Radio Silence
November 15th, 2006 by Adam
It’s been a rough few weeks.
For the past month I’ve become mist, and an explanation must be given. My life since mid-October has been an unbelievable, roiling mess and while I could not be more engaged, my ability to regularly write short pieces and possibly post them here has been extremely limited. I’ve been eating too little and drinking too much. I’ve been gaining and losing, writing and sulking. It’s NaNoWriMo time and though I’m “done” technically speaking, I don’t feel anywhere close to finished. Phil is pissing me off. Kaitlin is breaking my heart. My grandmother hovers on the edge of death and my apathy burns. Australia seems farther and farther away even as I pay my tuition piece by piece and go into massive debt. My job has devolved from the borderline education of that awful kid in the helmet to refereeing scuffles in the sandbox. My mass market writing hopes have evaporated even faster than they appeared and tonight I’m sitting here solemnly listening to The Decemberists and missing the anonymity of foreign cities. I almost hope Adelaide falls through so I have an excuse to disappear again and live amongst the refuse for a few more months, like Superman—except my Kryptonite would be abstinence and sobriety.
It’s really not fair to paint such a bleak picture—fundamentally I’m happy, but I’m a lost soul. I’m well aware that I used the term “soul” which I despise passionately, but tonight it feels right. Everything will work out, as it always does, and I never stray too far from the facts: I’m young, white and male. I live in one of the richest suburbs of one of the richest parts of the richest country in the world. I have a couple of friends that entertain me to no end and a partner that loves me even as I smash her hopes with a sledgehammer. I’m just afraid, and that sensation doesn’t lend itself to cavalier acts or good writing. The future is a turbulent shadow from which there is no real escape, but isn’t this the joy of living in the first place? On the other side of that vortex could be a calm, pristine beach, a fiery inferno, a field of flowers, or a troupe of dancing midgets fist-fucking and sucking their way into infamy. You never know, and it’s what keeps this silly little experiment afloat.
At least the Rocky Horror Halloweekend was hilariously distracting, and all you lovely people deserve just the slightest taste.
Who’s hotter?
That’s right, mother fuckers, she is…
Adam