Pops

                The first time I went hunting with my father, after I had moved on from my hippy anti-hunting phase, we went with a young guy named Paul that our family had known for years. We drove up to the North Slope to bow-hunt caribou, a long drive that we usually split over the course of two days. I remember before we left we stopped at Safeway and got some snacks for the trip. I bought, among other things I’m sure, a bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips, one of my favorites to this day. Over the course of the drive our food all got mixed together and somehow Paul, sitting in the backseat, ended up munching on the Sun Chips. I knew it was happening from the passenger seat, but there wasn’t really any graceful way for me to say anything, and I figured he would stop long before the bag was empty.

Never have I been so wrong.

We found a spot to camp for the night, slept, rose early and were on our way again. Sometime during that first night or next morning the topic of money or snacks must have come up, because I said something like, “Well I bought that bag of Sun Chips and I didn’t even get to eat any, so…” Even as I said this I knew how petty and childish it sounded, but it was out, and it was awkward. We all moved on to other things but I remember my pulled me aside and said in a tone I can’t quite describe, (Annoyed? Disappointed?), “Men don’t talk about the cost of things like that.”

I thought about that in the shower this morning. If I ever have a son, I think I’ll tell him that story.

Little J

I've been trying to journal more. Mostly to record past events and memories, of which I have many. I'm still using the same journal I used in college and on my mission, so if I ever have kids this book is going to be a trip to read, hella roller coaster.

But today's entry was more present-tense.

The last thing I wrote was: Maybe it's time to start making good choices.

We'll see.

Long

Looking at it now all this stuff I wrote seems pretty pathetic and self serving and just bitchy, but I guess it made sense when I wrote it so I'll stick it out there uncensored:


There are points in life where there's a group of people, all starting something together. A high school graduation. My district in the MTC. Everyone is looking into the future and seeing something bright and seeing the road there and how it's all going to work. And for some people maybe it works because they think "I'm going to go to college and study and party and have fun and good grades and it will be a good experience." And that's manageable and it's great and it happens. Or maybe "I'm going to go out and teach the gospel, and it's gonna be really hard sometimes but I know that I'm going to help some people and I'm going to be a better, stronger person when it's over." And for some people that happens.

I want to say that I can't make plans, but that's not true. I can dream up as happy a future as the next guy. A world where I'm doing something real with someone I love in my life and I'm not alone and not stuck and blank. I can imagine those places. But I can't see those roads anymore. Where are those things? They're abstract. Some 'thing' that's out there but not here, not in reality. I think about how different things are for those people, who started out in those groups. Maybe I wallow in self pity. Maybe it's not deserved, because nobody is probably where they thought they would be and no ones road has been as easy as they'd liked.

But what I really think about. I saw someone today, that I hadn't seen or thought about in a long time. But once upon a time we were on pretty level playing field. Some ups and downs and just getting by. And now that person is still fine. Better than fine, doing pretty skippy. And then I thought back to another person I was close to once, and we were both happy or sad or whatever I don't remember with our lives and fast forward to now and it's the same. They have a life. They have love, and fulfillment, and people to be with or even joke with. Of course now the examples are piling on pretty hard. People are okay. People are okay and I am not. And we used to be equal, and somehow my road has taken me down down down and I look around and there is nothing. By any objective scale my life is a gigantic fuck up. And I am fucking nowhere, and not going anywhere anytime soon. Living with an aunt. After living with a sister, after living in a car after living in a fucking parking garage elevator and fucking hotel bathrooms and fucking wherever I could sleep for 5 fucking minutes before I had to move, after a fucking homeless shelter where I overdosed some 17 year old girl and had to leave because I wouldn't let them search my bags and they took my meds that could have been so much money and I think it was really because they found that stupid needle in the fucking bathroom. After living in a hotel with all that spice that was the worst thing I ever did and I watched these seasons of tru blood in that hotel room and when I watched an episode the other day and the opening song came on I could taste that spice in my mouth and my brain remembered what it felt like and I was sick and couldn't watch it. After living with another sister and her family that I loved and I fucked it up by just doing nothing. After living with another aunt where I fucked it up by, that's right, doing absolutely nothing.

