day off. It's a normal day. More people talk to you. That's nice, I guess. You get a lot of notifications on Facebook. It's kind of irritating. That's okay. At least people remember you. Or check their upcoming birthdays. Maybe I should talk to some of those people. I never do that anymore. I never see them anyway. I wonder if they'd care if I responded.

All I can think about is playing my guitar. It's staring at me over the desk. But I've got hundreds of pictures to sort through. I'll play it in a while. I've got memories to glue together.

How do you help somebody that won't help themself?

Comments

Ashley said…

I thought our slumber party was pretty fun, personally. :]

And I'd really like to hear you play sometime.

October 26, 2008 at 11:02 PM

Past the butterfly wall.

Spontaneous pneumothorax is a collection of air or gas in the space between the lungs and the chest that "collapses" the lung and prevents it from inflating completely. Spontaneous means there is no traumatic injury to the chest or lung. There are two types of spontaneous pneumothorax: primary and secondary. Primary spontaneous pneumothorax occurs in people without lung disease. It occurs most often in tall, thin, young people. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket but I can't answer it. We are in the middle of rehearsal. It is not an uncommon event. We continue to play. The strap of my saxophone cuts into my neck. The nylon is rough against my skin. I look out of place. Everyone else is dressed casually; shorts, shirts, shoes optional. There I stand, a button down shirt and slacks. I'm entitled to dress up a little. It's my birthday. My phone vibrates again. I always used to roll my eyes whenever I saw those scenes in movies. The phone call. The bad news....

Pseudo-science (like psych).

I consider myself a man of science. I try to approach problems and deal with them logically, using observations previously recorded to handle new problems. So of course my interest was piqued when someone I knew posited that men are needier and more complicated than women. An interesting theory. But to properly examine it, one must understand the concept of sexual selection and its two aspects: male competition and female choice. Which brings us to point one: men are needier [in relationships] than women. This is true. In a natural/primal setting, the males are generally love-'em-leave-'em kinds of guys. Their main objective is to reproduce as much as they can. Humans, in their infinite wisdom, have decreased the emphasis on this to the point where it has become a footnote in male purpose. Civilization dictates that, instead of finding a partner for the sole purpose of reproduction, males find females for life companionship. With the effective removal of their natur...

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge. In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old. It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We c...

everything is fine

Search This Blog