just to remember the good old days.

there were some things i wanted to talk about that i can't really remember too well. i watched before sunrise and before sunset, though, so i feel kind of talked out, even though i haven't said a word. i keep hearing about this idea in richard linklater's films that all of life is, or becomes (obviously), just a memory from our death beds. i was thinking about that a lot last night. how i can just lie in bed at home, and think that everything i've done - school, work, relationships with people - could all just be a dream. it's scary and liberating all at once. and just before i shut my eyes, i can imagine that i'm 5, or 55, and everything is more or less the same. i guess john lennon had that same thought when he wrote, "nothing's gonna change my world," but then again, he got shot, so who knows what the hell he's thinking now.

i've been reading stephen colbert's i am american (and so can you!) and it's making me feel a lot better about everything.

at some point, i knew how to take action. if i liked a girl, i asked her to come study with me. if class was boring me, i re-directed the conversation. if i felt like doing something, i called someone up. things never just fell into my lap. i had to go after them. i don't know what made it so easy to "carpe diem." maybe it was my awful roommate and his love of eminem and the temptations ( a strange combination, i know), and his big pile of dirty soccer clothes that he washed once a quarter. the way he would come up to me like the eager schoolboy he was to tell me about his latest encounter with the love of his life, stephanie. the way i knew stephanie was just not that into him. during this phase of "knowing things," i told stephanie that my roommate really liked her, and that she should just let him know where all of this is heading. i know it was stupid to do, and that it wasn't my place to intervene, but come on. i was literally drama-free for four years in high school, so just give me this one. plus, i was tired of listening to him talk about how he pushed her in the hallway, or how she threw her book at him or something. it was all so juvenile. but then again, who am i to talk. stephanie said she would have a serious talk with him about it. i didn't really pay any attention to how the rest of that played out.

i think that all i'm trying to say is that i have to be really dissatisfied with how things are going before i can actually do something. kind of like how alcoholics and druggies need to hit rock bottom before any kind of healing. but i've never been either, so i don't really know. this is all just an experiment. it's what life is anyway. just trying shit out, and if it works, it works. if it doesn't, move on. i've been pretty good about not complaining lately, i think. for the moment, and maybe just for today, i've at least stopped trying to think that i should be doing something else. if you're always trying to better your situation, which is the american way, then how can you ever be truly present and enjoy what you're doing right now? no matter how shitty things are, and even how worse they can get, there's always something worth laughing or thinking about.

i probably read this somewhere, but i only remember my mom telling me about it. it's about these two guys in a hospital after world war II. they're separated by a giant curtain, and both are immobile. the first soldier asks the other to tell him if he has a good view. "the view is wonderful," the other soldier says. "there's flowers everywhere, and children playing in the street." everyday, the soldier with the great view tells the other soldier about the things that he sees, and the soldier without a view is able to relish these images of the outside world he one day hopes to return to. when he's finally able to walk again, he gets up to visit his neighbor next to the window, only to find that the soldier who has been telling him about this miraculous outside world has bandages wrapped all over his eyes and around his head, and there is no window. just a brick wall.

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