A quarter of a century.
It’s not a big deal, but suddenly I — can imagine myself weeping at tomorrow’s (tonight’s) dinner. Being an adult is all about repressing yourself. You’re sometimes sadder than you could’ve guessed. I’ve done a good job not thinking this year.
Wistfulness is a state I return to again and again. I played my friend “City of Dreams” and “Eyes” and she said, “This isn’t sad.” I thought they were. You can’t be happy without knowing what you were before.
It’s hard to be honest in a public space. It’s become harder to speak without an audience.
Now I need help in order to feel. Now, when I feel, I am more helpless than I was as a child. Being an adult means choosing out of boxes, then building homes out of them. They are not disposable. I have, over the course of a quarter century, built many things. There is a paper trail if you look closely. I build and forget — remembering scares me. At least, that is the explanation that makes the most sense. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to tell my children in ten, twenty years.