it’s a weird view for someone who’s so mad about life not to care about death
I was sitting above Market after work in this bookstore where you can sit in soft chairs and stare out a large window for no reason in particular, and I was looking out this window when a fire truck came up the street, its lights exploding and its siren going off all over the place. It pulled up right in front, and I was thinking, What if we didn’t even know that this building was on fire? It was not such an outlandish thought, that probably happens all the time, somebody could walk into this room and say your life is on fire, Paul Simon always says it best, and you would probably turn around thinking, “Who? Me?”
Today I told my dad I wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle, working full time all day long, waiting for weekends. I can’t spend my whole life waiting for weekends. I started to think that I have to find some way to be content at least half of the time, and I’m thinking about this at the bank while I’m eating this really good cookie, and I start to get the feeling like I’m chewing on a piece of my hair or possibly someone else’s, and I’m still trying to figure out how I can be happy doing what I’m doing. I don’t mean this as a rhetorical question. I want a real answer. My first thought is opiates. Of course that will never work for long, I didn’t go to AA meetings for two years to come out of them thinking you can do a little recreational heroin. So, then I’m thinking I just need to force myself to engage in life more. Maybe if I started meditating I could learn how to climb out of myself for an hour, or a minute at a time. I’m trying to convince myself that quitting my job is not the answer, because that is too easy and it has always been my first inclination to run. I call my dad, and he says that life is short, and I could move home and save money so I could travel, and thinking about that now kind of breaks my heart: my parents on their 30 acres. He suggested that I don’t mention this to my mother, but although she’s not the most observant person, I think she would notice.
So, I got up out of the bookstore, which was not on fire, and met Josie on the sidewalk, and we carried out our plan to go see Waltz with Bashir, and let me tell you that afterwards waiting for weekends seemed a lot more okay, but somehow suffocating in skyscrapers did not, because that’s the thing about life and war: innocent people get killed by innocent people, and their ain’t no such thing as innocence, but there is such a thing as people.