***Chapter 12***Halfway to Nowhere
Sorry for the delay everyone. My wrist is in some serious pain right now and it took about four times longer than usual to write this week because it was all with one hand. Make all the jokes you want. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. But trust me, it’s really just pain. I’m not killing any kittens.
Most books won’t let you know when you’ve reached the halfway. They trust you to figure that out for yourself. But since you can’t pick up the internet and see if you’re holding an equal number of pages in your left and right hands, I’m letting you know. Call it a public service. In 12 weeks, this little adventure will come to a close.
A few things arise in light of this. Where did we begin? Where is all this leading? What has been the point?
All very good questions.
I’ve stated several times that this is a love story about music, the internet, and pop culture. It’s also a love story about me and my life. The first part eludes to the essays I wrote in the summer, which the tone and theme are based on. The difference is that this story has been very personal to me. At work this weekend, Chris told me he didn’t have to ask how I was doing because he read this every week. I think that’s proved that I’ve succeeded in personifying this story into something real and authentic. But at the same time, I don’t want this to be perceived as some sort of blog.
So I’ve talked about failed relationships and failed dates and failed attempts to find solace in the material world. I’ve delved into music as a way to blanket the world, but music is all too eager to accompany a bad attitude as it is to turn it good. Listening to sad music in a sad mood might comfort you like a warm blanket, but it certainly hasn’t improved my chances of happiness. Angry music hasn’t calmed me down. Political folk songs have had no effect on me whatsoever. Or maybe they all have and I haven’t noticed. Maybe the theme has passed me by and is waiting for me to cross some emotional finish line.
But maybe I should concentrate on the explosion of the present.
Sometimes I get confused myself. A whole hell of a lot happened to me this week, and it’s all quite relevant to my concurrent theme. I could talk about what happened on Wednesday with my last Diaspora class and go into how my professor thinks I should take what I’ve got going for me and run with it, instead of constantly looking for a gimmick or character. I could talk about what happened on Friday with a bunch of friends at the Velvet Underground, how we all danced to “Wake Up” by the Arcade Fire, even though half of them didn’t believe it was possible, and how I ended up crying at the end of the night on the subway. I could talk about the beautiful woman that watched me, and smiled, and gave me a glimpse of the arcane. And I could talk about Saturday, and how amazing it was to kiss a girl I’ve liked forever, and how goddamn happy I am right now because what began could be something amazing.
I know it’s amazing because I sat next to an adorable girl dressed as a clown on the subway. She sat there, blowing up balloons and making animals. That kind of thing simply does not happen in one’s life when normalcy is happening. I would know. The last two months have basically been on autopilot. All of a sudden, BAM, I cry on the subway, I kiss a girl, I see a clown.
Oh, and last night at my book club we discussed High Fidelity and then watched the movie. High Fidelity is pretty much my favorite movie of all time, and I only ever watch it in the midst of important moments in my life (usually of heartbreak, but not always).
So that’s right now. After several weeks of relative calm (though leaning in the direction of morose sadness), things are happening. Exciting things. Big things. Things worth reading about (if only I’d write them). Things worth discussing (if it were actual fiction). Things worth writing music about (if I had any talent).
I’ve got this thing about chemistry with girls that’s very similar to my chemistry with pop music. Most guys have a type of girl they like. If it’s not a particular look, then it’s a way they wear their hair or how they sleep or what kind of sweets they can bake. This taste in women is usually inspired by the models in beer commercials. Similarly is most guys’ taste in pop music. Personally, I’ve never been one for categorization (I think four of my essays at least circled the topic) and so, on my iriver right now, I have no less than 17 different genres listed, and the thing only has 75 CD’s in there. And no, I don’t cheap out by including “Alternative” “Alternative Rock” and “Alternative Punk” and “Alternative & Punk”, though they’re all there too. And similarly, my taste in women isn’t even a taste at all. I like music that’s good to listen to. I like women that are good to be with.
Interestingly, this kind of makes it incredibly hard to find someone.
It’s weird. I still sort of think about her as a friend, since that’s what we’ve been for the years we’ve known each other. It’s going to be an interesting transition. And a whole hell of a lot of fun.
I really, really can’t think of anyone I get along with better. Even though our musical collections are very different. She has just as much range as I do, and knows just as much, but I’ve found makes different choices in each direction. And I like all the bands she likes, and she likes most of the bands I like, and that’s what matters. You know, material things like that.
Wait.
I was talking about connection and chemistry. I was leading up to talking about Charlotte. And here I am.
I’m halfway through my piece and I’m really happy. I’m sorry for those who thought this might follow a logical narrative curve, but real life doesn’t work that way. This whole thing might end in tears, but right now and for the foreseeable future I am swimming in lollipops. This is how real life works. Up and down. Awesome and shitty. It’s not quite binary like that but it’s easy to categorize. I guess that’s maybe why everyone does it.
I really feel like I can be me with her. Like I don’t have to be a character wrapped in layers of personality quirks and observed researched. I can just be honest and real. And she makes me want to say cheesy stuff like that. Which really doesn’t happen often. And will hopefully stop soon. Because the last thing I want is to be cheesy.
I’ve been listening to Eels all day because I miss her. Eels song ever recorded is about missing people. Except for “Christmas is going to the dogs”, but it’s just fun. Ain’t nothing wrong with fun.
“Oh, this is life, and everything’s all right.
Livin livin livin livin livin life.”
