log: futures and pasts

벌레 일지 WORMDATE: L4: 1,768 – 213,987 : 9-2,134: 41.6 %-15.4 %

Busan went to Level 4 today. All the beaches are closed. Private gatherings are limited to four people before 6PM and two people after 6PM. Various other restrictions as we try to get this surge under control. Busan is only about 3.4 million people but these days we’re hitting over a hundred daily cases. Few weeks ago, that was more like 20.

On the 13th, it’ll be my turn to make my appointment for my first shot. We’ll have to see how that goes. Moderna has apparently told the Korean government that they’ll only be able to send half the vaccines they’ve promised. This means that the gap between shots has had to be lengthened. Hopefully, that’s all it means. I’m just hoping the shot will be there when my time comes. It should be. But a bit of a mess. As expected . . .

Having to have hope is never a good sign.

Today, our new sofa arrived. It’s red. The old one, which we got with the apartment, broke a while back. For about a month, probably longer, I’ve been sitting in a sort of leather covered hole. That’s fine but it was really starting to hurt my shoulder and back. So, while Wife was at work, I set that all up, reorganized the apartment a bit, and dragged the old sofa out to the trash. An old man, smoking a cigarette watched me carrying the couch, then gave me the thumbs up when I was done and yelled “이지!” (EASY!) Funny fucker!


Anyway, while pulling things out and moving things around, some history came loose, as it sometimes does. And made me pretty miserable as it usually does. I don’t even know why.

When I was young, to get your picture taken you needed to have a birthday with a bear, catch a fish, or have some sort of fancy new hat.

But I will say this, last time I saw that kid with his arm around me there, was at our local kick-and-stab. He’d just got out of prison. Told me he was different now. Said that as much as he liked me, he’d kill me or anyone without even thinking about it, and that’s just how it was now. No idea where he is now. Don’t even care. And I doubt things went much better for the bear in the background. Pretty sure the way that thing was treated would run afoul of a few laws these days. Then again, who knows? Might still be legal for kids to feed bears soda.

None of that sort of thing is what bugs me though. I’m just sort of hostile towards the past. It seems dangerous. I detest those conversations that turn into “remember the time” as much as I hate when someone starts telling jokes, then someone else has to tell a joke, and before you know it, it’s just people telling fucking jokes, each one less funny than the last.

God, I hate jokes.

Pretty much the moment I have a past-based relationship with someone –a relationship based in ‘remember the time?’– or, even really, a substantial and realistic threat of that happening, I just terminate the relationship. I move on. It’s probably a bit ruthless. It’s not done with malice. I don’t need to be angry to do this. Does Death need to be angry? Often, I’m pretty grateful for those times. But over is over. And I just don’t know how to move forward while carrying a lot of history. Most of my best friendships are sort of abstract and atemporal connections. Nothing lasts forever. Forward!

Not that I’m some big fan of the future. But at least the future comes with some sort of actionable to-do list. Not that any of it will help or anything ever goes to plan. But the future requires something from the present. The past? What does the past want? There’s nothing you can do about the past except, like, apologize, I guess? For all the good that does.

You can learn from the past. At least that’s what people say. I have some doubts on the matter. But learning from the past is probably alright. Especially because you’re mainly learning how to avoid the past.

So, yeah, I don’t know what it is — why I hate the past so much. I like old things and I like durable things. But obsolete? That’s a little different. That’s how a lot of past feels. Useless, ugly, and in the way. A bit like a broken sofa, come to think of it. Hurts to sit on.

It also feels like walking into an ambush. I resent there being a person who’s supposed to be me, who I don’t even know and can hardly remember, wandering around in memory. It’s like having some fucked up twin. That kid doesn’t even seem like a decent point of comparison. At some point, we diverged so much that we just don’t have much anything to say to each other about anything.

A warning such as “say cheese” gives some children too much time to plan.

Him and me? We might even be enemies. At some point, and I even know roughly when, I had to perform a pretty large and deliberate act of self-creation just to keep living. Creation involves some destruction. There’s some feeling of a doppleganger or double about the whole thing. It’s like, there can be him or there can be me, but there cannot be both.

The heat has broke. Just a little but it’s not quite so stifling.

Anyway, what the fuck? Level 4, here we come.

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