The Unbroken (The Brainwasher Mix) in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

On the last day of classes, I ended up randomly hanging out with this guy Jonathan. He was the guy upon whom I projected all those feelings after the death of my friend. It was one of those meet-cutes that happen in movies. It seemed like we were the only two people left on campus and we were having this extremely fragmented - but ultimately gratifying - conversation. Circumstances kept throwing us together and there was something so… at least in my mind… romantic about it.

In thinking about the whole thing, I’ve realized that I actually have found my way back to who I was when I was younger. That was a kind of goal that I set forth for myself this year and I ended up getting what I wanted, for better or worse. I’m back to the neurotic, insecure quite guy that I was when I was 15 who saw the potential for romance in every situation. I had forgotten how naïve it also makes me.

But I’ve come to appreciate strategic sincerity just as much as I appreciate pin-point sarcasm, and that is indeed a major accomplishment for 2014.

This morning, I woke up to a text message from Jonathan. It was some cute little picture message comparing his grace with my obvious lack thereof. It was ironic because I had actually been dreaming about him during the night. When I mentioned this, he asked if I killed him. I told him what it really was; I dreamt that we were dancing. See, romantic… Oh God.

I don’t really know what any of this means, and I may not pursue it at all but whatever. I enjoy chatting with him… and he is 19. It’s now well-known knowledge that I’ve been dating 19 year olds since I was 15, but I suppose that’s all there is to say about that.

As soon as I got home to Northern California, there was one group of my friends that happened to contact me immediately to hang out. All of the guys with whom I lived in Paris (minus Edgar, and that’s totally fine). Most specifically, TJ and RJ. TJ and I actually went out, so there we are in Sacramento’s lovely leather bar, drinking gin and tonics, while TJ furtively glances at the hardcore porn on the television screens.

I found it amusing that the bartender that night was the guy with whom I carried on an illicit sexual affair the last time I visited home all those years ago.

That’s the thing that’s so fascinating. Everything in Southern California is so surface-level, and that’s not a reflection of people I’ve met, it’s a reflection of the choices I’ve made. I have intentionally kept everything at arms’ length because I assumed I wouldn’t be there long. Coming back here, everything has so much depth and history behind it that it’s a little disorienting to suddenly see all these people again.

Even for all the people with whom I’ve known up here, there are connections that run deeper than what I’m used to. It’s not just my little brothers, and that is very strong, but it’s a connection to places and things. My littlest brother’s pastors are living in my house right now. My mother just gave them all my furniture. Even my grandmother’s piano upon which I learned to play.

I never had felt particularly attached to that place while I lived there, but going in and seeing my stove in my kitchen and my dishes in my sink.... I didn’t go in the bedroom but I wonder if they are sleeping on my bed which was the thing upon which I splurged when I bought that place.

I suppose you never lose your link to home no matter how hard you try to break it.