Yesterday evening a guy high on some kind of drug and running from the cops kicked in the door of the basement apartment next to mine — literally four feet next to mine — and was quickly apprehended by the four cop cars and ambulance chasing him. All kinds of drama ensued as they had to wrestle him to a gurney and strap him down and then the owner of the apartment had to be located so they could put his door back on, etc. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well last night so I’m getting a slow start this morning. Will be in asap.
(Sorry for not calling you last night family but I didn’t want to worry you. Also, shoutout to my friend Bay who convinced me not to freak out by telling me the story of his mother and a .357 magnum. “She couldn’t even lift it. It was like a Dirty Harry gun.” All I needed was someone to make me laugh to back me off the ledge and you came through for me. Again. You are a good man and a good friend. There are others who could learn a few things from you. But who are we kidding? That kind of grace is innate and can’t be learned. Although Tucker Max is apparently gonna give it a try. How incredibly fitting for this scenario in ways I won’t go in to. I think Max has years of unhappiness awaiting him — maybe a lifetime because I’m not sure psychoanalysis can cure a sociopath — but I commend him for the effort. I guess. When I can be bothered to give him any consideration at all.)
All of this comes on the heels of some thinking I’ve been doing about death. I know, I know. Not trying to be a drag or anything. In the literary world they call this kind of thing “Thanatopsis.” Great poem about it here. (So live, that when thy summons comes to join/The innumerable caravan which moves/To that mysterious realm where each shall take/His chamber in the silent halls of death,/Thou go not,/like the quarry-slave at night,/Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain’d and soothed/By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,/Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch/About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.) And the reason I’ve been thinking about it because I found out a guy who was roughly my age passed away unexpectedly this month. I did not know him well. Had only had two or three proper conversations with him. He was in my master’s program and here, living in DC. He was married only recently and the last time I saw him he told me that his life was great and perfect. “Finally coming together,” I think is what he said. And now he’s gone, with people leaving him messages on his Facebook page like some morbid funeral home guestbook. I recently re-watched this film (it’s one everyone says they hate if they’ve seen it but it’s actually better than common consensus) and it poses the question: what would you do if you found out you had a week to live? So, I’ve been approaching my life with that thought in mind. It’s leading to some interesting realizations. Most revealing is the dismissal of the ridiculous advice of those who say they live this way all the time as an excuse to do whatever the hell they want (see Tucker Max above). There’s nothing of life in there. Nothing satisfying, no real joy. Just a going through the motions. So, I’m working that one around in my brain a bit…
Anyway, I’m exhausted and, speaking of moving through the motions, that is pretty much what I’m about today at work — a big week for us as we’re looking at launching our new website tomorrow and that’ll be the completion of a huge project — and I’m barely aware of my surroundings. So, in an effort to just focus on what needs to be done, I’ll leave you all to it with a few diversions. The first goes out to my sister Juli because it’s music i know she’ll dig. Can’t wait till the album drops in April. This song is phenomenal. The second was posted by my dance teacher and is so hot I blushed watching it at home by myself. Dance is the thing, people.