So my new idea ... I've had so goddamn many of them ... is to use this space as like a diary. That's one of the ideas of blogs, right? But I'm thinking, I could use it to put flesh on the bones of ideas that I have -- like when I used to mention images or phrases or whatever that I liked, or when I'd post about stuff in the news, or I could even post about legal ideas or any other kind of idea -- but I could also use it to just remind myself of shit that's going on in my life. Because I don't want to forget things as time passes, and I think I'm in serious danger of doing that.
One of the things that inspired me to want to start keeping some record of the mundane little things that happen in the course of the day was our move from our apartment on Eagle St. I think I can say that -- I want this to be as anonymous as possible, I don't even want my wife to come across it, because I want to talk about whatever comes to mind -- but I think I can say Eagle St. Yeah, why not. Okay, when we left Eagle St. I got sad, because I didn't want to forget about the little things that had made up our life there, even though many of them were negative and others weren't exactly positive. One example that really struck me at the time, for no reason that I can think of, was the guy with the cane who always hung out outside the bodega on the corner, and would harrass me and the dog and yell at us -- in a loving, but oddly aggressive way -- in spanish, or spanglish. He loved that damn dog, and she didn't like him much. He had a running joke about her, which only he knew, because he'd always say it to me in spanish. I think it had something to do with sex, but that might say more about me than about reality.
I imagine that last sentence will be repeated frequently if I really do keep a diary here.
Anyway, I don't want to forget about that guy. I heard he's an old junkie of some sort. The "zabadoot" told me that. No idea how to spell that word, but that's what my landlord called the neighborhood guy who knew everybody and was also very aggressive about his friendliness. The landlord, we'll call him Mr. S., said that's what you'd call this guy in italian. He told me it means "know it all." And I get that -- "zaba," like "savoir," or "yo no say," plus "doot," like "tout." I was very proud that I understood that. Anyway. The zabadoot told me that weird dude with a cane was a junkie. He (the junkie) used to tell me about his medical problems too, but I didn't understand that either.
I also wanted to talk about our friends. Because we're moving. I don't want these people to be insignificant little blips on the screen when I think over my life. You know, when I die, and I think over my life. My god, am I having a midlife crisis? Anyway. I lose touch with people. Life goes on. I move from place to place and I'm terrible about remaining attached. But these people, and these places and all the little things that make up my life, they're significant. And I genuinely love them. So I want to recognize that somehow. I think this may be why "In My Life" by the Beatles came into my head a few days ago.
Ugh. Part of it is that my life is changing so drastically. I'm going to be a lawyer, at a big fucking law firm. In a new city, where I don't know anybody but my coworkers. My life is going to be totally different. I'm terrified -- terrified -- that I'm going to become a different person. I don't want that. I want to remember -- that's what it's all about -- I want to REMEMBER who I am, where I come from, what my values are, what's important to me, and who I AM NOT. But it's doubly tough because I don't believe in being rigid. I think there's probably a lot of great stuff about the life I'm going to discover, and I want to be open to it.
Wow!!!! Jesus. Just writing for ten minutes has opened all this up. I mean, this is what's been on my mind. This has been scaring me. It's been holding me back, too: I've been dragging my feet on buying an expensive house, because that's not something I would do, it's someting a young lawyer at a big firm would do. And I'm not that. Or I don't want to completely become that.
Of course all of this is tied up with my relationship with my family. And my relationship with my wife. My lord. I need to figure this shit out.
Or do I? Is there something to be said for leaving it the fuck under raps? Don't rock the boat, and all that? The devil will drag you under, by the sharp lapels of your checkered coat? (In case you're reading this and you've forgotten, that's a line from a song from Guys and Dolls; the song is called "Siddown You're Rockin' the Boat," or something along those lines. It's significant for another reason: my father frickin' loves Guys and Dolls; furthermore, my wife does too. And so do I.)
Ah. Shit. I am at work. They gave me Jackie to do today -- Jackie Gleason, you might say -- and about ten minutes before it was time to leave I started typing. Now it's 20 minutes later. I need to go. Maybe I'll do this more in the future?
There's always the issue of time, though. Don't want to be a timewaster. Don't want to be like my brother, who has like ten blogs, which he updates when he's supposed to be working. Ah. Shit.