ON HOPE AND SANITY – What Dreams May Come



WRITTEN – 3/12/2008 @ AGE 26

I said something inadvertently brilliant today at work.  What a strange concept!  But I did, I meant to say something like, “Why isn’t the retirement an individual asset with the trust?”, but instead I said, “Why aren’t the insurance proceeds an individual asset with the trust?” and apparently this little slip saved our client (per Gordon’s consequential analysis, obviously) some $11,000 more in taxes.  That’s the thing with this business, it’s like you slip one way and you save a million dollars in taxes, you slip the other way and you’re on the line for legal malpractice because you cost your clients a million dollars in taxes.  It’s quite irritating really.

I’ve been thinking about Dave often lately, especially at work.  I’ve sat in meetings with Gordon for two days straight now, at least a total of ten hours going through this damn trust mill trust and trying to break it all apart and then piece it back together in some salvageable form that will work out well for the client.  Anyways, I’m sitting in there while Gordon talks, going through this whole big analysis on the reasons why this trust was so shitty and why this lady got completely scammed, and all the damn tax consequences result therefrom.  Now I’m a smart girl, my brain works like the damn crack of a whip, but I swear to god there’s nothing that surefire sends my brain spinning quite like tax concepts.  It sets me spinning into outer space and hence I thought about Dave quite a bit yesterday and today.

I think about a lot of things relating to him.  I thought about how maybe it really was to my benefit that he broke up with me before we went away to college, because that was undoubtedly the more respectful move than say going off to college and cheating on me.  And then I wonder if he cared about me at all sometimes.  Maybe he cared, maybe he didn’t.  Maybe he half cared and half didn’t.  Maybe I just think about this too much.  There are just so many maybes that I’ll never know.  There’re so many what ifs that will forever now go unanswered.

Ahh yes, on a different subject, I was thinking today about how I don’t even like these fucking mustangs anymore.  It just seems so ridiculous that I was absolutely in love with a mustang when I was car shopping just four short months ago and now, I can’t even stand the stupid cars.  Just lends credence to the theory that it wasn’t the actual car I was upset over, it was the idea that I’m still very much so finding myself in a place that I don’t really want to be.  I keep working and I keep trying to move ahead, but I always seem to get stuck somewhere in the middle; nowhere glamorous, nowhere awful – just somewhere in the middle.  And that can’t be the worst thing, but I think at some point everyone has to decide whether they’re going to settle or keep pushing forward for more.  I just can’t settle here, I cannot settle now.  I’m simply not ready and I want more for myself than to facilitate the financial affairs of dead people.  Not that that’s not a perfectly acceptable career, it’ll even pay really well and have flexible hours and little to no supervision and all that, but there’s just something I want so much more.

I’ve got a pain in my left hand, right in the palm, and I can feel it when I type.  It’s not a terrible pain, I can just feel it.  It feels uncomfortable.  I was wondering today, see, whether burial site locations are a matter of public knowledge because I don’t even know where Dave is buried so I can go speak to his grave.  So I can go weep tears upon his remains and tell him how much I love him.  It’s all just too late, and I don’t even know where the fuck the boy’s buried.  I don’t know where to find out either, which just makes it all seem worse.

I find lately that lines are beginning to blur between honesty and deception, between right and wrong, between right to and invasion of privacy.  I’m not sure what more to say on this topic, except it’s a rather new concept I need to further think over before I try’n elaborate.

I was crying today on my way home from work, just thinking about the ways in which I miss Dave.  The kind lately has been the worst off, the kind where my misery doesn’t even bring artistic insight, but only miserable suffocation as the permanence of the situation befalls me.  It’s just the agonizing kind which nags and strangles and nicks me in the ankles.  It cuts chunks of my skin out from under my body, but never enough to leave truly unfathomable destruction.  It’s just enough – just enough to break my heart all over again.

I’ve been listening to that song again though, that miserable indulgence is of course of my own doing.  It’s just funny how sometimes things really can hurt so good.  Make you so happy, but break your heart right there at the same goddamn time.  You know I hate shit like that, shit that’s one thing and it’s exact opposite, all in the same good time.  Drives me crazy!  But then again, it probably doesn’t take much.

