July 4, 2003

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  “Memories don’t live like people do
  They always remember you
  Whether things are good or bad, its just the memories
  
  Memories don’t live like people do-o
  Baby don’t forget me, I’m a travellin’ man
  Movin through places, space and time
  Gotta lotta things i got to do
  God willin’ I’m comin back to you
  My baby boo
  I’m leavin”–MOS DEF
  
  it’s 4PM. i’ve been sitting in class since 11AM. i’m bored. i took myself off my crazy pills about 2.5 months ago, and my ADHD is back in full force. well actually, i’ve deconstructed the source of my attention defficiency as 90% boredom. for example, the stuff we’re learning in class is all review for me. shit’s easy. and if it happens to be new material, it takes a heartbeat to figure it out and then i’m left to maneuver through my own meandering ruminations until the instructor calls for a smoke break. and it’s these lapses in interest that speed into motion, the unrelenting wheel of nostalgia. and today’s bout of reminiscence is brought to you by the letter D. i haven’t spoken/written to or heard from this girl in 8 months, largely due to my own resolve. and, to me, it’s almost like a war of attrition–in this case, me against my own will power. or maybe it’s something else entirely. i’ve moved on, and it’s clear that she has, too. so what the fuck am i still doing thinking about her? well, if anyone knows how to shut off my big brain, please contact our customer relations staff and they’ll be more than happy to put you on hold. people talk about closure as if it’s something that can be quantified. as if thoughts and memories can be so precisely measured as to assign an expiration date to feelings once flamed. fact is, i don’t know what i’d say to her if we spoke. i don’t know what i’d think of her if i saw her, again.
  
  i started reading comic books when i was in elementary school. every week, my brother and i would get an allowance of $5 and we’d immediately run down to wahoo comics on honolulu blvd. and buy the latest marvel or dc comic. my favorite character was wolverine. not only did he have hair like me, but he was canadian. and at the time, i was enchanted with everything canadian (i.e. playing ice hockey, wayne gretzky, phoebe cates). but now, i look back and wonder if it wasn’t wolverine’s healing powers that i didn’t envy. unlike a lot of people i know, my wounds take longer to heal (read: emotional scars). for this reason, i’ve been left in the dust, on many an ocassion, when it comes to packing up my intimate attachments gone awry, and moving on. and so, i find myself here. now. and i’m wondering how many more birthdays i have to see, how much more of life i have to live before my emotional metabolism steps up a few notches. for the most part, i haven’t “dated” anyone since things fell apart with her. it’s been over 1.5 years. this, my friends, is time enough, don’t you think? you’d think so. but, i’ve got the recovery statistics of a hemophiliac. and it’s this idea that you can tidy attachments into modular memories and my subsequent inability to do so, that’s got me unsettled. why? because i’m used to being able to figure out anything, to make sense of practically everything. but in this, i’ve conceded defeat.
  
  
  wisdom accrued is undeniable. but what good is wisdom in a world where there are no rules, only exceptions?
  
  some things don’t warrant an explanation, i guess. and others just can’t be explained. so, let’s just chalk this xanga entry up to boredom and leave it at that.

  • 10:12 am
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