Monday, May 30, 2005


Forgive me for being lazy. Surprisingly, work and other things in my life have kept me from being more consistent here. The songs of the day have been an amalgam of James, The Killers, Morissey, and some random indie stuff that I can't remember. Right now I'm listening to Portishead remixes, but I can't find an album cover. I began a whole entry on the concept of self-awareness but that pooped out. Maybe I'll post it sometime later when I am feeling inspired. Of course, all of five people probably read this, so it really doesn't matter (Jess, I fixed the spelling on that Feist song - for you, one of those five).

I cannot believe it is already June. This spring seems to have flown by, and I want the summer to slloooooow down. This past weekend was a delightful whirlwind of dinners; a long run with friends; baseball; many Bloody Marys; chilaquiles; a beautiful sunrise; a rigorous bike ride; long, luxurious naps; champagne; family and friends; my adorable nephew; and gorgeous, perfect Chicago weather. All in all, nearly perfect. OK OK, you can start puking. Someone (who could that be) said that when you are happy, you have little to say. I suspect I am suffering from that. Oh don't you worry, I'm waiting for life to kick the shit out of me. But right now I will be annoying and vomit-inducing.

I did, however, have a somewhat morbid thought. My grandma, who is 91 and has succumbed to Alzheimer's disease, lives in a nursing home. It was one of the most difficult decisions my mom has had to make, and she still suffers from what she feels she has done. I dropped Grandma off at her "home" tonight, and was putting away some of her freshly-washed clothes in her little closet, and I realized that those clothes are the only belongings she has to show for her life. Of course, her family is her legacy. But for now, materially she has almost nothing. Aside from experiencing the same sadness I do when I am there, I began thinking about the purpose of my life, and how meaningless are objects and collections of clothes, music, fancy high-tech toys, even cars and homes. But what to do about it? I'm not about to become an ascetic. It makes me realize, there is something to that saying: youth is wasted on the young. You don't realize the value of life, even if you realize it, until you are old and ready to face death.

That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed this nearly perfect, vomit-inducing weekend, and especially the company of the people with whom I shared it. I suppose that is one of the purposes of this life.


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