Archive for August 9th, 2005
Day 10,959
Today is day one in a new decade of life for me. Today I am 30 years and one day old. I’m not sure what exactly it means to me. I spent sometime over the weekend listening to some bands I used to adore in high school, realizing that the albums are over a decade old themselves. I reminisced about hot nights in the Roadhouse Theater on State St, screaming back lyrics to Apollo Onion from Magoon. Long nights at Perkins talking to the waitress with the bad teeth about her muscle car, sharing silly games with Rob, dreaming of being an alternacool band with Phil and Matt, and wondering why the hell the object of my affections was spending so much time talking to Bill. Coffee, Camel cigarettes, sweat and teenage hormones.
I should not ache for these times; my practice has tried to teach me to look at these memories and then let them go. This is obviously a lesson that I have yet to fully learn. There was a time in my life when I would have lain in bed awake, mourning the passing of these times, the exiting of some of these people from my life. While I am no longer losing sleep, I am still aching, longing to recapture that which has slipped through my fingers like so much sand.
I know that as I long for the sand of yesterday, the sand of today is sliding into the past unnoticed. Tomorrow, on day two, I promise to pay attention to now, however I think today, I’m going to spend sometime on yesterday.
