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the weight of impending departure
Sunday, June 24 2001
John and his brother Joe left for Yosemite this morning at 5am, so today I was free to wallow in my own crapulence. Consequently, I felt depressed and overwhelmed all day. It was one of those debilitating sorts of depressions that I rarely get, the kind that makes you want to just stay in bed. This morning I went to sit in front of my computer and I barely had the energy necessary to sit up straight. Mind you, I wasn't hungover or tired; I'd had plenty of sleep last night and had consumed only one beer at McClean's.
Still, I managed to get a lot done. I finally got the Punch Buggy Rust tuned up and working nicely, so I went on a little drive to "recycle" some of the junk that has accumulated in my room. Then I stopped at OSH Hardware for paint so I could make my house look fresh and new once more. The little guy doing the paint mixing was in such a desperate hurry that I felt I was imposing on him, so I only bought one of the three colors I needed.
While I was going through my things, I found an old recording of my first musical composition, something called "The Tadpole." I'd recorded it back in 1985 using the BASIC music commands of a Commodore C-128. Unfortunately, I'd long since lost the actual BASIC program (it was stored on a cassette tape), but at least I'd preserved the audio version. Computers have advanced so much in the intervening years that I can actually store "The Tadpole" in my computer once more, this time as an MP3.
At around sunset tonight I walked to Taco Plus to get a chicken burrito. The price on the burrito had increased about forty cents, and I took this as an omen that I really do need to leave this town. As I ate my burrito, an old man with a gimpy walk and big black-rimmed glasses fished around in a trashcan for valuables. The guy who runs the nearby Italian restaurant asked him if he was alright and the gimpy old man nodded that yes he was.
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Walking home down the serenely empty sidewalks of West LA, I had a twinge of the same existential loneliness I felt after Bathtubgirl moved out. John isn't even gone yet but I already miss him. I reflected on this feeling and it took me back to the early 90s in Oberlin. Suddenly I could recall the desolation of Oberlin in the summer, in the days after the school year is over and everyone you know has left town. Back when I used to experience the sad onset of Oberlin summer, I had nothing at all: no money, no possessions, no lovers, and no positive qualities to my reputation. But I did have one thing back then that every poor man has: absolute unbridled freedom. I could pick any destination I wanted and I could go there and no one would hound me about neglected responsibilities. Now, however, I am enslaved in too many ways to pleasantly name, and all of them are a consequence of financial success.
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