My Rambling Mind

There is no meaning. It is up to us to each individually find and give meaning to our lives. There is no grand purpose, no grand design. We do not exist to serve a greater reason or to serve any purpose at all. We simply exist, and we must do with our existence what we choose.

I am going to begin by expressing that today is not going to be a long ramble or rant, unfortunately.  I realize that I have taken a fairly long hiatus from my blog: college, and all the joys and terrors it has brought with it has made it difficult for me to find time for writing.  That being said, I thought I could give a brief update on my life and bring up the topic of the future of this blog.

College for me has been, in a word, amazing.  As I am away from my parents, I have found that my maturity level has raised, my happiness has increased, and my quality of life, as a whole, has improved.  Don't get me wrong: I love my parents, but the opportunity to spend time away and find out who I am without constant breathing down my neck and expectation being shoved down my throat has helped me to grow as an individual.

So, brief update on my life as a whole: my roommate is one of my best friends, my school life is incredibly busy, my sleeping habits are, to say the least, eccentric, and I am, as a whole, more content.  Oh, and I met a girl!  She's amazing, she makes me feel happy, and needed and comfortable.  We can lay around all day, simply in each other's company, without feeling the need to talk or do anything, just be near each other.  She doesn't make me hate myself, like Vicki or my other ex, she makes me feel like I am a better person when I am around her.

Today I witnessed the last Santa Fe sunset I will in a long while, and as I stood there, I began to reminisce.  I was standing on the rock I used to sit on to sneak cigarettes, back when I was stealing them from my mom's bedside table and smoking in, what I perceived to be, rebellion.  I would sit on that rock, blasting songs like "Dirty Little Secret" by the All American Rejects, staring out at the view, reveling in my own dirty little secret.  

I stood on that rock and remembered who I was before Santa Fe, a depressed, obese child, with hair down to his shoulders because he "thought it looked cool".  I remember how guarded I was on the first day of school, how I assumed I would automatically be rejected, and how I sat alone, in fear of being ridiculed.  As I sat there, awkwardly eating my lunch in solitude, and hoping the day would soon end, a pretty girl walked up to me.  She said, "You're new, right?  Why don't you come and sit with me and my friends?"  I agreed, begrudgingly, as I assumed I was only invited as a novelty, but when I sat down, I realized they genuinely enjoyed having me at their table.  They asked me questions about my life, and what growing up in NY was like.  Suddenly, as opposed to NY, everyone not only knew who I was, but everyone accepted me.  This first experience has been entirely indicative of my life in Santa Fe.  

After two weeks of living in Santa Fe, my self esteem grew to the point that I chopped off 85% of my hair.  I began getting involved in sports, hanging out with the "cool" kids, and my self-esteem rose both dramatically and quickly.  This was only the beginning.  

By the first day of school freshman year, I was fully integrated into the community.  Ben was my best friend back then, but after the beginning of freshman year, he and I would hardly talk for two years (which is insane to think about now).  On the first day of freshman year, I befriended a Canadian kid, and he and I were best friends for the two years Ben and I did not talk.  He was the first friend I had gotten incredibly close to, and it sucked when he had to go back to Canada at the end of sophomore year, but that, of course, opened the door for me to get closer to Ben, which I am incredibly grateful for.  For the most part, however, freshman and sophomore years were fairly boring.  I grew taller, got in better shape, and made some amazing friends, but it was mostly the same as eight grade had been before it.  My self esteem continued to rise, I continued to be accepted, and my life was, for the most part, very good.  

Junior year is, of course, the most stressful full year of high school, and for me, it was both my best and worst.  At the beginning of Junior year, Ben and I had once again gotten close, after having the summer to reconnect.  Junior year went on, with me busting my ass in school, leaning on Mark and Ben for support academically (and they leaned on me, of course), and all the normal Junior year stress.  What made junior year so incredible, and so horrible, was what happened as the year nearly came to a close.  My parents got separated and, due to the details surrounding the separation, I became incredibly depressed.  I have detailed a lot of that depression in previous posts, and, incidentally, this blog started as a way for me to get out my frustration.  Anyway, the gist of the last month of school was: I was drunk almost perpetually (including while at school), I was sneaking out and partying multiple times a week, and the partying led to me sleeping with a few women, one of whose name I can't recall.  My life essentially felt like it was over, and everything sucked.  It's when I started smoking, it's when my grades fell, and absolutely nothing was going my way.

