Half Jack

If there's anything I've gotten good at, it's shouldering the weight of my own history. Memory is so imperfect. I know things weren't as great as I remember them, but I remember them being amazing and it hurts me to know that little boy in the black make up sitting in Margary's room listening to Marilyn Manson is gone. He's like a guy I used to know who had a strong influence on me. A best friend whom I lost touch with after a time. Am I making sense? There's a sense of loss associated with my memories of myself.

Perhaps it's the simplicity of those times. Floating through classes during the week, then going to Rocky and the West End Friday, and maybe Saturday nights. Type O Negative and Sisters of Mercy provided the soundtrack. Most of my memories are pegged on whoever I was dating at the time and I recall the time frame of them in relation to a girl's name. I think that's a little odd, but it is what it is.

I wish I could give young me some of the esteem that I have now. Just a bit. Just so he would have smiled more and taken more chances. Had more friends. None of my friends from high school are close to me any more. I still have channels to a surprising number, but I don't see any of them. Jeremiah was it and I just got tired of his self-centeredness.

Come to mention it, Miranda's birth shifted things just as the end of High School did. Two of my friends who I thought I was pretty tight with have barely made an appearance in the past 14 months.

I know this is the common lament of everyone who realizes that their youth is behind them. Miranda is my youth now, I guess. If it wasn't for her I think I'd be having a harder time with my current situation that I am.