06/02/2023
Well. The mopey-ness will continue until the morale improves.
J--- is back in town from LA to see his sister’s new baby, and to attend his college friend’s wedding, so we hung out today. It was honestly really nice. We met at the gym, oddly, but he’s like… fucking jacked now. I’m kind of jealous if I’m honest. We stayed there for 3 fucking hours, which was pretty intense. I’m going to be sore tomorrow. Then, we both went to our houses, showered and regrouped at his place. We had dinner with his parents, which was very nice since I haven’t seen them in almost a year. His mom got a Fullbright grant to go study Irish folklore last year, so they’ve been off in Ireland while she did whatever it is folklorists do there. She mentioned that she met with the “world’s leading expert on banshees” which sounds pretty dope. I wish I did something like that instead of incrementally advancing cyber security AI. So it goes.
After dinner we walked around “our old haunts” as J--- put it. We walked past the house I grew up in and chatted about our sex lives. I don’t know why it is that guys, when they’re alone together, just start talking about fucking, but we always seem to. He seemed to think that he’s just now entering his sexual prime, but I’m convinced my glory days are over. I used to be able to just bang it out, cum, wait a second, and go back in for seconds. These days I’m pretty much one-and-done. It helped that back then I was dating the only girl I’ve ever been with who could have multiple orgasms from penetration alone. Assuming she wasn’t faking, I’m still not sure. I chose to believe it was real though. But that was not a great intro to female anatomy. I have never since been with someone with that ability. Or maybe I’ve declined in my abilities. It’s hard to say. Well, one time I made A-----l cum twice from oral, maybe my finest moment. Shit, I should try that again, that was hot. Anyway.
After we had that whole discussion we wandered over to Robinson, our old high school. There was a lacrosse game ending just as we showed up, so we got a real smorgasbord of what the jocks and mean-girls look like these days. They haven’t changed that much, other than Bieber-hair has fallen out of style. I digress.
We walked home, and drove to the VRE. When we were in high school the parking deck there was the center of activity for young degenerates. I must have smoked a pound of weed there over the years, and used at least a full palette of spray paint cans on those walls. I’m happy to report that in this regard, the kids are alright. The place reeked of weed, and the walls were graffitied with some of the most idiotic tags I’ve ever seen. I counted at least 3 depictions of penises, the words “hard core”, “street”, and fascinatingly, “vagina”. Great work, kids. Keep it up.
Afterwards, we went to the Clifton pub, had a beer, and went back to his place. We played some guitar together like we always used to, and talked about girls, life, and stupid shit. I told him the biggest secret I have—I had a threesome with a girl and another guy. I told him the identities of these people, but to respect the dead (hint) I won’t reveal either here. I’m not really sure why I hadn’t told him this before. I guess it had never come up. But something in me wanted to protect the other guy’s memory in people’s minds. He wasn’t out as bi before he died, and it certainly wasn’t my place to tell his old friends, who would not have understood. But I knew J--- wouldn’t think less of him for knowing, and it was kind of a funny story how it happened, so I told him.
After some more guitar playing and chatting, I had to come home at around 12:30 at night on a work-day. And now, here I am. I prefaced this by saying I was feeling down, but the story above isn’t sad at all. But what makes me sad is what all of this represents. J---, my best friend since I was 10 who moved to Richmond for college, and to LA afterword, in my mind he represents my spent youth. It kept coming up in our conversation that we are aging. We aren’t the dumb goofy teens we used to be, obviously, and it makes me sad. Every time I see him, when I’m visiting him it’s like I’m visiting my own teenage years, which to some extent I think was kind of when I peaked. At least in terms of my own happiness. I haven’t been quite as content since about 2013-2015. That’s a full decade ago, which absolutely pains me to even put down in digital ink, but it’s true.
Back then, I was full of potential. I thought maybe I’d go to film school. Maybe J--- and my band would make it big and we could be musicians. Maybe my stupid doodles would get some traction online, and I could become a professional tattoo artist or something like that. I was full of hope and curiosity. I did interesting things almost every day, just as a byproduct of hanging out with weird people who were into similarly weird things. But now… well. Now I’m just a fucking government shill writing code and researching AI, which many these days have called the antithesis of art.
So on the drive home, I was thinking about all of this. Leaving J---’s house, my old neighborhood, the last place I can remember feeling truly happy, to come back to this bleak, grey life. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Maybe when N-- died. Maybe when I saw those texts on M----’s phone that she was planning on dumping me. I’m not sure[1]. But I came very close driving home. It just feels like leaving all the things that used to make me happy.
Next weekend, I will propose to A-----l. In a few months, we will move to Tennessee together; she got into a clinical psychology Ph.D. program there, and my advisor said it was fine to finish out mine virtually. Another era of my life is coming to a close. Soon I will be engaged, in another state, and looking for professor jobs. This is all good news, but thinking about it for too long makes me terrified. I’m sure A-----l and I will be very happy living together again, soon to be married. I’m positive she’s the right person now (please ignore my doubts and nay-saying from previous journal entries), and we will lead a happy life together, but I fear the happiest times of my life are over. From here on out it’s more mediocrity. I will never do anything important. I will never inspire anyone. I will never change anything about the world. Soon, I’ll be another one of the adults who uselessly clings to their youth, lamenting the passage of time. And then I will die. On my death bed, what little life that flashes before my eyes will be consumed with my activities as a teenager. And that’s the way it is for everyone. Or so I assume.
[1] (06/02/23) Actually, I remember now. It was at the ending of the film Don’t Look Up. Not as consequential as those other things, but what can you do.










