MONOLITH

Yesterday I tried to chemically alter my state. It just made me tired, it didn’t cure the malaise. I faked my way through the day, but felt entirely out of sorts. Sam and Lindsey met me in the city and we spent a few hours walking places. My stomach, my head and my heart were acting up. I felt sorry for my state. I got home and crashed on the couch for a few minutes, and Meredith called asking if I wanted to hang out. We met at a spot in town and sat on a bench and we talked.

Since we were in close proximity to the high school, most of our conversation revolved around experiences that occurred in or around the building. After I ran through several of my more embarrassing or humorous stories, she recommended that I should write a book called “Stupid Choices” where I chronicle all those quintessential Evan LeVine stories that, if you know me, you have heard and fallen in love with. I shared the story about the tenuous parent/principle meeting on the day of senior prom. I told of the Chinaman who puked all over my father’s old car after Sonic Youth in Central Park. There were more I can’t remember off the top of my head, but we weighed the options and it seemed like a good idea. I told her I was too young to start working on memoirs, but I guess as tales of disenchantment they could work. There are enough of them, that’s for sure.

Meredith leaves for school this week. We talked about the current tumult that is my personal life. I’m torturing myself. To change the subject we started talking about jobs. I expressed my desire to get away from the east. We tried crunching some numbers and figured out how much she would make if she worked her current job year round. We calculated that with what I have saved, I could live in a reasonably-priced city for slightly over year before I run out of money. Not only would this be more conducive to my artistic ventures than slumming around suburban New Jersey, it would put me back in the element I most enjoy: immersing myself in what the world and different places have to offer. The problems that exist prohibiting me from packing up and leaving now are too personal to talk about in this space. If it happens, it won’t be for months. In the meantime, I can continue accruing funds.

Since Wednesday three more quasi-songs have been written. Like I said, when I find inspiration my mind is constantly open and unable to close. It keeps me up far too late and I feel disinterested in what’s happening around me. I am off in my own world right now. I don’t know for how long.