I meant to send this letter to an old friend back on the 13th of September, a month ago. I never sent it:
You convinced me.
Of course its alchohol induced. Of course I’m neglecting crazy times and drunken craziness to type this out in a rush or emotion and jaw clenched fury.
I’ve decided to finally write something down. About myself.
Maybe that’s vain. Maybe that’s concieted to only think about myself. But it seems that’s what you’ve wanted.
My letters have always been stream of conciousness rants about my desires, dreams, feelings and accomplishments.
But something like this has become in my mind immature. Journals and diaries are so two years ago. I’ve silently composed myself the past few yars into resignation. It’s not mature to write about personal problems. Instead, I put it away, in some place to be recalled while intoxicated. There are too many responsibilities otherwise.
So I’m in my fourth year of college. I’m going to graduate basically on time. So here’s to recollections and resignations. Here’s to unfulfilled promises and unreached destinations. There are so many things that I thought college would be that it wasn’t. No loves found. No memorable epiphinies. No overwhelming spiritual catharsis during late night religious musings.
I think of myself as the same person I’ve been for four years. Yearning, I guess. But complacent and content. I’m ok with how things are, no matter how unspectacular they may be.
Sure I have some crazy college stories, now that I think about it.
Running across campus, crazy drunk and wearing nothing but boxers, soaking wet from diving into the Olympic pool at 3 in the morning.
Dancing around a pinestraw bonfire, again drunk, again late at night, puffing on a black and mild, throwing wild grins and inside jokes to my friends.
Late night sessions of video games, finishing up coding projects, or getting dead stoned and just becomming a wild consumer of junk food.
Whats changed is this: the desperation is gone. My hormones are no longer a ticking time bomb for the perfect junction of flesh. Drinking is no longer a marathon session of insanity. Nights are calm. I get my work done on time.
I do laundry.
I eat healthy. Relatively.
And what else can I say that I’m waiting, looking forward to that day when I graduate, and that miraculous day when the job interview is done and I can smile and know with confidence I have a successful future. That my anxiety has not been wasted, that I have a possible happy future.
But I’m still that same guy, with a touch of nervousness and darkness. I’m not charismatic. Music can still move me. And I’m still bitter about the hard times.
I guess we’ll see. We’ll see, with a smirking grimace on my face, eyes sparkling with an unformed tear. Just wait and see and try to capture that overwhelming aura of hope. Because what else can I feel but just that,
a simple happiness that things are gonna be just great.
Things are gonna be just great.