A girl finds something after the fact: Seems the thing you wanted was closer than you thought. Though funny how you were not granted access to any part of it. ...and watched it ride by....
I'm starting to understand that it is only very late at night that I start thinking of things. The Everything, the "big things", the things people wonder about, gaping-mouthed when they're stoned. And because this kind of thinking is limited to 6:30 in the morning when I am either too tired to function, or half drunk and too tired to function, it is striking me as being a very overwhelming thing. "Big Issues" should be brought up early on in the day so that you can mull them over, consider the pros and cons of them, and feel pleasent about your momentary conclusion. Not twenty minutes before bed, when, all of a sudden, you cannot go to bed anymore, because these things are staring you in the face, asking you "why haven't you learned to meditate?" and "when are we going to solve this?', and "why don't you go sit on the roof and think about this for two hours?', and "can you really sleep if you know these things should be addressed?". Suffice it to say, it has created burn marks in my desk (see: the last post). There are no answers to the bigger questions, there is only time.
I know that when I saw the picture of the couple on their wedding day, and of all the people dancing for them, that I understood there was something out there yet to be discovered or deconstructed. Our mysteries are great and still lay before us...
I know that when I was ridding in the cab tonight something donned on me, or rather, a thought crept over me. Which is this: Why are people always asking God to not let them be so lonely?
No one seems to want to be alone. And when they are not alone, why are they always asking for a greater sence of happiness? Is the discovery of partnership not enough? Is it really just that people feel alone no matter who they are with? Is that just because we are actually alone? If that is so, couldn't people stop asking to find someone and start asking to find themselves? That's probably too much to ask. But I look around at everyone I know who is unattatched, and I see that the root of their unhappiness comes from the lack of a relationship. And I look around at everyone who is attatched, and the ones whose brains are still active seem to be searching for something beyond what they have. So what is the problem here? If god is listening, and he/she/it/whatever brings you someone to be with eventually, and you still feel a sence of longing, how are you supposed to resolve that feeling? I suppose you never do. And that is part of what keeps life moving. I guess I am just put in awe by the fact that everyone is crying to god not to be alone, and that not being alone is never enough. Maybe these are generalizations. Maybe these are common truths. All I know is what I see.
I smoked the last crackhead's cigarette. No, it was my cigarette, the crackhead just led me to it. And after she had I kissed her on the cheek, gave her a dollar, and watched her boyfriend steal five dollars from me. But they left me the key I would have otherwise lost. And they stood up for me. Her name was Chanel. She guided me through the streets, and took me under her wing, and though I know she just wanted my money (little of which I had any to give), in the end I understood her needs, and I think she understood mine. So I let them take the money. I don't know why. Because I was a white girl in a black neighborhood? Because I was too tired to argue? More likely because I knew she knew I understood the hustle, and there was an agreement there. I know that in her neighborhood I would never be ignored. Chanel hugged me, and talked to me, and shared her desires about the next day. She argueed with men behind walls of thick plexi-glass so that I could get my way. Maybe these things are the mark of a good crakchead, or maybe they are the mark of a person with needs who understands them in others. My night with the crackhead reminded me that people are capable of caring about eachother, and that their self-serving behavior is not meant to go against that care. Stephen Adley Guirgis wrote a play about it. And no one could tell it better than that.
There is a strange man asleep on my couch. Where did this man come from? To whom does he belong? Why does he not have a blanket? Isn't he uncomfortable like that? These are questions I ask myself uppon finally seeing him though he has been here all this time....
So are there other things, seemingly obvious, that have been there all this time? Is the answer to my question about why people always ask to not be alone so clear and present that the question is null? Is the answer a sleeping man on the couch? That is a ridiculous way to frame it. But these questions themselves are somewhat ridiculous. Especially for a "blog". Oh, we are so heady. Such an intellectual people. Wow. Give us an award.
But my phone today, called an exboyfriend, while sitting in my bag, bouncing against my leg as I walked to work. Uppon noticing this, I promptly hung up the phone, and thought about the coincidence of my phone randomly choosing that number out of all numbers. Such a slight chance. Being someone that believes in dreams, and supersitions, I thought, maybe, does that mean something? And then I went to work, and thought about all of the things that happened that could be more than coincidence in that night. And why something so appropriate can seem so foreign. And why something so unfinnished can be too big to finnish. And why girls are the biggest dickheads at bars who never feel a need to tip you. And oh, I'm sorry, I forgot about your inherent entitlement to get whatever you want. Here. Have it. But no. It's not the time to talk about the job...
Just, it's just, there are so many questions.
When will we be happy? When will we be truely happy? What does this take? Are we capable of overcoming ourselves to make it happen? How many people actually feel happy to be alive? Well, how many people actually think about it? How many people aren't affraid to admit it? It's very uncool, you know, to admit you care about being alive, unless of course you have some issue attatched to it. "I care about life, only because, you know, the dolfins are dieing, man".
This is too long. This is too long already. Like everything else and all my questions that are all trying to be framed in the ideology of the landsape of a native american reservation somewhere in Montana. You probaby don't know what this means. You probably haven't even read this far. If we could go to Montana I would show you what I mean. If you have ever been on a horse you might know what I mean. Though, at this point, I couldn't ride one long enough to justify this blog.
I just want to know: When will we be happy? When will we know we are happy? and when will we stop asking for more happiness? when will we appreciate the happiness we have? Can we do that now?
I will go to sleep, but I will never put myself to bed...
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