skywisdom

I've been needing to write more and more nowadays. I mean, actually needing to write. I'm writing this on a borrowed laptop at the moment, out in the suburbs of Portland, a little place known as Westlyn.

I needed to write this down before it escaped me.

Years ago, I was in love. Very much in love, with an amazing girl. I've written about her alot on here; She was beautiful, amazing, intelligent, disturbed, and powerfully sexual. She broke up with me a total of three times.
The second time she dumped me was following the only real time we actually dated, which was a period of about 8 months. The first and third times were following 1 week long times. She was the first girl I had sex with, and the only one I've ever made love to.

After the second time she broke up with me, the real time, I jokingly told my friends that I was going to bury the pain by diving into a self-destructive hedonistic lifestyle, full of drinking, emotionless sex, and other such debauchery. Only, at this moment, as I sit on a balcony, nursing a hangover and looking down the two naked 19 year old girls in hot-tub bellow me, the two girls I spent last night fooling around with in the company of another man, I wonder how much of a joke it was.

I realize that it was more unconscious than I thought. This last year I've had countless mornings where I regretted the previous night, but I always thought that I was somewhat in control. Looking at pictures of Vice Magazine models and "Last Night's Part", and fantasizing about being at those new york clubs, I always thought that I was making a conscious decision to move towards that lifestyle, but at the same time never though that I actually was moving towards that lifestyle. I was convinced that it would be a conscious decision that I made, and that at anytime I could meet someone to love, and stop being so fucking crazy.

It's not. I haven't really realized just how crazy I'm living my life until this moment, because for a minute, I thought to myself, "yeah, this is the fucking life man. I'm up here on a balcony, looking into the forest, while two naked teenage girls giggle below me. I could used to this."
And it's why I feel so...fake. Because it's so insincere. I risk my body, as this morning over the toilet has proved, but it's fairly temporary (at least at this point). But I don't risk any emotions, because, to be honest, I've gotten really good at turning them off. I don't feel anything for either of these girls, and they are girls, not yet women, and they don't feel anything for me. It's complete objectification, in the strictest sense.

I think, when I made that joke so many years ago, I actually made an unconscious decision to follow through with it. I really think it was that moment. I can't believe it took me so long to realize it.

I go out when I want to stay in. I drink so much that I ruin the next morning for myself, which means I don't get a chance to write, or go to improv, or eve think about starting voice lessons again. I drink, and go to work and party and work and pass out and go to work. The most alive I've felt in months is when I'm reading in my room, or just biking by myself.

I need to slow waaaaay down, for myself. Because I know there is something much more satisfying than this out there. All this is is a trivial game, a pursuit of physical pleasure with the only risk being frustration. It's bullshit. I'm out.

Edit: my Second edit. Or third. The girls aren't down there naked to entertain or titillate me, I'll have you know. Her house looks over a forest, and the two girls are actually just enjoying a sunlit morning, lounging about nude. It's not the fact that they are naked now that speaks to my lifestyle. I was actually naked with them in the hotub a moment ago, and it would have been nice and peaceful and relaxing if i didn't feel so shitty. Plus, as I write this I'm being visited by the sweetest kitty, who keeps trying to walk across the laptop keys. She's very affectionate.
It's last night, and the nights before it that I'm writing about, and my momentary thoughts on this morning that I wrote above. Those are what bother me.