Escapology in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

Well, someone died. This makes the fourth dead person to have been in my bed and then passed away.

I don’t know the details. I don’t know that I need the details. I’ve been rather incoherent over the last several days. I’m not sure that I exactly know how to deal with death which is odd because I’ve faced it so many times. I’m so sad that he was so young, he was barely 23 and was getting his life all sorted. Some people claim that he took his life, some people claim that he was HIV positive, some people claim that he was still struggling with his sexuality. I don’t know if all that’s true, but I know that five days ago when he was in my bed, he was happy and looking forward to the life that he was finding before him.

While I’m glad to see that everyone loved him, I was a little upset that everyone was using this incident to crusade for their own issues and problems. I hate it. But there’s nothing I can really do.

My birthday is on Friday. Thirty-one years old. I’m not sure that it really means anything. I’m not too concerned about getting older to really conceal my age but at the same time, I don’t really feel like I’m getting older.

I’ve discovered this great aspect to this age of technology. You can cocoon yourself in a different age and time. Due to the free access of the internet, you can wrap yourself up in the media of a different age. All I do is watch the television shows that I watched when I was younger. All I listen to is the music that I listened to when I was younger. There’s no reason I cannot trick myself into thinking it is 1997.

I knew so much more in 1997. I was so clear about what I wanted. By that time I had a routine down, I wasn’t caught up in the strangeness of relationships. I was completely content with how miserable everything was because the media of the age reflected that despair. Grunge and alternative gave me the music that explained my feelings. Daria, Are You Afraid of the Dark, the X-Files and other shows reflected those same things back at me. I was in-sync with the culture.

Now I’m floundering. There’s nothing for me other than the ability to escape it all. And when I don’t do that, all I see and hear is the negativity of the things around me. My mother is miserable. James is dead. School has been a waste of my time and energy.

It’s all ending and I am supposed to figure out what to do. This is probably the only situation in which me being thirty-one brings me some hesitation; this is a situation I was supposed to be in when I was twenty-one. Shouldn’t I know better by now? I certainly knew better when I was seventeen.

Oh well, I have to have something to pass the time.