Tonight I discovered that the stove was leaking natural gas because one of my roommates had turned on the burner with a broken pilot light. It was terrifying to realize that, had somebody so much as turned on another burner or lighted a candle, there could have been a serious explosion and fire in the 65. We all came this close to injury or even death. It may be silly to think in terms of 'fate,' but I can't resist linking this to a revelation on the Metro-North this evening. More about that shortly.
The leak disturbed me deeply because it reminded me of the parents and daughter who were found dead in a motel room a few blocks from my condo in Daly City from a natural gas (carbon monoxide) leak. I have rarely ever passed that motel, even when I would drive by several times per day, without involuntarily envisioning myself discovering them slumped across their beds in the morning. Imagine mourning an entire family as grandparents.
Another consequence of the leak was that I felt like a mom in the apartment in relation to my roommates for good. It's difficult to believe that one year (off campus) could make such a difference.
I know that my last post sounded ludicrous. The sad part is that, ludicrous as it sounds, even to me, every word of it is true in a non-ludicrous way that probably will only ever make sense to me. On the train ride back from New York, I was haunted by similarly morose thoughts. However, I also had a revelation that must have transformed my demeanor so completely without my realizing it that the beer-guzzling businessman across from me stared.
I have been ignoring a beautiful and enviable life, wasting away a youth that will never come again, to grieve perpetually for a love that might not even be reviveable. It's been a long time since I felt urgently that every passing second was another precious moment of my life gone. Admittedly, this "revelation" is nothing new...it's something I've known intellectually since September. But I don't remember feeling it to my very core until now.
Even that realization can't chase away my fears, however... fear that because of Justin, I could meet Mr. Right and never be able to accept him, for example. I am also ashamed and embarrassed that someone as privileged and fortunate as myself could be so tragically depressed about one human being, about a certain 3 weeks that happened over a year ago. Sometimes I wonder if I'm deranged, and while another part of me tells me that I have perfectly sane reasons for feeling the way I do, yet another part reminds me that the insane are always convinced that they're sane.
Yesterday evening brought a wonderful surprise. I walked into my apartment building and stopped and gawked--at TC and Casey milling about on the stairs. Later Sophia joined us at Rudy's for frites and beer. This morning, I saw them off on their cross-country journey to Burning Man through Portland. Why must I keep seeing people off when I actually want to go with them?
How is this blog so addictive? The desire to record one's thoughts is remarkably self-reinforcing... although why I feel compelled to do so in public when there are plenty of people I'd rather not have reading this is puzzling. It's something akin to hiding oneself from others despite the desire to have one's true self known. I'm waxing too philosophical--time to get me to bed for the big concert tomorrow.
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