time travelling

Sometimes I forget the reasons behind my initial decision to start a blog. And then I read an entry in an old one and I'm suddenly and easily transported to the time it was written; and simply because of that one short excursion to another place and time, I cannot help but think differently about the nature of time and my own personal experience of life, at least for the rest of the day. No, my reasons for keeping a blog are not sociopolitical ones, nor are they to simply keep a record of the past; to me, keeping a blog for the past six years is the safest and cheapest way to time travel.

For instance, one year ago:
Last weekend, we threw our Art Party... [and] invited every guest to draw, paint, scratch, colour, or otherwise doodle on about five or six yards of blank canvas, the result of which we have hanging in our home today, and I brought Julian, Katie, and Jamie along with me to Henry County for a cookout at my parents' house, a convergence of worlds that has yet to take place again, and let's not forget the insomnia--sleeplessness has turned most of my engagements with friends this weekend into hours spent at home reading in dim light and drinking milk as I desperately try to convince myself to quiet my mind and embrace slumber.

Or what about two years ago?
Julian and I have spent every day together since the beginning of the month. This is certainly the first relationship I've ever been involved in where I'm not feigning complacency. And to think, we'd have half a year of hating each other before realizing we were perfect together. Matt threw a party for Meagan at his place, and we played spin-the-bottle and had a big fight with the next-door neighbours. Sometimes you almost forget about some of the best nights, and even then all I gave it was a sentence. Add that to night terrors the night before, and I'm clearly having some sleeping problems. You know, I'm sleeping relatively well these days, but I clearly haven't been for at least two years.

...three?
Now that I'm back from Texas, now that I'm moving to a new place and starting school again [at Emory], now that it looks like something substantial may happen between Devin and me... it feels like my life is no longer getting in the way of my being able to live. ...ouch. Well, out of all that, at least Texas went well. Now I remember why I stopped the positive thinking for so long.

Let's try four:
I'll blatantly address the three greatest themes of my life in the past month: 1) the week of deep depression caused by the increase in my primary unhealthy obsession, 2) the destruction of my relationship and sexual frustration in finally absolving myself from that same obsession, and 3) the new life of dancing, studying, reading, loving, working, fucking, and finally living that comes with leaving home. Well now, it looks like I was preparing for this four years ago, that was a concise summary of personal thematic observation if there ever was one.

Five years ago this week:
After staying a while and wanting to leave, I changed my plans and got high instead. "But Jeff, I thought you didn't do that anymore." I have no idea who might be asking a question like that. Yesterday, I removed the CD player from the Neon (and drove it a little, it's so heavy compared to the Accent) so I could put it in my new car, which also has a new Union Jack plate, yay. I guess Sparky is just about five years old now, then. [Andrew's girlfriend Sara] has been in the psychiatric ward at Anchor Hospital because she apparently had a psychological breakdown last week. I tried to get some information from Andrew, but "it doesn't concern me." I chose an awful month to look on the past. August is always terrible.

And, six years, today:
Tonight, Sarah and I were driving home on the dark road listening to "The Tower of Learning" by Rufus Wainwright and the feeling I experienced could best be described as "infinite". Someone's been reading Stephen Chbosky. Rufus Wainwright is my idol...I discovered him over a year ago, but I'm more recently listening to all of his music and reading about him, which seems both funny and poignantly sad to me now. Currently, I'm listening to the master and Sarah just left after we watched an episode of The Family Guy and that home movie from 1987. This one is especially weird. I'm not sure I even remember the person who wrote all this.