|"If I had a million dollars," or "a lesson in disappearing completely..."
||[Jul. 10th, 2003|11:02 am]
|[||Your mom ain't listening to
|||||Radiohead - How To Disappear Completely||]|
Yesterday someone in the office had the bright idea to go around and take a collection to buy Powerball tickets since the prize was so high. If one of our tickets had won and we'd taken it in a lump sum, we'd have each come out about $6 million dollars happier. That didn't happen. That isn't the point of this post. The gal that was collecting $5 from people asked me what I would do if we won and I gave her the standard "pay off the bills" speech that every person gives. It sounded happier, more down to earth, than having to explain the truth. A brief, terse response seemed more suited rather than an exposition detailing the discovery of in(t/f)ernal demons within the darkness of my heart, of the scars and festering wounds that I'd rather bury soundly as I speed across this vast country, of the need to escape from the same old cycles that always occur.
What would I have done, had we won? I'd have written my mom an IOU for $1 million dollars today for her birthday. I'd pay off my bills and student loans. I'd buy a comfortable convertible to go road-tripping in. I'd disappear completely. My drive would start eastward, with a week or so visiting Jen. From there, I'd find a direction and start driving that way until I got bored and decided to drive in another direction. I'd drive drive drive until I'd managed to erase my past for the second time in my life, until my past was a story that brought forth no more emotion than talking about the weather. I'd never call anyone except my mother to tell her about the sites I'd seen lately and the local pizza delivery. Contact with me would be a one-way street because I'm tired of being the one trying to maintain most of the (friend/relation)ships I've ever had in my life. It's time I feel like someone cared about keeping in touch with me for once, an accusation I don't make to anyone in particular, I simply attribute it to the general malaise I feel in regards to all of my actual social contact. I'd drive and drive and drive until nostalgia was burned out of my system, until I had no concept of sentimentality, until I forget why I've lost all sense of compassion and faith, until I'm whole, once and for all.
And this diatribe seems to be incensed with morose and depressed sentiments. But I write this with anger, with frustration, with disappointment. I shed no tears. You don't cry over your own funeral pyre. Self-destruction and personal tragedy are the only true paths to self-renewal and personal growth. Urban renewal for the soul. Tear out the old, crippled brownstone homes, replace them with parking lots and fast food joints and malls. Bury the pain, the frustration, the anger, replace it with something newer, sleeker. Fake plastic trees in place of flower gardens. Fake plastic people in place of depth. Intellectuals with random guy from a sports bar during college basketball season. Depth with filler. Hope with complacency. Desire with comfort. Emotion with ambivalence. Gut it all out. Leave no stone intact.
Deliverance can only come from within. Only you can deliver yourself from mediocrity.
I would apologize to anyone disturbed by this post, but then I realize that I just don't care. My journal, my posts, my business. I'm tired of catering to the wants and expectations people have about my so-called-life. The kid gloves are off.