Through the Sunroofs of Limos

It’s cold in my house and it’s not just because of the temperature.

I wonder about the relationships you build in your 20’s and what they’ll mean to you when you’re 40 and watch different shows on different channels. I wonder if I’m missing out or moving forward, just taking my time or bleeding out, like I’m on my period every day of the year. Seeping out slowly.

I wonder if writing is a joke and good comedy is just a bad joke HA HA HA and art around me is funny but not in the ironic way, like I want it to be, and I wonder if all the tea I buy is really as good for me as the box tries to tell me. I wonder if I should exist more apathetically than courageously and read more classic literature than rock journalism and walk my dog four times, not three and maybe take a trip to a city I’ve never been to. Somewhere where I can wear layers of clothing and smile when the cold air stings my cheeks, in a different way than I smile now, but for the same reasons. I’m curious as to if this age defines you or if it ruins you, and if what I want to do will destroy me or empower me and I wonder, contemplate like crazy, the way you sit and think after a David Lynch film or an awkward romance, if anything makes sense, or if it’s all just lame god damn cliché angst bullshit- the same shit I used to write and think and contemplate as when I thought Elizabeth Wurtzel was a God and American Beauty was the best film I’d ever seen.

What’s depressing is it is. And the more I read Elizabeth Wurtzel the more I didn’t like it.

I lose so often it almost feels like routine. I lose people who love me, and who I love. I lose possessions I worked for. I lose at Scrabble even though I always thought I was an okay player. I lose my messenger bag, my Excedrin Migraine medicine, my debit card, my dog’s leash, jobs, friends, opportunities, money. I lose abilities I used to poses through the day to day monotony of work lunches and fights with the boyfriend and Pilates on DVD and reading stuff I want to write. I lose myself in narcissism, self analysis and over thinking. I lose at trivia because I can’t retain knowledge about movies that came out in the 80’s.

For some people they’re 25 and they know where they’re supposed to be, with whom, doing what and they probably bought a dog at the mall and they don’t let things bother them much, at least not when it’s sunny outside. I want to wrap my head around perfection and normalcy and contentment and self assuredness, the way I did a long time ago, when I’d sit and write because it was fun and not because I “should.” I want to feel like those people in movies who stand up through the sunroofs in limos on a night when everything is totally fucking perfect or backwards or exciting because it’s new and because I’m in a fucking limo.

Fuck this entry, man. How depressing. I feel bad for feeling bad and have to remind myself that it’s okay to feel something other than super awesome and maybe it’s even okay to change things when some stupid cloud of change is lingering over me like last weekend when it wouldn’t stop raining. I still walk Gordon and he still shits in a bush.

When do you really know if the chapter you’ve been living is supposed to end and something new is supposed to start? Do you feel it gradually or does it come all it once, without warning, like when you stand up too fast when you’re drunk and you’re reminded that you feel way fucking different than before you sat down? I’m turning the heater on.