Sing, Cuckoo

The air tastes like clover and smells like a premonition of rain. The breeze is light and cool, but there's a heavy hotness hiding behind it. Summer is coming. Bearing down on us like a vigilante seeking justice for this abnormally long Georgia spring.

And it occurs to me suddenly, among these omens, that I want a refund for the past year. I want my money back. It's not that the whole thing was bad, just defective. And wasteful. All that life, just dribbled away with almost nothing to show for it. Sure, I screwed up and learned and lived and grew and all that jazz, but it took too long. All of those learning experiences took an inordinate amount of time-- more than their fair share, if you ask me.

I wouldn't be fooling anyone if I said that I've gotten truly old now, but I am old enough now to understand at least a little of what it means to have wasted your time. Time is insane. It's the only thing in life with no chance of a return policy, and the only thing that ever gives me buyer's remorse. Caveat emptor, indeed. My time needs to come with a warranty. I don't make very thoughtful purchases, as a rule.

Seriously though, you spend the first quarter of your life unconcerned with time-- I did, anyways. Every opportunity that passes is something that you can always do later. Anything you miss out on the age-bracket for in the early days probably isn't really all that exciting anyways. Then you leave high school and move on to college, or work or whatever, and it all starts piling on. The options come pouring in, the opportunities fly into your face-- and you don't generally realize until a few years later that they were one-time offers. That option paralysis seems so self-sustaining.

I'm being morbid. I know it, but it seems worth reflecting on for a moment. There's a reason this is one of the world's tritest sentiments-- mostly among the over-forty sets, granted, but I like to get a head-start-- there's a lot of truth to it.

It is a tacitly understood and mutually ignored fact that all of the emotions and ideas that we over-intellectual types dismiss as trite are only so tired because they are wholly universal. Love is cruel, life is hard, and death comes quickly. They are ugly, brutish, blunt truths with very little art or cleverness to them, but they are true. True and lamentable.

Perhaps the reason that talking about these things is so socially indiscreet is precisely because they are so universal. Why bother saying anything--you're only preaching to the choir, and the choir doesn't want to hear anymore of your spurned love poetry (it is the lowest form of art, after all). But that doesn't really explain the animosity, the moral superiority, we feel when we read or hear or see these things. Maybe it's just that whole "through a glass darkly" thing. Or maybe I should just speak for myself.

I digress.

Time. I want mine back-- I've done very little with it lately. I'm not unhappy, but I'm not satisfied either. I love Austin. I love my friends. But I need something more. Something I should have bought with this wasted year. Trouble is, even if I had it to do over again, even if they gave me that refund-- I'm still not sure how I'd spend it.

Kate Chopin on Robin Williams movies and Half-Life 2

I need a new alarm clock--and not just because I can't seem to wake up on time anymore.

I feel like I've been sleepwalking for months now. Ostensibly I wake up each day, scurry about a bit and then go back to sleep. But it feels like I'm consistently missing step one. I keep waiting for something to snap me out of it. I keep expecting to just shake it off out of the blue one of these days. But I'm starting to think that's not going to happen.

This apathetic lethargy I'm experiencing is not going to go away on its own. I'm not going to just wake up. So I need an alarm clock. A good one. Fast.

On to the pro-active portion of this post, then. Generally I'm opposed to New Year's resolutions, but since it's already the middle of January I feel justified in making some holiday-free resolutions. I could just make these affirmations internally, of course, but I do that all the time, and look at me. If I say it all out-loud, so to speak, write it all down on this piece of electronic paper...I might just make good on my promises to myself for once. In that spirit, I, KT Prime, do solemnly swear to my blog-viewing public to do the following:

1. Go to class. (I really can't emphasize this one enough.)

2. Start writing again.

3. Go to the gym a couple of times every week.

4. Do my laundry tomorrow.

5. Call Direct TV on Tuesday.

6. Occassionally blow off my friends in order to be productive.

7. Sever the umbilical cord between myself and Facebook.

8. Become less apathetic. Become quite the opposite, in fact. (Which, I suppose, linguistically speaking ought to be "pathetic'... though that just doesn't sound right.)

9. Make the most of what is in my freezer. Soon.

10. Literally, buy a new alarm clock. The one I have has a snooze button. This is a problem.


So these are my resolutions, my campaign promises, if you will. Hold me to them, America. Shame me, if you must. If I fail, I will deserve it.