Where Were You Five Years Ago?
I was apparently writing bad poetry about someone who likely didn't deserve it, and though I've found the poetry journal and I've read the vague descriptions I cannot for the life of me figure out what the fuck was going on. It's funny, though. I go from agonized romanticism (really, yo, this is why I gave up the Twoo Wuv thing: it turns me scary), to damn near ODES, then to utter irrationality. No, really, the phrase "I'd do irrational things to stop..." (blah blah fucking blah) actually appears. The point is, it's five years later, and I'm NOT SURE WHO INSPIRED THIS MESS! Anything that's intense enough to inspire crap poetry really ought to be more memorable. Of course, the last of this magnificent (*snerk*) series is dated 9/9/01, so it's possible that I soon had other things on my mind. The next poem is on lost innocence; it still sucks, but starts a merciful trend away from cloying tripe. Also starts a trend toward only two poems a year since, which I surely can get behind.
So yes. Five years ago I was a college grad who was apparently infatuated with some poor soul (in typical Me fashion, I don't even specify a gender -- terribly egalitarian, but not so easy on the memory). And there was kayaking. Of course, there is no poetry about the kayaking, but kayaking is far more memorable than the parade of crushes through the heart of a twenty-two-year-old flake. That was also the year Cathy was in town. And the year Tom and I went to his cabin and my mom tried to call me and freaked out because I didn't answer for two days, so she called campus police to try to find me. No poetry about that either, but we do still make fun of mom for it. So I really CAN remember.
The next year there were quasi-romantic hijinks galore. I remember all of that. I'm mostly surprised that the bad poetry doesn't date from a year later, though kind of glad it doesn't because the person it would have been aimed at is way to shallow to have ever deserved it.
OK, I'm going to bed. This is one mystery that ain't gonna be solved and will only make me feel bloody old (holy crap! that was FIVE YEARS AGO!). So tell me: where were you five summers ago? And if you were near me, can you help me find my lost memory? Maybe it got shuffled in with something of yours.
So yes. Five years ago I was a college grad who was apparently infatuated with some poor soul (in typical Me fashion, I don't even specify a gender -- terribly egalitarian, but not so easy on the memory). And there was kayaking. Of course, there is no poetry about the kayaking, but kayaking is far more memorable than the parade of crushes through the heart of a twenty-two-year-old flake. That was also the year Cathy was in town. And the year Tom and I went to his cabin and my mom tried to call me and freaked out because I didn't answer for two days, so she called campus police to try to find me. No poetry about that either, but we do still make fun of mom for it. So I really CAN remember.
The next year there were quasi-romantic hijinks galore. I remember all of that. I'm mostly surprised that the bad poetry doesn't date from a year later, though kind of glad it doesn't because the person it would have been aimed at is way to shallow to have ever deserved it.
OK, I'm going to bed. This is one mystery that ain't gonna be solved and will only make me feel bloody old (holy crap! that was FIVE YEARS AGO!). So tell me: where were you five summers ago? And if you were near me, can you help me find my lost memory? Maybe it got shuffled in with something of yours.
posted by Turtle at 3:10 AM
4 Comments:
Awww, you were writing about me, that's sweet. I'm sure the fact that we saw each other at graduation and never spoke again for about a year did something to you. ;)
Five summers ago I was running around with She Who Must Not Be Named, looking for work, looking for apartments, and apparently blissfully unaware of the inevitable.
I remember meeting somone you may know at a corner durning a volunteer thingy directing traffic, one of the most productive things I did that year I believe:)
RJ
Rant
And again with the hard to read letters !
LOL I remember directing traffic with you! And discovering that we both kayaked. And that we knew some of the same people. I still wonder how I lived in Duluth for three years BEFORE meeting you:-)
Bill, everyone's unaware of the inevitable. That's the only way it can be inevitable -- otherwise we'd change it!
And then there was this time that CJ and I were frantically trying to find something before her mother arrived..
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