19 May 2017
The beginning of the end, or perhaps a draw closer to the inevitable climax: I am seated in a bar in Orono, Maine writing a letter to no one in particular instead of talking to those around me (I know no one here but the bartender). There was a cute girl with glasses at the bar that laughed at one of my jokes but I was too scared to sit beside her. Perhaps the fear of failure has rendered my life into one big compromise. Perhaps not (but probably perhaps).
Writing makes me feel better, gives me a sense of control over the matter of communication but perhaps the magic lies somewhere in the insanity of uncontrolled communication. Hm. I hope the move to Portland pushes me against a wall and I must learn to fight back, fight against the insecurity and the fear. Speaking of the fear (and loathing) I have been reading The Proud Highway, a collection of letters from Hunter S. Thompson (’55-’67). What a fearless spirit. His honesty in his writing is at times almost overwhelming. Here is a quote that struck me violently today
I have found but one advantage to being here: I am completely alone. I work for three or four hours for five days a week, and then I return to my apartment—on top of Regan’s Taproom—and either read or write. Loneliness is for people who can’t see themselves except through the eyes of their compatriots, and all evidence points to the fact that I’ve passed that stage.
I feel that boldened section strongly, live it. I am sitting at a bar spending $8 on beer doing things I could’ve done at home drinking $2 worth of beer. Ah well. The constant hum of activity behind me keeps me writing; keeps me compelled to prove something perhaps to no one in particular. I feel only comfortable when people introduce me to people. I can never introduce myself to someone new. Are people at bars to talk to people? I think I find the idea of talking to someone like myself a bit abject and instead feel people would be happier if I didn’t approach them and strike up conversation. But I want to. Right? I have no idea. The fear of rejection takes me. I feel insecure in my persons and one validation could ruin me. Not to be melodramatic because life is a sort of game you get to play and I am young and Hunter S. Thompson said in a letter not to waste your youth depressed, because these are the golden years. Almost 23. Almost past my peak physical attraction. Peak physical attraction encasing a scared individual. Tragic, but hilarious.
I heard a man outside the bar talking on the phone to his mother and it made me smile, that innocence lying just outside a den of depravity and sorrow.
Anyways, in short. I want to be braver. I want to be happier.
Until then, I remain,