Being 23

I saw my best friend from college last night. It was so good to see him. I have been friends with him for 12 years. Can you fucking believe that? He and I have been through so much. For a while he lived with my mom. Actually, I call him brother. He leaves me messages "Hey it's your brother..." I think of him that way. My mom thinks of him that way. My whole family does. The thing is that for the first time in a long time last night I had an actual conversation with someone that was sappy and sentimental but it wasn't fueled by alcohol or bullshit, it was real. We talked about how we feel about each other and how hurt we've been in the past few years and it was just awesome. It was awesome to see him and know he's healthy and not hurting himself anymore. There has been a lot of shit in my life that I haven't told anyone and I told him. And I felt better. I felt better knowing that someone knew what was going on. I didn't think I would feel that way. I'm like a guy sometimes --- keep it to yourself, hold it in, get over it. I tell people the little embarassing things, I tell people the big embarassing things. I tell people the nubbin stories, the headbiter stories, the falling down stairs at my birthday stories. But I keep the big shit to myself because partly I feel like people use the bad shit that happens to them as a crutch. They can then go the rest of their lives saying "I'm fucked up because of my father, my mother, my ex-boyfriend" and never have to be responsible for the crap they do because they were hurt once. I hate that. No one else is responsible for you but you. Stuff happens to you -- get over it. Well I've been so busy with this credo that I have forgotten that shit eats you up inside. So even if I get it off my chest I am not gonna be one of those assholes who's all "Woe is me. Poor me. Bad stuff happened to me. Now I am going to be retarded and not responsible for anything I do and you have to let me because I've been wounded." At least I hope I won't be. You guys will tell me if I do become that, right? Thanks.

Okay that was a rant.

Who wants to go to New Orleans with me in April? They could use the tourism. Come on, let's go! Jazz Fest!

I remember being 23 so vividly it's killing me today. I remember being grungy and braless in overalls and a tank top, wishing I could meet Ethan Hawke, running around New York and skipping the lines at night clubs and watching bands play in LES and BEING HAPPY. I was mostly high at the time. But still...

Okay, I will be a lot more fun to read once I clean my apartment and do something good for me, like yoga. First another cup of coffee.