Your Humble Narrator

'Starting Now'

So I've breached: I named my post after something John Mayer came up with, not after some ingeniusly crafted clever title of my own.

Instead, here I am, sitting, thinking, daydreaming, listening to him repeat how he's never going to speak up again four times, 'starting now', 'starting now', 'starting now'.

Starting now.

I've just finished reading My Sister's Keeper, which was recommended by Harris when I met him at Kinokuniya. I just... cried throughout the last chapter and epilogue. Though I'm not giving anything else away. The book's up for borrowing if anyone wants to.

Everyone knows it feels great to be sorry for yourself, to wallow in your own pool of self-pity, to wax lyrical about the tiniest problem causing a slight detour in your life because everything's ruined, your entire life plan, the one you drew out as a kid (harvard, lawyer, money, family, kids, BMW, maybe a Lexus, happy happy happy) flushed down the toilet, interestingly the same way shit disappears.

Maybe this is human nature, picking out problems, seeing black when there was white, ironing out the smallest creases in the life tapestry where other people have gashes. No matter what we do we'd never run out of things to fuss about. We'll never be satisfied like at the end of a Christmas family holiday movie. We'll never be able to feel the same happily ever after.

We live for the expectation, the hope of attaining this satisfaction. The occasional feeling of accomplishment that is a poor imitation of the larger picture, the fleeting beauty of these pockets of joy. So we, as human beings, grasp pathetically at these moments that slowly turn to water in our cupped hands, slipping through every crack till there's nothing left.

And then there are those who wonder why people do drugs.

'So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'

23112007; 04:37pm