If today were the last day of my life, I would be okay with that. Not that today was particularly spectatular, but I can't live my life thinking that someday it will end. This has to do with the fact that for a long time, I hoped that it would end. I don't need to do amazing things or make a huge difference to feel like I've lived my life. As long as I've told Aaron and my mother that I love them, I'm ok with dying.
On the bus to my old job I would pass a sign that read, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." "Fuck you," I thought every morning as I pondered whether the building was a co-op or a rehab center. I mean, honestly. I've done enough. Of all the urges I've had, I've followed through on a good chunk of them. My life is fascinating when I skip over the days and focus on the years: grew up in Northern California, left home at 12 to go to boarding school in DC, moved home, moved to Santa Barbara, moved to Seattle, moved to San Francisco, ... I mean, of all those places, think of all the things I could have done, all the people I could have met, all the stories I could tell. Some of you know them all, but the potential of my lifestory is ridiculous. Now I'm 21 and live with my boyfriend and our dog and I don't mind living like this for the rest of my life.
I'm not trying to draw comparisons here, like, my life is more interesting and better than yours, because that's a stupid thing to say or think. I get pissy when people tell me to seize the day and bullshit like that; if everyone acted on every impulse and really took advantage of life, the crimerate would be a lot worse than it is. Is that a random, pretentious thing to say? Oh well.
Incidentally, I worked with two of the most insufferable people I've ever experienced in tandem. Alone, they're ok, but together? It was like, flakier meets flakiest and they went and bought a megaphone to broadcast their flakiness to the world. Ugh.