I can't slow down oh you know, I wish I could

D-o-a-M-S: Writing to reach you (continued); Eleven years ago

On a bridge, over a busy motorway, towards the end of a summer;

Younger: You again, huh?

Older: It's something to do. Remember last time we spoke?

Younger: More or less.

Older: Been a long, strange year since then, huh?

Younger: You know what? Screw you. All this "I can tell you but you won't remember" crap - this year's been awkward and unsettling and stressful. Like you couldn't give me any hints?

Older: Causality, remem--

Younger: Oh, I forgot the convenient excuse. You can't give me any information because it might w-r-e-c-k the u-n-i-v-e-r-s-e. Oh no. Meanwhile, I'm confused, and angry, and you can't even help?

Older: I can tell you it gets worse.

Younger: No, I think you misheard me. I said 'help'.

Older: It gets a lot worse, then it gets better. [Sigh] Look, you know how you've had a pretty good year, but you've done some incredibly stupid shit?

Younger: You could say that.

Older: I am saying that, because it happened. There are some things I liked about this year, but there's a hell of a lot I didn't. And it really does get worse - you/I/we end up graduating from stupid to just plain weird. But there's something that, if you could remember, I would need you to remember.

Younger: What's that?

Older: That none of the dumb-ass things you get up to in the next two years are permanent. Oh, sure, you lose friends and alienate people and even in my now there's probably one or two people who remember how much of an ass you were. But even though you offend some people mortally, you make it up to them - at least to the ones that really matter.

Younger: What about the rest?

Older: Oh, they drift away - some of them make your life hell for a little while in various ways and through various means, and there's a really dark time coming up, but... It's all just time you have to encounter. A series of dark moments, and then, suddenly, wham, things start to trend upward again.

Younger: It's not been such a bad year. I mean, there was XXXXXX... and XXXXX, and XXXX.

Older: Okay, well, sorry to disillusion you, but you don't see XXXXXX for another two and a half years, and when you do, it's kind of awkward. You were an asshat to XXXXX - I mean, seriously, you're lucky you didn't get stabbed in the chest for that one - and you only ever see her once again and even then she doesn't acknowledge you. Which is probably for the best.

Younger: But what about XXXX?

Older: I'm not telling you anything even if you're not going to remember. It's all great with her now, and that goes on for a little while, and that's all I'm going to say.

Younger: So why do you keep coming back if you can't change anything and I can't remember anything?

Older: Perhaps I just like talking to myself. Look, I'm serious when I say things get better, but then they plateau - first in three years for about three years, then  seven years from now things start out amazingly then just become everyday. It's just the way things go. So I figured I'd come back and visit you now, before all the boredom. Besides, it's so much easier to remember the bad stuff from this year. There was a hell of a lot of good stuff too.

Younger: Yeah? Maybe only from your perspective. Look, you remember how I ended up in hospital in March? And then moved out of the family home? And then lost my summer job?

Older: It's a nadir, all right. It's a shitty end to a mixed-up year. The summer you have ahead of you is okay - you'll travel around a bit, catch up with people, that sort of thing. And next year at Uni starts out okay. It just gets a bit dark midway through. Look, I meant it when I said that none of the badness is permanent - nothing scars you so much that--

Younger: Wait, I remember something now. You're studying another degree and mooching off your parents, right?

Older: Yes.

Younger: So how can you say that none of this is 'permanent'? Sounds to me like you gave up trying to be ambitious and successful and just went for whatever sounded best.

Older: It's nice that you can be an asshat and not be wrong all at the same time. Besides, your definition of 'ambitious and successful' right now would be to be able to write like Hunter S. Thompson and maybe, just maybe, own a car and be able to drive it. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Younger: So what's your definition of 'successful' now?

Older: ... That's kind of difficult to explain.

Younger: Try.

Older: Well, there's the academic success. You get your degree from here - eventually - but by the time you get it your grade average is irrevocably damaged, so you have to settle for mid-table respectability. That chips away at you for a bit. So I took more courses, and always had the motivation to do better than I did back then, or now. But I can't do this without romanticising things a bit - you want to be a writer, a journalist, something like that?

Younger: That would be kind of cool. I like writing for the student newspaper...

Older: Well, you don't stop doing that. It peaks in a couple of years, then it starts to wind down. But you get kind of obsessed with both just passing this degree and working somewhere you'll find out about soon. And here's the thing. You don't let failures beat you down - you're too stubborn. And that's a good thing, but it means that your victories come at a price. By the time you're me, you're the kind of the personal Pyrrhic victory.

Younger: What does that mean?