The reason that this depression was actually beneficial was that it showed me who my real friends are.  Kate and I had become friends slightly before my depression, and she not only stuck by me, but we became very close during my depression.  Mark dealt with me, even if just barely.  Vicki went to prom with me, and did her best to make it a good time, even if she flaked out.  All of this was great, but for me, the biggest thing that came out of this depression was a true appreciation for how great of a friend Ben is.  He not only dealt with me, but would check and see if I was alright.  He listened if I wanted to talk, brushed it off if I was agitated, and didn't let my inability to function like a normal human faze him, even a little bit.  He even gave me a spare key to his parent's guest house downtown, in case I was really drunk and needed a place to crash instead of driving home, as I had once.  It was as I was leaving this depression that I was able to see all of this, and I felt able to talk to Ben about anything, which has been something I appreciate to this day.  Ben, and all my other friends, standing by me through this showed me that I could trust people, and that real friends don't leave.

I graduated High School yesterday, and this has led to quite the emotional roller coaster occurring in the last twenty four hours.  Instead of writing a long, drawn out post about my life and what I think about all of it, I'm just gonna write a quick post about my first encounters with my best friends.

Ben: "You're in eight grade?"

Mark: "Smell this."

Kate: "It was fun cleaning up your blood today."

So today I realized that quitting smoking is exactly like going through a bad breakup.  Though I had quit for nearly two weeks when I wrote that post, recently, with the stress of AP's, I began smoking again.  Not to the scope which I had smoked previously (about half a pack a day), but one or two cigarettes when I felt particularly stressed.  And today, now that all my AP's are done, and I can move on, I am going to try to quit again.  This resolve led to my realization that quitting smoking is exactly like breaking up with someone, at least in my experience.

When I began smoking, it was new and interesting.  It was an act of rebellion, it was something inexperienced.  I used to sit on a hill next to my house, hidden from my parents, and smoke, while listening to "Dirty Little Secret" by The All- American Rejects.  It was fun, and different, and interesting, and it made me feel happy for some reason.  As my year with cigarettes continued, I grew less and less happy while smoking.  It was no longer my "Dirty Little Secret", but it was aired out to the open.  It was not good for my health, nor my wallet, but I kept smoking because it was comfortable and familiar.  

When I decided to quit for real, I threw cigarettes aside and decided to grow.  It hurt.  All I wanted to do was have a cigarette.  Nothing else seemed to be as perfect in my mind.  Then, in a moment of weakness, I reached for a cigarette because I wanted the comfort.  I had my back slide, and smoked again, and this went on for maybe a week.  But then, I realized that smoking is not good for me again, and I once again want to quit.  And now I need to deal with all the sadness and irritation and longing that I needed to deal with the first time I quit. 

So today has been terrible and I don't really have much to say, but while I was doodling, I wrote something which I thought was really cool, which is:

"Smoking kills, but I would kill for a cigarette"

Today I had my last cigarette of all time.  Now, I know a lot of people have said that it's their "last ever", but I am completely convinced this will be my last, at least last that I smoke on a daily basis.  This is because recently, some things have happened in my life that made me realize that I need to change things.

As many of you know, (and if you don't you're welcome to read Smoking Back Emotion, which is a recounting of how and why I started smoking) I had started smoking when my parents got separated, because I felt super lost and smoking seemed to be a friend, of sorts.  Smoking was the kind of friend that one would call when there was nothing better to do, and there was no one else that one wanted to bother with one's problem.

I needed that friend for a while.  Nearly a year, in fact.  It was a solace in a world I couldn't control, and it made me feel happier and grounded, even though I had tried to quit multiple times.  As this year has continued, I have made some BAD choices.  These choices were not a reflection of who I am, or who I am becoming, but indicative of the depression I have been experiencing on and off for over a year.

On Saturday night I went over Ben's house, and we had a get together with a couple of friends.  We drank, and then I drank some more, and more, and more, and more, until I must have consumed at least twenty shots.  I danced, and talked a lot of shit, and did some things I regret, but that's no different from any other time I have drank too much.  What made this different is that I blacked out.  I woke up in the morning, still tipsy, and thinking I knew everything that happened, but then Ben and Kate and some of the other people started talking about what happened, and I realized I LITERALLY had NO clue what they were talking about.  It was at this moment, that I woke up and saw that I had no clue that I realized I need to change, because the behavior I was exhibiting could be indicative of binge- alcoholism.

The reason that I know that today I smoked my last cigarette ever is because it was the last cigarette at the perfect moment.  I had been planning on quitting after Prom Night, so that it could have been a full circle kind of thing.  I am quitting for a variety of reasons, mostly because I have developed a type of asthma, and because I don't want to be the kid that smokes in college.  The timing seemed perfect in idea, but in reality, the perfect time is truly whenever feels right.

And today felt right.  I walked to the kitchen from my bedroom and saw myself in a mirror.  I hadn't shaved in a week.  I was wearing flip flops and sweatpants, and I just came from school like that.  My hair was greasy and matted and had some paint in it from the other day (even though I HAD showered).  I looked up at myself, and I wondered "Who the fuck are you?"  That person looking at me right now can't be me.  I always kept my hair in perfect order.  I would never leave the house wearing anything less than jeans and sneakers.  Who the hell was the person staring back at me, this person who is, in many ways, the opposite of everything I have been for most of my life?  I walked to my room, grabbed my razors, and spent twenty minutes getting every speck of hair off my face until I was clean shaven again.  I hopped in the shower, listening to my Indie music, and washed my hair four times to get all the grime out.  And as I am washing my hair, I realized, I don't need cigarettes anymore.  Here I am, putting together my life after a year of insanity.  My parents split up, my dad moved out, and then they got back together.  I had drunk sex with a woman after Vicki left me at Prom, and I have no clue who this woman is.  I smoked cigarettes, and weed, and was drunk almost every day for a month.  I started smoking cigarettes daily.  I spent three weeks by myself in NY.  I hurt my hip, and had to stop fencing or exercising, leading me to gain 40 pounds after I lost 20.  I worked my ass off in school, and got into my dream school, and now I have to take out major loans to afford it.  I almost got shot by a crazy old man because he didn't like the way I was driving.  I have argued with my friends, gotten sick of people, made new friends, and evolved, and after this year of utter insanity, I have grown.  I have become more myself, as I have experienced what it is like to stare into the abyss of my life, and to face the realities of my faults, and I have learned to move past them, at least I hope I have.

Tonight I suppose I will talk about my day with Vicki.  We started off with a coffee, which she was actually on time for.  This surprised me, as she is usually late, and if she's not late, she's not actually going to arrive at all.  Seeing her there, waiting for me, shocked me.  It made me nervous, and excited, and impressed.  I park my car and walk into my favorite coffee shop, and order my usual: a double espresso and a vanilla Italian soda.  She ordered a chai latte, and upon receiving our drinks, we adjourned outside, where we spent the next two hours talking.  

We talked about everything.  She told me she was sorry for being a bitch to me.  I told her she should be.  We talked about prom, and she told me about all of her regrets with leaving on that night.  We talked about our crazy relationship, and how the reason it never worked was all her.  She took full responsibility, which, although I may sound cocky in saying this, was warranted.  She told me that she thought of me almost everyday, and though about how I kissed her the night before she left.  We talked about how her life in Rome is, and she told me that she loves the city but hates the people, and that all she really wants to do is come back to NM.  We sat there in the sun, and we talked, and then we decided to go downtown and hang out there.  

We get downtown, and she grabs my hand.  I didn't know how to react.  We had spent the last nine months apart, talking rarely, and, for the most part, living our own lives.  Suddenly, simply because she is back in town, we seemed to get back to where we were before she left.  We started taking pictures of ourselves in various positions and in various places, and sending it to my friends.  I wanted to be confused, to ache at the fact that she is leaving again in two weeks, but the only emotion I could actually feel was happiness that she was here at that moment, and that we could simply enjoy each other's presence.  

We talked more, about everything we could think of.  She told me about a weird lesbian experience she had, which we both laughed about.  She pushed herself into my chest so I would put my arm around her, and we walked like that for a while.  There was no clear purpose in mind, simply to walk, and experience each other.

After four hours of talking, and holding hands, and cuddling in plain view of everyone, we talked about what is to come next.  I looked her right in her eyes, and I said, "Listen, you know that I care about you."  She looked scared, but she said, "And you know that I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met."  I paused before continuing with what I was trying to say, and took that moment to soak in this moment.  I then said, "I don't know where we are right now, as in what we are right now.  What I do know is that I don't want to fuck it up this time with trying to figure it all out.  I just want us, or this, or whatever is happening, to continue, without pressure, and with both of us aware that it's not going to last."  She smiled, and told me that, "Maybe in Boston we can finally be happy."  I bit my lip, and held her closer to me.  She then said, "If I didn't leave for Italy, and you weren't leaving for college next year, I wonder what would have happened.  If you weren't leaving for college next year, I know that we would finally work."  She started crying as she said that, and I wiped the tears from her face.  I had no idea how to respond.  I know that if I wasn't leaving next year, like she left this year, that we would at least give it a shot.  But as it is, I don't want to leave for college upset, or missing someone that I can't have.

So, to preface tonight’s ramble (which is coming in rather late, which I apologize for), I just want to let you all know that I am currently on my phone, so there may be intermittent typos and such. I got in an argument with my parents and they decided a fitting punishment was to take my computer. So that’s fun. Anyway, onto the actual rambling.

A lot has been changing in my life. A lot. This is because of a culmination of things, but the most prevalent among the reasons is college. I know I talk about college quite a bit, but going to college is an event that changes someone’s life, hopefully for the better. I could talk for hours about how and why it chages someone’s life, but, instead, I want to talk about the changes that I am personally experiencing.

I grew up in the moderately sized town of Huntington, NY, and moved to Santa Fe, NM at the age of 13. I grew up a Yankees fan, learning to hate the Red Sox and everything they, and the city of Boston, stands for. Obviously, since my top choice school is BU, this couldn’t have gone on forever. As I have grown to love the city of Boston more and more, my hate for the Red Sox has dissapaited. I am now at the point where I love the Red Sox. I know, it’s sacrilege. My hesthenism has gotten so far, that during tonight’s game, I rooted for the Sox over the Yankees. I know, it’s horrible, but I can’t help it. It’s not that I now hate the Yankees and am going to go full Red Sox, but I have recognized the necessity of liking a team, and, subconsciously, have made that team “my” team. At first, I was shocked at the realization, and I felt like I was betraying my home, but then I realized that I was simply embracing my new home. Boston is an amazing place, full of amazing people, and I am happy that I can adapt for that city that is about to me my home for at least the next four years.

Next in the line of changes is that I am now sleeping with the TV off. For years, I have slept with it on, finding comfort in the noises and the glow. I found it so comfortable because when I was younger, I would always stay up for hours thinking about things, and creating worlds (much like those in Crescendo) which I would escape to. These worlds, although fascinating, would keep me up for hours on end, and I was completely unable to sleep until I grew so tired I passed out. I tried abating this a number of ways. I would work out until I was exhausted, but that wouldn’t work because my mind would keep going. I tried reading until I couldn’t anymore, but that just made my mind go into the stories I was reading. The only thing that efficiently turned off my brain was watching TV, because there was enough stimulus to keep me distracted. The reason I stopped watching TV to sleep is because my roommate doesn’t. This may seem like I’m changing myself to fit in better, but the reality is that I am doing it for myself. I am tired of running away from my thoughts and emotions, and I am ready to deal with the insomnia that may come from this greater exploration of self. It may have started from a desire to not annoy my future roommate, but it’s evolved into a desire to improve myself.

I took a lot of the things in here from old papers and Tumblr posts, such as the walking from Penn station and the part about smoking.  I thought they were good sentences to use in a character like this.  Same character as Crescendo, but I wrote this story first:

            As I walk from the underground catacombs that are Penn Station, there is a sense of ephemeral reality.  Every sensation in Penn is smothering; the smell of oil and sweat, the silence broken only by the echoing footsteps of people, the darkness abated only through small, incandescent lights.  With every step I take, my world becomes clearer, lighter.  I see a blinding pin prick at the end of the long hallway: the light of the city above.  Journeying closer, the light becomes larger and larger, and soon all the people around me are nothing more than faces, blurs, shadows.  There is nothing around me but the omnipotent darkness behind me and the piercing light ahead of me, and suddenly, I am thrust into the center of New York City.  The illusion is shattered.  That reprieve from reality is replaced by the faces of the people around me, the buildings looming, the cars honking.  The best part of my day is over, and I must return to my reality, my thoughts, my perceptions.  There is nowhere to go but forward.

            I light a cigarette.  Cigarettes ground me, calm me, allow me to feel closer to the world around me.  When I am smoking, I feel that I do exist.  I feel simultaneously disconnected from my life and connected to the world around me.  As I breathe the cancerous smoke in and out of my lungs, my thoughts, my reality, are put into perspective.  There is nothing that matters but the motions of raising the cigarette to my lips, breathing in, breathing out, and watching the smoke curl as it leaves my body.  Without me, the smoke would not exist.  Without me lighting this cigarette, without me allowing it to burn, without me inhaling the smoke, it would not burn.  The entirety of the cigarettes existence, or at least the burning of it, relies on me.  It’s the only thing that needs me in order to survive.

An alarm sounds, jerking me out of my trance.  I continue walking amid the flash of lights and screeching of sirens, but I see others turning towards the disturbance.  All the people around me are so simple.  There is a noise, so they must investigate, not out of curiosity, but out of necessity.  They are simply bi-products of evolution, unable to focus, unable to accomplish anything other than their next meal or attempt at mating.  Humans are pitiful creatures, both filled with insane animosity and tender caring towards one another.  Humans, as a species, do not comprehend their lives, nor do they understand their existence.  Not understanding one’s existence is acceptable: I do not understand mine.  What I hate so much about humans is that not only do they not understand most things, but they have no desire to.  People are content being ignorant.  They are content to working the same job, doing meaningless paperwork.  People are like sheep: being herded to and fro from one place to another, with no regard to why or how, only that it is what must happen, that it is their duty.  I simultaneously hate this, and long for it.  I yearn to feel connected, yearn to feel accepted, yearn to be one of the sheep, but I scorn them for their simplicity.  I yearn to understand other people, understand the uncomplicatedness and the insanity.  “And those who were seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music,” as Nietzsche said.  Maybe it is not that other people are insane, but that I cannot hear the music they all hear, that I continually miss the song they all dance to.

There is something to be said of the efficiency of a city, however.  A city is like an organism.  Every individual in a city has a job, a purpose.  It is all completely logical.  People are carted from place to place in buses, trains, cabs, cars.  When they arrive, they do a job, to keep the city working well, to keep the city alive.  There is nothing superfluous, nothing unneeded in the unit.  Even the lowest of the human race have their places, their purpose.  A city survives both for itself and for the welfare of its citizens, yet people survive on the city, and people keep the city alive.  A city is one of the only things I’d consider truly beautiful.  I grew up in Bantam, CT, population of eight-hundred.  The sheep there are even worse, since there are too few for any truly interesting people to emerge.  I spent my young days in isolation, reading, watching documentaries, writing, developing my philosophies.  As soon as I could, I left.  I yearned to find somewhere where I would belong.  When I came to NYC as an undergrad at NYU, studying philosophy and human psychology, I was hopeful.  I had thought that it was possible for me to find someone, anyone, who I would connect with.  It was all a lie I told myself.  It doesn’t matter whether I am in a place with one-hundred people or a million people, I am alone. The only exception of this rule is the city itself.  The logic of the city comforts me; the efficiency of it makes it home.  The city has become my one, and only, true friend, because New York loves to be studied, and I love to study it. 

I notice the sign ahead of me: I am nearly at 26th street.  Only three more blocks before I arrive at Chelsea’s Pub.  I enjoy the walk.  I could take a cab to my apartment on West 21st, or to the bar, but then I wouldn’t have the time to think before I shut it all off, before I spend time with my “friends”.  My friends are the people I find tolerable enough to spend time with.  They are the only people I can relate to, even if on a miniscule scale.  One block now.  I both look forward to and dread days like this: Fridays when my friends have decided it’s been a long week and we need some time off.  I love it because I am finally able to shut off.  I hate it because it is when I am most vulnerable. 

I see the sign for Chelsea’s Pub and take a deep breath.  It’s time.  I walk in.  I smell the food in the air, wave to Chelsea, and sit with my friends.  I say hi.  They welcome me. 

“Hey, Jonathan, what would you like,” Chelsea asks, smiling welcomingly.  I am not sure how I feel when she smiles like that.