Personal Wars

One week ago on my birthday I was stalking a crow which was digging in the trash in the cemetery for ten minutes, feeling like an African hunter. I imagined the end result as an epic sequence, but unfortunately the roll I that I had taken didn’t turn out so well.

Three days ago, I saw a caterpillar hanging from a highway overpass twenty feet down on a thin line of silk on my way home. I stopped to take its picture, but instead ended up taking about three rolls worth. While the caterpillar swayed in the wind, I followed it with my camera- the whole time wondering whether it was the stupidest thing ever or the greatest (I am still waiting for the rolls to be developed).

Now for the past two days, I have only taken a roll... Either I guess I can’t take photos on cloudy days or the sensitivity that I have been experiencing after the quake is dulling. The latter makes me worry more because unfortunately it’s true- my life is finally starting to settle down.

Yesterday my bank account was down to one hundred and twenty dollars, but today it shot up to one thousand because of my tax returns. On top of that, with the freelance work I did this month and all the publicity of T.B., I have another month’s rent and living expense covered so I am basically in the clear for the next two months, which is great. I can eat something besides tea and two slices now… But in a way, looking back at it all, I kind of liked the hunger pains and the lack of energy that I felt everyday. I was kind of miserable then, but at the same time, it made me feel like I was at war with the world. And when you are at war, you don’t need anything – because you have a mission and a point in life – which, basically, is what anyone ever really wants.

Now I am sitting in a café writing this after I found out I had money in my bank, which for me being in a café by yourself and spending five bucks on a drink instead of on food to keep you going is a luxury… and I am ashamed because when you are at war, you don’t drink soy tea lattes.

But the struggle against earthquakes, radiation, unemployment, my parents, and society is basically over and I can’t deny it; and I feel like a vet at the end of a bad war movie going back home and not being able to adjust… or maybe it’s the opposite and I am adjusting too well, growing fat and dull and dim-witted when I just want to keep fighting dead enemies, whom now I view fondly like old friends.

War (not necessarily the one with guns) may be miserable, but at least, for once in a person’s life, it makes them feel like they had actually lived and, just as important, had something to say... Bob Dylan’s best work no doubt was when he was fighting the man, and when he had finally stopped, his work became shit. And that’s my biggest fear…