Not many more places to run away to. Maybe not any. And the only thing I'm more of than the fact that the way I'm doing life isn't working is the fact that I'll never do it a bit different.

So I don't know. Those people that I was once on equal ground with, that have moved on. That might not be somewhere great but they're somewhere better than they were. Maybe it's just a fuck you to people who took all those better roads than me.

But of course. That's all selfish. It's easy to say blah blah blah I fucked my life up over and over. But what probably matters more in the end is those gosh darned sins of omission. Those people I could have helped on my mission. People in high school who could have been brought up instead of down. Meg. Maybe Sarah. Maybe Danielle, this summer, where maybe I could have saved her. Could have been that guy who gave good advice that she would love and agree with and then break as soon as she wanted something more. Maybe I could have helped her instead of standing behind those bathrooms at valley of the moon park with tin foil and a lighter and a dismantled Zebra mechanical pencil and saying maybe you should try it. Maybe she wouldn't have lost her daughter and car and apartment and in all honesty I probably put a bullet in her head. It would have been more merciful and smoking her out for those first few days.

It's a long night. Internet's fucked, maybe I'll get around to posting this in the morning.

What to say?

The life is pretty empty these days. Just sort of hanging out. Could theoretically start working at Wendy's this week. Which is about the most depressing thing since Auschwitz. But, money is a thing.

Planning on going back to school I guess. Seems like the thing to do. Not really digging doing this for the rest of my life. No idea what to study.

Really miss drugs, obviously. But I guess it's worth it to trade day-to-day unhappiness for a shot at something real later on. Or at least that's what I tell myself. I'll always have mike and ikes, anyways.

There's a severe lack of adventure in my life. Could use some surprises or something. But I guess we'll see.


The End.

Dear,

You told me I was cute and asked for my number, which is not a good start in the 'me respecting you category'. I took you out because your name was Sarah, but I'm afraid it was downhill from there. When you finally offered to give me a blowjob, perhaps in an attempt to cure of my detached indifference to everything about you, I was almost tempted. Not because I found you in any way attractive, but because you were so pathetic and embarrassing that it seemed like it really would have sealed the deal in my quest to become a horrible person. Fortunately, even that tantalizing reward was not enough for me to give in. Also, you have a stupid face. Stop texting me.

It's really hard to watch 'The Other Boleyn Girl', because I can't decide whether I'd rather make out with Scarlett Johansen, Natalie Portman or Eric Bana.

Title

I dreamt of you on the night of my grandmother’s funeral.

It had felt strange that day, to say your name, after so long. It was inevitable, though.

“This is only the second funeral I’ve ever been to.”

“Who was the first?”

“Her name was Meg.”

That is the simplest explanation. I remembered you, therefore, I dreamt of you.

 But you were so beautiful. Your face was, at the risk of sounding cliché, radiant.

Not like a Proactiv commercial radiant. But in the classical sense of the word. A glow. And your hair was red still.

At one point, you tucked it behind your ear. Or at least, I think I remember that. It’s hard with dreams, like any memories, to keep them pure, unadulterated by imaginations, exaggerations, colored perceptions. What you wanted to have happened, what should have happened.

But still. I think you tucked your hair behind your ear. At any rate. Red.

You weren’t dead, obviously. But never had been. We were at a crowded stadium, the kind that probably neither of us have ever been to. We talked. You can’t know how much I wish I could remember what we talked about. But anything I conjure up at this point is sure to be a lie. I don’t remember.

It was strange, to have this experience on that particular night, just a dozen or so hours before I would begin to contemplate my own death. Sit back, make a hard analysis of my life, my past and current choices, and what choices I’m willing to make in the future, and realize that the road I’m on inevitably leads to you. I’ve got a good while yet, but a road is a road is a road.

You were happy. So happy. When I woke, I had to think so hard about what was true or not. I had these two images in my head. One was you, as I had just seen you, and the other was a sort of x-ray. A stop-motion film of a head being torn apart by a bullet from beneath. What do you call that soft part, between your chin and your neck? I don’t know. But I had these two images, and my mind was desperately trying to reconcile them. One, or the other, but certainly not both.

 I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see you again. I have a lot of sleepless nights ahead of me. Consider this an open invitation.