I've just returned from seeing
Trainspotting for the first time. Well, maybe not the first time, but the first time all the way through, that’s for sure. When I first tried to see it I found it too difficult to watch and quit. Now I can't remember what bothered me so.
This day has been no better than the others, but I suppose I should save to sob story as today's daylog node is full of people who are having a realy bad time right now.
Yesterday was my best friend’s birthday. Of course, I was not there to celebrate as he's four hours away. Even if I was there, I know none of his other friends with whom he spends all his time and would have felt alien and uncomfortable with them. I envy him, surrounded by his mates and loved ones. So fucking envious.
That's the handle, I suppose. I really don’t have any friends here. Acquaintances, sure. People I wave to and have dinner with, but not one real friend. Old friends have faded into the woodwork and it's reached a point where I feel uncomfortable trying to resurrect them. James, my best friend, is the only one I’ve really kept in contact with, and I hardly see him save for a handful of times in a given year. Even when I do see him, it feels great but I’m afraid that the two of us have diverged too much. We've both seen so much change in the past two years or so.
I do have a girlfriend, and I love her. She is a saint to keep on believing that I will once again become my old self again. People tell me I’ve not been myself lately. How does one respond to that?
This summer I'll be moving to the city once again to stay with Beautiful Girl and work away the days. I know no one aside from her in the whole goddamn tri-county area.
I wasn’t thinking about this when I began writing this. I was thinking about Trainspotting. Recently I always seem to end up here. I dunno; things fall apart, things come together. I read an article not long ago about a scientist-slash-artist who sells "Self-assembling Clocks"; glass cases filled with clock parts—all the components necessary to make a working clock—just waiting for the correct set of conditions and circumstance to assemble themselves into a working machine. He likens this to the beginnings of life on this planet. I find it an all to tidy metaphor for where I am in my life right now. I won't go into it. It's a sloppy metaphor anyway.
As I read over this I suppose I feel a bit better. Beautiful Girl mailed me and told me about the dreams she has about me. As she doesn’t remember her dreams most nights I should count the ones she does as memorable. The realization hits me that I have someone to dream about me. Things don’t seem all that bad after that.