Floored.

This morning, I got a call from a friend that I haven't talked to in about a year. We've been friends for a long time, in fact, he's one of my oldest friends. We met in college, through a mutual friend, and have been good buddies ever since. He's a good guy, and I count myself lucky to be friends with him. Don't get me wrong, we get in fights and get annoyed with each other sometimes - the usual good friend conflicts. I have a great picture of us with our other best friend at Alkai Beach in Seattle after our first year of college. We all look young and happy. It was a great day, I think we stopped by Spud's Fish N Chips that day, spent the day walking around the beach with nothing to do. I spent my summers in college up in Seattle, living at my Dad's house and working, generally at the Barnes and Noble in University Village. Later, a few years ago, I was one of three "best men" at his wedding. (Don't tell anyone, but he made chocolates for the wedding that were to-die-for good, and I stole a bunch to take home to Portland with me).

Anyway. I just found out that one of the big mysteries about his health got solved today - a benign tumor in his brain. He'll go under the scalpel within the month. I was floored. How can someone a year older than me...have such a terrible thing happen to him? I found myself, as I'm assuming anyone who gets this type of news does, remembering all the times I've spent hanging out with him, going to lunch, listening to him yammer on about food (he's a foodie and a beerie). I started crying. I'm worried and scared and I know he's feeling everything that I'm feeling so much worse, and that compounds my feelings - a never ending cycle.

This weekend, I'll drive up to Seattle and re-solidify my friendship with him. I feel like my efforts over the last year to talk to him and check in with him have been miniscule at best, and I'm feeling not only guilty, but also nostalgic for how we used to be friends, the three of us. Carefree, enjoying the Seattle summers, going to the beach or having a barbecue. Drinking heavily (that was always one of the mainstay activities with us...).

I can't wait to see him again.

The Tossed Generation

Okay. There's some confusion going on among the older crowd as to my generation. My generation is not hipster, nor do we generally wear saggy skinny jeans, nor do we whine and complain when our boss doesn't give us personal validation and a hug every time we do the job right, nor do we expect handouts from anyone. What we DO have is a list of bills we can't pay, not enough time to pursue a marginally significant hobby (let alone be happy for a few days), and we haven't been without responsibility since that first job, around 15, when we worked for shitty wages at godawful jobs. We are the generation that gets laid off first, and hired last. We are the generation that is paying for social security for our elders and rarely complaining about it, because we were told to respect our elders and we all expect to be taking care of our own parents someday, even though we will never see a dime of our money down the line when we're old. We got ourselves into a ton of school debt, because we were told that was the way to do it right, and now we're having a hard time finding work at low-paying, no benefits laboring jobs. Our entire 20's were dominated by war and color-coded terror updates. Our freedoms have been slowly stripped away by various powerful men who should never have been given power. We're broke, we're tired, we're angry and we want things to change so that for the love of god, we too can work a 9-to-5 job with benefits and go home. We have been tossed around by the vagaries of fate. That's MY generation.

Writing

I remember taking a introductory course in my undergraduate years in fiction writing. For one of the exercises, we were required to write the same story from each person-perspective (first, second and third). It was an in-class exercise, and the only idea that sprang to mind was a young boy (maybe 8 or 9) walking home from school, dejected and angry, with very little control over his life and what was happening. As he was walking home, he saw a line of ants across the sidewalk, and stomped on them, which alleviated his anger but also created a sense of remorse. The other perspectives were from the ant's point of view, and from the point of view of the neighbor across the street, an older man who felt sorry both for the ants and for the boy.

I had a great conversation tonight with a friend which made me realize that I used to love to write, and I'm not terrible at it, but I have ignored the inner voice telling me to continue writing in my journal, or even to continue writing fiction. This will change - I won't let myself ignore this any more. Perhaps a blog will help?

On another note, my trip to Texas was epic. A story for a night at the pub with some stiff drinks and good friends. Hopefully I will get to see you all at some point in order to share my ridiculously long and involved, funny and crazy story at some point in the near future.

For now, it's back to the grindstone of school, work and sleep, school, work and sleep. A never-ending cycle of too much of one and not enough of the other.

On a happier note, I completely ignored school work today in order to rearrange my apartment furniture and clean. So, at least something is getting done.

Hope everyone enjoyed a happy New Year, and it might be time to actually write down that list of to-do's in 2011. Perhaps I'll post it...