Welcome! Now sit back and observe me squirm, as I continue to grapple with this gigantic existential angst. I’ll spare you the vanilla facts about myself. a few cliff notes:
Writing this blog terrifies me. Against all better judgment, I’m going to do it anyway. I will use (attempt) humour to deflect your criticism and silence my own.
I am insane. Although this hasn’t been clinically confirmed, I believe a diagnosis is a mere formality. So keep your expectations low.
I often stray off that narrow middle path that I believe exists to torment me. So far I’ve managed to stay alive. I’ve survived the scandal and trouble I have caused and had some ruinous fun along the way. And now that I have a greater knowledge of self, I keep my favourite jeans in three universally recognizable sizes:
Euphoria, WTF, and Hell.
(At the moment I’m on the express train between WTF and Hell and enjoying every second.)
I regret little. I’m past the midway point of my estimated life span, so regret is starting to seem futile.
WARNING: The next two paragraphs may trigger a gag reflex in some:
Okay, in my defense the road I stumble along is paved with good intentions and a few crevasses.
But it’s not all that complicated. In the end, what I yearn for are the Rosebud moments: the lost treasures that masqueraded as the ordinary.
By writing this blog, I hope to exhume a few. If not simply for my own pleasure, then also to leave something of myself behind for my great love – just in case I snuff it before we get around to having a conversation about something other than Grizzly Bears and Peanut Butter sandwiches.
NOTES & COPYRIGHT CREDITS:
Black and white photograph of Anne Bancroft from The Graduate (1967) directed by Mike Nichols.
Muggshot picture by Richard Avedon (1923–2004) Visit http://www.avedonfoundation.org.
Video inserts: Top: Mae West and Cary Grant in “I’m No Angel” (1933). Bottom: “Citizen Kane” (1941). Directed and starring Orson Welles.