Today, on the Max Blue Line between Sunset TC and Washington Park, I overheard the following snippet of conversation:
“…a really prophetic guy. He lived a crazy life.”
I turned to where I heard the conversation and sure enough, the guy was reading a copy of The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch.
At first I wanted to leap up and say “Hey! That was me!” but I don’t know that for sure… and even if I did, no one would believe me. I spent the rest of the day feeling just a little bit more melancholy than I had when I woke up this morning and had weird, restless dreams when I took an afternoon nap before tackling homework.
The tide has come and taken my sand castle away. I’m left with nothing to do but build another. If that was me once upon a time, I can be proud but that’s about it.
I went through this with John and William too… I’m still letting go. I’m still in denial that I can’t have what I had back then and I’m trying to reckon with how I can turn these memories from a liability into an asset.
I’m leaning strongly toward a road trip to the Bay Area once the weather warms up so I can confront these feelings once and for all. I don’t think it’s doing me any good to wonder and ruminate.
