If you’d asked me a year ago why I was doing this, I would have likely made some stupid quip about Bill Murray and The Jesus and Mary Chain. Insomnia and Suntory times perhaps. Maybe even something undoubtedly hilarious and crass regarding Peaches. Either way, I guarantee it would have been irrelevant and unoriginal whether I was actually 1150km East of here or not. My true longitude and latitude however are not the point. It rarely is. What I’m trying to say is that at some earlier point in time, I had a soundtrack prepared for the journey ahead. A filter. A vague idea of the players to introduce. A terrifyingly nondescript dialogue.
And it’s funny, because now that I think about it, that all seems awful. Oh don’t get me wrong. I love you Sofia Coppola. You are brilliant and wonderful and I am glad to be made to feel a lesser human being by your talent. But I’m glad to not be rolling that ‘I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be’ dribble over and over in my head anymore. It’s SO easy to find yourself wallowing in that place. Universities would make a killing if they molded it into a curriculum and offered classes in it as a precursor to the ‘real’ world. And it’s weird, because sometimes the mere knowledge that you are in fact wallowing in such a place that makes you feel…transcendent. Profound. You’re just a generally more complex individual for being so damn introspective. And maybe you are.
But maybe you’re also spending a hell of a lot of that energy on not actually going anywhere.
I honestly don’t know where I was going with this. I think this is just my way of pointing and laughing at my past self and her naive expectations. Because the reality is better. It’s a lot harder, there’s less staring out windows and pondering your existence, and while the insomnia may be your real and constant friend, it will only unify you with others in the same way it ever did; in whatever manner the internet allows. So praise be to Facebook chat and the wonders of time difference. And should you find yourself (I’m talking to you past Liv) asking such thankless questions as; ‘what am I supposed to be?’, and are disappointed to find that there’s no such Bill to grasp your ankle and remind you that you’re not hopeless, well, you should be disappointed. Disappointed that you thought you needed to be reminded of that fact.
I’ll say it again. The reality is better. It’s nobody’s movie; not even my own. These people and these places aren’t written. They could never have been expected. They don’t belong to me and they’re not interwoven with my life or who I am. At least not yet. They’re just not mine. Only the experience is. And I’m bound to nothing but this.
Ah shark farts. I think all this babble counts as introspection. There’s really no getting away from it is there?