ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"You'll remember me / when the west wind moves / upon the fields of barley\" - Sting So, I'm not a very bright boy. I came home from work and made some spaghetti and ate it and it was good and yum yum happy time. Then I sat on the floor in the middle of my room and started going through all the boxes of papers and books trying to find my birth certificate. At the same time, I thought I'd give some neglected albums a spin. So I'm sitting there on the floor looking over old journal entries scribbled on napkins or scratch sheets of paper or receipts or anything not nailed down, greeting cards from family and loved ones, notes, letters, and keepsakes from girls that I've known, pictures, newspaper clippings, crazy-ass mix tapes, and other assorted knick-knacks while listening to: Eve 6: Horrorscope Local H: As Good As Dead Evanescence: Fallen Sting: Ten Summoner's Tales With the exception of Evanescence, all of those albums hold tremendous nostalgic effects for me. Eve 6's "Here's to the Night", Local H's "No Problem", and Sting's "Fields of Gold". Even "Bring Me to Life" stirred some emotions in me, though I can't imagine why. Listening to that album for the first time (I got it for free, mind you) I was stricken with how horrible it is. A collection of tawdry formulaic crap! Taken individually, the songs sound okay and Amy Lee does have a great voice. But to listen to the album from beginning to end is to sit through a spiky bowel movement: uncomfortable and shitty. Why did I set myself up for that? I need my birth certificate to get my driver's license tomorrow, but I've deduced that I must have lost it when I lost my bag, because it is nowhere to be seen. All I found were memories. Memories of a time when I was happier, that I will probably never see again. I came across several of Teresa's letters, and even her old name-tag photo that she'd given me. I came across some diary entries that I'd written about her; about how great she was and how genuine her care was, and how concerned I was that I wouldn't be able to return it with the same intensity. About how afraid I was that she was investing too much care in me. I saw funny things, too. Things from my old waiter books back when I waited tables at Tejas. I found pictures and comment cards and stuff that made me laugh, and I just wanted to turn to my left and say "See? That's what I was talking about?" But there was no one there. I wanted to call Teresa or e-mail her and tell her a joke or have her tell me one, because I do like her and I do miss her. Sure, I regret breaking off all ties with her, but I think that was the only way either of us could have survived our "friendship". Neither of us could've denied it: we were killing each other. But I do miss her. Her laugh. The way she made me laugh. The way she would talk in a quiet voice, until she hit on something she felt passionately about, wherein her voice would crescendo to a forte on the word "Oh" as it came to her, and launch on a tirade that would just have me enraptured. I regret a lot of things that have happened to me or because of me since I moved to San Diego, but I wouldn't trade any of it out for anything else. I like it here. Plus, if I don't find my birth certificate or think of a way to get a license, I may never leave here... 10:31 p.m. - 2004-04-14 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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