It’s kind of funny because I’m pretty sure my parents sit downstairs in the evening wondering what the hell I’m doing up here in my bedroom for hours upon hours all alone.  They know that I write, but I’m not sure they knew the extent to which I write.  It kind of makes me feel good, like I really am a writer.  I’m not sure why, though, I feel like I have to be published to actually be considered a writer.  I suppose it has to do with being well known for your writing, being well read.  That’s the point, it seems, when one becomes a writer.  So I’m not sure where that puts me now, but I rest assured that what I am writing is in fact, a story.  It may just be my story, yes, but it’s a story nonetheless.  More real at times, perhaps, than is even warranted by circumstance.

I was thinking today about faith, about what faith actually is, what it means.  It seems that having faith is persisting to believe that something will be, or that something in fact is, despite the reality of circumstance surrounding the situation.  So basically then, faith is believing in something that, in terms of probability, probably is not true.  Or no, is it believing in something that merely cannot be proved, something that cannot be tested in physical terms?  I guess there maybe are two kinds of faith, the former being synonymous with hope.

Well anyways, it was hope then that I was thinking about earlier today.  I was thinking, hope means believing despite circumstantial evidence to the contrary, that something will nevertheless happen.  Now I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sound somewhat like the definition of insanity.  See insanity is supposed to mean doing something over and over in exactly the same way, but expecting different results, right?  So if doing is synonymous with believing, ohh I don’t know what the hell.  This was a really great thought earlier, but it’s all messed up in my goddamn head now.

Anyways, I remembered today back during our senior year in high school, maybe the summer afterwards, I can’t remember now, but I do remember at some point while I was still living at home before college I wrote David a love letter.  It was probably six or seven pages long, in which space I professed my lifelong love for him since the day that we met in the seventh grade.  I think the point was, I was trying to explain to him why I couldn’t just be his friend, because I loved him and it hurt me to just be his friend.  In and of itself, to be his friend hurt me.  Anyways, I wonder if somewhere in all that does remain of Dave, I wonder if somewhere in that pile of stuff lies my letter?  I wonder if he kept it after all this time?  I wonder I wonder and I wonder to no avail; no wonder I feel so suffocated in here.

Sigh.  And that song by Snow Patrol, I really feel that if Dave could speak to me right now, that would be what he would say.  No, not even like.  I feel like Dave speaks to me through that song, that he tells me to move on, to move forward and be my wonderful beautiful self.  I want Dave with me everyday of my life.  I want to remember him, I want to think of him everyday of my life.  Only problem is, I’m not entirely sure how healthy that really is for me.  Now mind you I will never forget Dave, most obviously because I shall bear his star on my left foot for the rest of my days.  But with that security always with me, like my baby blanket or something, I have my Davey with me always – with that security I hope I can begin to move forward here one of these days.  I don’t know how much longer my heart can bear living in Dave’s memory.  I’m not sure how much longer I can continue living within my regret.

Anyways, Stella knows me better than anyone else in this entire world, I think, has ever known me.  And Stella on more than several occasions has told me that I’m a dreamer.  And I just wonder, would it be better for me to put my dreams aside and settle for the circumstance of my present reality, or is it better for me to push forward through boundaries I know can be broken, never settling, never accepting my present circumstance.  Maybe there’s a point in my life in which after much pushing, I will finally be ready to come to a rest.  Maybe if I keep pushing forward, keep fighting for what it is that I really want, I will actually one day have it, and then I will be ready to take my rest.

Today is not that day.  Tomorrow is not that day either.  But who says I cannot dream and somehow, someday make my dreams come true?  That’s what parents are always saying to their young children, no?   You must dream, you must dream because you can be anything in the entire world if you somehow want it just enough.  The question becomes, have they really been lying to us all along?  Or is it okay to be unhappy with present circumstance at times, because you dare to dream of something so much larger, so much more satisfying and engaging and fulfilling?  Or shall we dare not dream, but rather retreat into the circumstance brought upon us?  I just don’t know.  I listen to Dave tell me, don’t think just do, and I find myself wanting to believe despite all evidence to the contrary.  Here I am and I find myself believing when nothing more than hope can carry me forward.

I cannot tell you if this means I am insane.  I do not know if this means I am deluded.  Sometimes, in fact oftentimes, I feel it could go either way.

Snow Patrol, You Could Be Happy –


One thought on “ON HOPE AND SANITY – What Dreams May Come

  1. Pingback: ON *T*H*E* CROWN — a.k.a. the [wretchedness] of a SAINT ;0) | JANE SAYS


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