I Used To Be Deep

I got a major attack of the guilties earlier after finding a blog called Anne… Straight From The Hip. Anne is a deep n’ profound woman. Her blog entries are full of insight and emotion and thoughtfulness and little moments of wisdom culled from every day or not so every day events, but after reading these entries, you get the idea that this is a very passionate and thinking woman who you wouldn’t mind having around as a good friend to just unload, bitch or shoot the breeze with.

I have of late noticed that my always smarmy, always smart alecky posts are usually full of snappy one-liners and imagined dialogue, and are largely reviews of movies, games and comics. Part of this, I tell myself, is because I have nothing really dramatic happening in my life and so these little moments of Enlightened Opinion are what are interesting me now. There’s also the paranoid fear that I have become boring and one of the people on this island that I loathe so much, but I try not to think about that too much, because, I tell myself, the fact that I have a blog and the fact that I can spell segragate me from that herd of fun loving materialists who usually don’t even take time to think about what they’re thinking about. Of course, the other going theory at the moment is that since I’m largely happy and well adjusted and don’t actually have Any Bad Things Happening To Me, it’s really kind of ridiculous to start getting upset and paranoid about the fact that I’m not musing about personal challenges or tragedies, since there are none and that’s not a bad thing.

It did however get me waxing nostalgic about the all the angsting I did when I was younger, but then when you’re younger, you’re supposed to be angsting. All the drama in highschool, the mindbending self-discovery of university, long lonely walks, or rambles with friends all night, sitting around wanting to die all the time… ah, the good old days…

Not. Bloody. LIKELY.

To be honest, I’m GLAD those days are gone. That the emotional rollercoaster has finally ground to a halt and now I’m just Sarcastic Writer Guy who is finally enjoying the fruits of all the struggle and no longer has to sit around being upset all the time. I like not being upset. Since it’s still such a relatively recent thing, there’s still a lot of novelty to this whole Not Upset thing and I want to ride it out and see where it goes. Although Anne’s blog did make me feel nostalgic about those days when confidences from friends were heart-achingly tragic and dramatic and the maelstrom of acquaintances, their trials, tribulations including my own, were soap opera worthy and it seemed like everyone was upset about something really True and Important.

I dunno. Maybe drama is for the 20 something crowd. Or them crazy teens. I keep thinking if the only problem I have on this Earth is “How are we going to manage the rent until June?” Then I’m doing pretty darn peachy keen in the life department. I still occasionally pine for Wonder Years-esque moments of epiphany where someone says something else while sitting on a little wooden pier thing, overlooking a lake as the sun sets, we turn to stare at the reflection of the sky in the water and the the guitar music starts up:

Me [20 years from now] voice over: And it was at that instant that I realized a lot of things. That maybe the people we were going to be was shaped by things we talked about now. That maybe a whole life can change because of one walk around a lake, talking about secret wishes.

Pal: Wanna’ get a slush?

Me: Yeah.

Me [VO]: Or that maybe a moment of friendship is all it takes to make things not so bad anymore. But then, I guess that’s what being young is all about.

Song: What would you do, if I sang out of tune…

[Camera on crane pans up and zooms out in slow arty way]

[cue credits]

To be fair, I did have my share of drama, did my time with the rest of the proles working in West Edmonton Mall as a ride operator and was even insane enough to not only volunteer to work on a suicide distress line, but take NIGHT SHIFTS and talk to the seriously, I’m-Gonna-Do-It-Any-Second, desperate types who only call at 4 am. And while I’m proud of the work I did, and the fact that I helped a few people here and there, I don’t know if I’d do it all over again just because I’m feeling guilty about not having any Oscar Worthy stories of personal discovery or struggle to talk about anymore.

I dunno… Maybe I’m just all grown up now.