But what about the good stuff? The other day I played “Cars” by Built to Spill, and remembered sitting in the rented appartment in London in my early twenties, listening to people talk about the beauty of lyrics, and I remembered them playing that song again and again saying they, too, would like to see movies of their dreams. That, I miss.
Maybe it’s not about age but about the weight of life. Unbearable lightness my ass. You move a few times, sometimes in the same city, then across the ocean to another continent. You deal with jobs and with crazy bosses and insane co-workers. You search for love. You drink. You smoke and spend the rest of your life trying to quit. You have sex. You spend time and energy trying to have more sex. You buy stuff. You lose pens and lighters. You deal with the plumber and you argue with the cable company. You always get screwed by the local garage. Always. You get sick and healthy and sick again. You do your taxes.
And then, before you know it, you forget you used to wish you could see movies of your dreams.
Life is funny like that.