The year of the lost you
Don’t look back. You only end up getting a pain in the neck from all that craning.
I don’t remember much of what happened before June, to be honest. I remember meeting two people with whom I instantly clicked — and as is the traditional way, with whom I quickly decided I simply had to get drunk and talk about almost everything under the sun. Now, I hope, they will be lifelong friends forever (depending, that is, on which turns out to be longer — life or forever). I remember beginning or continuing meaningful and thoughtful correspondences with three or four other people whom I hope to meet in the flesh one day. Soon. I lost others; they drifted. It happens. I remember late-night conversations spanning the world, many of which shouldn’t have happened. I remember lying. I remember truths. I remember starting a new weblog, and thinking it would be a superb idea to have three of them instead of just one. How impractical. I remember feeling sickened, stressed and exhausted, more ill than I thought could ever be possible.
I remember that I lost a week — an entire week — somewhere along the way. I know more about it now. I know a little of what was happening: the people who were there or at a distance, talking with each other, often for the first time, asking questions and being concerned. Strands of my life came together, even though I wasn’t around to witness them. I lost a week, then, but gained a sketchy backstory of seven very peculiar days.
I don’t remember much of what’s happened since June, to be honest. There were the visits of two people with whom I had instantly clicked only a short time before. We talked about almost everything under the sun, though we wouldn’t and won’t be getting drunk for a while. I still hope they will be lifelong friends forever (depending, that is, on which turns out to be longer — life or forever). Meaningful and thoughtful correspondences, as well as occasional telephone calls, continued with three or four other people. I even started new written relationships with a couple more — all of whom I hope to meet in the flesh one day. Soon. Those who were already lost drifted further. They couldn’t look me in the eye. It happens. Late-night converssations continued to span the world, some of which shouldn’t have happened. Some of them should, and did, for which I am glad. I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell truths. I existed in stasis, with every little twist and turn taking on ridiculously huge significance, when in reality it was only a single moment in the grand scheme of things. I wondered if there even was a grand scheme that could explain all this. All this and less and more. I recalled that I had a weblog somewhere. Thirsting after words and wanting to use them, but being uncertain that I still knew how to. I wondered if I could still write, when writing seemed like the only skill I ever loved, ever possessed. I felt sickened, stressed and exhausted, more ill than I thought could ever be possible. I felt weak and dejected, and worried that I would never get strong again. I did get stronger too — yet weaker, then stronger again. I wanted to move forward. I hated and loved in equal measure.
And now? Now I want to move forward. I think I am, slowly. I know there’s no hurry, yet I feel the need to rush.
What about that year? Those twelve months? Those fifty-two strange, strange weeks? There’s nothing to see back there. Nothing of any interest to anyone. Just moments of personal history. You’ll only get a pain in the neck from all that craning. I know, because I’ve been massaging those knotted muscles for a few weeks now. But no more. I can feel the breeze on my face, and it’s curiously warming to feel my skin so chilled to the bone.
Two thousand and six had far too many curves for my liking. As numbers go, two thousand and seven appears much more aesthetically pleasing. 2006 versus 2007? No contest. It’s going to be the year of the found you. I’ll see you on the other side.