Singularity (written on Mothers Day 2008).

I wonder why I never posted this.

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Singularity. (Mother's Day)

Playing between my legs is new nine inch nails, the perfect soundtrack to where I am in my life. It's t-minus three years to thirty, that arbitrary number that decides whether or not a twenty year old is on track in his or her life. This music is habit. I haven't enjoyed the last three albums of the band that in the past has been an appropriate, perfect sync for my emotions. Now, it's almost an irony. "The Slip," as it's called--it's annoying. I hope a 16-year old is listening to it now and it's changing his or her life. I hope that that person views the music as a checkpoint in their limited perception of time. That nin is "old school," that what they are listening to is new, and should I ever meet this hypothetical teenager and tell them this, that they correct my musical history as it pertains to a band that I used to really love.

It's 10:09 PM. In my world it's after midnight, but that's because I'm thinking about someone who hasn't been home in two weeks. I call when it's good for her because she's always two hours closer to sleep and all I do is work. Work, and take walks. Is that what lonely people do? I didn't realize how much of a serial dater I've been until the person I've dated has gone the way of milk carton panels and flyers on telephone posts. I have displayed the symptoms of singularity: constantly busy, volunteering for everything, not wanting to go home because when I'm home all I think about is how lonely I am.

It's 10:11 PM. I just ate--a lot. I worked from 6:30 to 10:00 AM, napped, was gonna work but instead hung out with friends till 3:00 PM, then slept. Woke at 5:00 PM, ate, and slept. Then now I awoke, ate, and can't sleep. This days been like my academic career: fun stuff early on and all the "need-to's/have-to's", biological functions later on. Having the sleeping habits of a kitty was something of a goal for me, but now that I've done it, it's not that exciting. And really, I don't get into the kind of trouble that really appreciates that kind of sleeping pattern.

Life is chugging along at a brisk pace. Friends are engaged and I'm finding myself reflecting. 30 is staring back at me and I'm prepping for the worst. Saturn Return; it's the dark days prophecized. Me, I'm the curmudgeonly army-surplus guy with a stockpile of guns and MRE's in his basement waiting to simultaneously fight it off and say, "I told you so!"--but I already said I was curmudgeonly, right? Maybe it's not "waiting" but rather it's "wanting," to prove that I was right all along and all this effort was for something. The reason my last relationship failed is because I felt too domesticisized too soon. Picket fences don't have a lot of pick up and go, and they seemed like too good of a fit for my right-on-schedule, four years of college, Masters Degree by 24, friends. I haven't fucked enough people, y'know? Fucked up enough. I don't believe everyone has to "learn the hard way" to understand life, but the only lessons that have ever stuck are ones gained through failure. If I don't make mistakes I haven't tried often enough. But practice does make perfect.

10:37 PM and I like to reread and write down what I've done. It's gonzo journaling at it's worst... no, that's this... right...now. I realize that this record, this soundtrack has been playing this whole time. Kind of accept it as part of the scenery until it's gone, or sounds like it's gonna be gone. Which it is, now. That record was forgettable.