Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Tin foil rockets

Tonight's been strange. First off, I found the dude I lost my virginity to on facebook. I sent him a message saying, "Woah! Hi! I lost my virginity to you." then, feeling that in itself was a strange message to send, added, "Glad to see you didn't grow up and sell out." I sent it, then wondered if I lied. Was I glad? Did I care?

I thought back to the day umpteenmillion years ago that I asked him to give me a mohawk. He told me that he would ONLY give me a mohawk if I promised to stay true to punk forever. I swore up and down, but he didn't believe me. I thought of this as looked at my main profile pic on the top left hand corner of the screen. It's me singing for my punk band. And I looked at his pictures, him singing for his punk band. I realized then that I did care  and I was glad that he didn't grow up and sell out. It makes what happened all those years ago somehow more important, more pivotal. We weren't just spewing teenage pomp. It was real, and that's good to know.

And secondly, I've spent the last 3 hours reading over old journals and now I feel strange. Before I stopped writing in my journals (so that I could write other stuff) I spent about a year completely fixated on penning my feelings on dudes. But not dudes I cared about really, just dudes I cared to be with from time to time (if you get what I mean.) And reading over it all from start to finish, it became really clear to me what I was doing then. Of course things always become clear when you stop trying to figure them out and stop caring. But anyway... here's what I realized:

There was a particular fella who rejected me (after we had spent some time together.) This had never happened to me before, and it shook me like a blast-off shakes a tin foil rocket headed for mars- it just blew me right apart. I became a fragment hurtling through space. Unattached, soaring rapidly down an unpredictable path, feeling free save for when I looked down and noticed that I was just a shred of my former self.

I did anything that struck my fancy. Ate french fries twice a day. Slept with candy in my mouth. Bought one way tickets to where ever I felt like going. Fucked who ever I felt like fucking. It was all to baby myself. It was all a comfort. I was sticking the pieces of myself back together with lolly pop sticks and used condoms, soldering with the hot sense of liberty that comes with carelessness and disregard. It wasn't a lifestyle I would stick with. It was just... healing. How lame is that?

It was complex beyond that of course. But really, and this is what is making me feel strange, I spent over a year in various stages of explosion and repair over a guy I barely knew. I've always been tone-deaf with romance. It plays out one way, I hear another. But it all just seems pathetic, and... embarrassing now. For anyone to have that kind of sway on me, but especially some schmuck who was little more than a few calls, a few days, and a few songs on a mixed tape. It was a fun year most definitely, but unlike my oath to punk rock, it seems somehow less real now.

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