"I have no idea where this will lead us, but I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange." -Twin Peaks (season 1)
"Make it as if I were dying in my sleep instead of in my life. Amen."
I was talking to this girl that lived down the hall from me. We had both been drinking earlier in the night, and although we’ve slept maybe 40 yards from each other for the last six months, we’d never made more than small talk.
She’s pretty. Like really beautiful— with blonde hair and blue eyes; a slim frame, generally delicate and overwhelmingly graceful. A sort of Apollonian Hitler youth, except for the fact that she exudes— if not kindness, diplomacy.
We talked about her experience growing up in a wealthy community. About that kid at her high school that crashed three BMWs. About all her friends with tennis courts and horses, and the thing that struck me the most was that she, this ode to innocence, smoked post every day of high school. She’d go out with her friends at lunch and smoke behind the tennis courts before grabbing Starbucks and heading back to class. She’s smoke after school before going to her four hour dance lesson. And when she finally got home, she’d simply sit down and do her homework.
I know well enough that you don’t dance for four hours every day unless you’re pretty serious about dancing. Furthermore, it seems like you don’t get into Santa Clara unless you are relatively serious about learning. When I asked her how she managed, she just said, “I don’t know”, like it was no big deal. Like it was totally normal to smoke marijuana three times a day between the ages of 15 to 18 and remain objectively successful throughout.
She told me that she never had an overwhelming urge to smoke but her friends did and, “they were the people I grew up with, you know?”
As a matter of fact, I did not.
But this time with obnoxious stuff I’ve written. Enjoy, my disinterested voyeurs.