Sugar Mountain

Last night, my roommate and I were discussing childhood. We both realized that we couldn't piece together one single day from anything longer than 10 years ago. I remember bits and pieces of course, but it's weird not being able to pinpoint a date and time (birthdays not included). Especially for me--remembering dates are my strong suit.

I remember going into surgery when I was 3. I think that's my earliest memory. I remember arguing with my stepmother that I was 3 years old on my 4th birthday. I remember bits and pieces of kindergarden. I remember my first day of private school . . . and my first day of public school. I remember camping and ball games and theater experiences. But in most cases, I can't remember what happened in what year, let alone a single, full day. It sucks when you really think about it.

Anyway, I didn't sleep at all last night, thanks in part to my roommate for putting me in a downer mood. I kinda think I'm regretting it now. I gotta say, however, there's something exciting about walking around the city alone around 4 a.m. I ended up stopping at a Starbucks and doing some writing. I can't believe I only just now found out that brewed coffee only costs $.50 when you bring your own mug. I'll never be uncaffeinated again.

I thought about skipping my first class today, Intro to Producing, to sleep. It's a make-up day, and I'm not behind on any assignments. However, I chose to write a blog instead.

I can't say things have gotten any more interesting over here. After you live in the city for, say, about six months, nothing's that interesting anymore. Not even seeing someone put out a cigarette on a bum's forehead. Not even seeing someone taking a shit in the middle of the sidewalk. And not even when you see someone dancing around naked at city hall.

I find my apathy growing the more I live out here. I've gone from feeling sympathy for the homeless people on the street, to outright ignoring them--if I didn't, I'd be out of change and cigarettes every time I went from my place to class.

I don't say this to rag on San Francisco, or city living in general for that matter. Sometimes though, living here does makes me feel like too much of an adult. Anyone that knows me well enough, knows that I'm not exactly eager to grow up. I believe they call it the Peter Pan complex.

I just have to keep promising myself that I'll still act like a child when I'm 60. For better, or worse.

;)

With haunted hearts through the heat and cold

We never thought we could ever get very old

We thought we could sit forever in fun

Our chances really was a million to one.