"Yo Friday night was a movie!!" my friend would yell if this was a shitty 2000s coming of age film where it was societally acceptable to scream the f-slur on the top of your voice with the excuse that you're drunk.
This however, is 2022, where my friend does not use the drunken excuse for his slurred slurring speech, he uses "I'm gay" (he's bi). In all fairness, he could get away with the drunk excuse, as by that moment in time he'd downed two beers and a quarter of a bottle of Fireball...all while crudely insulting our legal-age friend who'd purchased the assorted party substances.
It was less of a party and more of a pathetic mix of escapist teenagers...half of whom escaped the escapist room before the escapism substances could be consumed in full. Escape is a fun word to fuck around with, it has a fuckton of endings. It's like a choose your own adventure book. What other words have a Rolodex of endings? I don't know. Maybe if I remember one during the course of this writing I'll put it in brackets so you're as equally informed as my memory.
There were a lot of shitty things done by my friends on Friday night. They weren't all shitty from the moral standpoint of a teenager...for example stealing Oreos from a CVS. That we didn't even do on purpose. I mean, I thought my friend (bi boy) was doing it on purpose, but it turns out he's just a coincidental idiot. He is famously oblivious, though.
***
I went to a bonfire last night where I witnessed the amicable clash of three different social groups. There were the stoner skateboarders, the slightly popular druggie alt kids, and the slight outcasts (a group which bled into the film cult kids). I'm in 2/3 of those chunks...though some of my friends stayed strictly in their lanes.
One of my friends is from Mexico and she commented on how American that night felt, as a few of us lay on the beach under a clear starry sky, looking up, just smoking grass and nicotine. This other guy, who I've fallen hard for over the past few weeks, said: "HBO should snatch us up. They'd make a fortune."
That got me thinking into a problem I've been having recently where I'm consistently surprised by the reality of the things around me. One of my friends calls it a disassociation problem, though I'm not convinced. I've been wondering though how to put what I'm experiencing into words, since it's something I've never understood if other people feel.
It's like I see overlaps in my life and the lives of teenagers I read about and watch on tv (take Daria for instance), and sometimes I come back to life in the middle of a social gathering and realize like this is actually real. As if a part of me has been watching myself and everyone else without realizing that it's supposed to be helping me understand that this is non-fiction.
I wrote a tv pilot about teenagers and shit back in November for my final project for school, and it was fun and relatable and alternative because I based so much of it off of things and people in my life. But...I feel like I never logged out of that mindset. I've spent a lot of my life making up stories in my head and acting them out (my childhood), and now, suddenly, my actual life feels like I'm making it up in my head as it goes along. I don't feel like I can control the actions of others, no way Jose, but I do feel this bizarre sense of de-realism. Like I know that I'm here, right now, in my room, inside the walls that I've scribbled on and taped on and pounded on. I know that my parents are downstairs and there's trees outside...but the realization that I can do anything because nothing is real or forever or cemented in the ground has taken over a lot of my thoughts. That and then also just feeling as though that part of my brain that was just watching things happen has suddenly reattached and I'm in reality even though I never knew I wasn't in it.
I got fucked over by something when I was on that school trip. We stopped in Florida, we took something from a guy, and everyone was okay but me. Because I tripped the fuck out and I've payed some sort of consequences ever since.
I dunno. Maybe it isn't the drugs and my brain is still an intact-egg in John Roselius' hand and this is all some delusional form of senioritis that I haven't yet wrapped my head around (not that hard-shelled eggs are malleable). Someone somewhere will figure it out. Even if I have to jump off a building first (I won't).
Peace and love, mothafuckahs. Where did I start this? My friend who acts scummy sometimes, but identifies as the scum he mouths off on. Right. That was a couple days ago (this tab's been open for a bit).
Ride or die, freaks.
- zan
Comments
Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )