I won't breathe you in, in '97. (Day 97)

Quickly approaching is Day 100. I can't really believe this has lasted that long. Usually I get distracted by shiny objects.

I've been thinking a lot.

Part of who I am, as far as this goes, and the whole writing aspect, is I want to keep in touch with anyone who decides they'd like to talk to me as well. In doing so, I've made a lot of friends. Just take a look at the side bar there, not only are every single one of those people great people, but they are extremely talented in each and every facet of their output. I can't implore you enough to go check them out. Honestly.

Part of this five year plan leaves me confused. Life lately has left me confused, and where I'm left is pondering the choices I've made, versus the choices I will make in the near future, and what there impact will be. Some of those choices are going to be hard, and for the first time in a while, I really have no support system in how I will handle them. And some of them are the hardest choices I think I'll ever have to make.

Theres a line drawn in the sand, amongst all of us. Where we have to find out how we not only fit into our own lives, but lives of those we love and cherish so much. It's getting to the point now, where I've got to reevaluate who I am, where I belong, if at all, in anyones life. Each, and every person.

There was a time, in New York, after a particularly demanding day at work where I was sitting on the corner of Lark and Washington. It was this vegan organic sandwich shop, and I still remember it clear as day. Across the street was Key Bank, and that bank always intrigued me because it had a rotating analog clock. For some reason, I really appreciated that.

I get so goddamned sick of the modern world sometimes. Everyone has a cell phone glued to their ears, the government forces digital tv's and converter boxes down our throats (but makes little progress in the way of revolutionizing our health care systems) people want change, but it becomes apparent the only change they want is an extra recycling bin and a Twitter account from Barack Obama. And I don't mean to sound so cynical, it's just right there in plain view.

All my life I've had fascinations with clocks. Real clocks, the kind that at four am tick, and it's the only sound you hear, and have left to remind you that you're not entirely alone in this world, or why else would the clock be ticking? It's counting down someones minutes, too.

So I was sitting on these steps at the sandwich shop. Every place in New York has a stoop, and I love that. Absolutely. 90% of my best memories in New York took place on a stoop with people I never knew before, will probably never know again, but felt completely welcome and real.

It makes me realize, in the here and now, that I'm outnumbered 50-1. I used to think I could take that number on, or go down swinging. But for God's sake, even my father has a cell phone, and he barely knows how to use it. And it's not even that I'm against cell phones...

I'm against the lack of connection we all have. Ironically, we have cell phones, blogs, myspaces, facebooks, twitters, a thousand other different mediums to keep in touch without keeping in touch. You're worth an email, not a handshake or hug.

I get the practicality. And it's ironic that this is something that bothers me, considering I have friends spanning several different continents, state lines, and state of minds.

As I sat there, I remembered so much of what I tried to accomplish. Cutting ties with people I no longer saw myself as a vivid part of anymore. I don't really like acquaintanceships, I feel like it spreads people too thin. Or at least myself.

But I also realized that I've never fit in. I've got a lot of friends now, and there isn't a single "group" of them in which I actually fit in. I'm that jagged piece of steel in the factory that somehow passed inspection.

I have to find out where I stand in my own life, my friends lives. In this world, whatever.

When I went on hiatus from here, there was a commenter who I'm not sure I've ever spoken too. His name is Nick, and I won't copy and paste what he said. You can go search for yourself if you're so inclined for the verbatim. He basically said that somehow this blog had helped him. I can't explain how hard that hit me, or how often it still does.

I feel like I've never done an ounce of good for anyone. And for someone I might have never spoken too, have definitely never seen...thats just something that throws a wrench in everything.

Thank you Nick. Honestly. From the bottom.


Side note: Go pick up the new AMP Magazine. Eric Funk of the Dillinger Four apparently shit talks me a little bit. I think it's confusing, because he's had a lot of positive things to say about me in the past. I wonder why the sudden change? Whatever, they are still a great band, and I've got a lot of respect for him, personally.

No hard feelings.

-Until tomorrow.