Older: Well, you'll have trouble with your studies soon enough - in fact, it's already started. But - eventually - you fight back, and you pass enough units. But if you'd taken a sidestep and looked at what else you could do, you might have been better off. Maybe, maybe not. It's one of the problems of being bullheaded - you achieve the objective, no matter what the cost. But it tires you out, until by the time you finish here you have to take whatever job presents itself just to pay off the student overdraft, and then it's easier to just stay in that job than move on anywhere else, and you end up like me - chunky and wondering why you're doing what you do.

Younger: But you can't change any of this, right?

Older: Right.

Younger: So what's the point? Isn't this just fatalism?

Older: Maybe. Here's the thing. There's so much I would change about you, here, now. Preferably even five or six months ago, I'd like to ask you to consider doing things differently. But the life I have now - even if it is a quiet, singular sort of a life, without the wife, the house, the children - even in it's own tranquil way, it's kind of amazing. And that's the trade-off - you go through all this, this shit for the next two years, you start to wonder what the point of everything is, and then... You realise.

Younger: Realise what?

Older: That life isn't about knowing what you should be doing. One thing you'll always be jealous of is the people with the uncurved arrows - they grew up knowing what they wanted to do, with a straight, sure path. People with conviction, people who seem to know exactly why they're here. But here's something to consider; they're kind of boring.

Younger: How does that work?

Older: Well, you'll skip around a lot of courses in the next thirty-six months, but you'll experience a lot of different things, and you'll actually find a 'passion' that endures. It means that instead of spending your life concentrating on one thing and one thing only, you'll find things that interest you, work on them until they don't, then discard them, whether you should have or not. Meanwhile, the uncurved arrows will be doing the same thing, day in, day out, until they stop, for whatever reason.

Younger: But at least they find work doing what they love, right?

Older: For the most part, yes. But--

Younger: So if I only had a proper vocation now, things would be a lot easier?

Older: I didn't say that. And even if I did, it wouldn't matter, because--

Younger: Right, right. Causality.

Older: Okay, look. This is just the way things are. I'm talking to you because I'm trying to understand how I got to be the way I am now. There's not much else to it. But... Not to sound stupid, but batten down the hatches, kid. There's a storm coming for you.

Younger: Thanks for that...

*

And most of the taxis and the whores are only taking calls for cash

Diary of a mature student: The Quiet Time

About twelve years ago, when all the classes were done and all that was left was to wait to do the exams, my English teachers invited their class to have a quasi-celebration at one of their homes. Memory is playing tricks on me, because I remember it as one of those idealised summer days in a garden where everyone seems happy - which doesn't seem likely considering it was a party filled with late-teenagers - but, if I let it, I could look on it as one of those quasi-defining moments that you remember for a while. And yes, that's two uses of 'quasi' in a single paragraph. Three, now. Perhaps this validates the whole "English" student thing.

There is a point to this, though. Once the party was done, basically all that was going to happen was that people would drift away like dandelion seeds - oh, sure, there were three or four exams to go, yet, and there'd be the odd social occasion - but, basically, that was it as far as 'high school' went.

As covered before, I like the idea of parallel universes and alternate realities. If, therefore, it's a given that all realities exist somewhere, there's a world where there's a means of communicating with your younger self without completely fucking causality. Perhaps it involves artificial forgetfulness, i.e. you can talk to yourself but not remember it, although that sounds like a tearjerker plot - the older can tell the younger everything, and have it not change anything. Maybe, maybe not.

But I like to think that in Reality #216,449 - i.e. where cross-temporal communication takes place - my life wouldn't be that different, except that after the 'party' finished, and I headed home, I might have bumped into someone who looked a little like me, just older and far away larger. And I like to think that it wouldnt' have been much of a surprise.

Older: Hey.

Younger: Hello. Who are you?

Older: Well, I'm you. Sorry if it's not what you expected.

Younger: What was I supposed to expect?

Older: I seem to remember wanting a future with hand-made suits and such.

Younger: Oh, well, maybe. It was just a thought. What's up?

Older: Well, they've just invented this whole cross-temporal communication thing, so I thought'd I'd drop in and, well, catch up. I'm calling you from something like twelve years in the future. Thought that might intrigue you.

Younger: Kind of, except that all the science fiction I've read tells me this is a bad idea.

Older: Look on the bright side - you won't remember this. Causality is still important.

Younger: So you've gone to all this effort just to have a conversation that I won't remember?

Older: Yes.

Younger: So it's just the me now that won't remember it?

Older: What do you mean?

Younger: Well, if you're having this conversation now for you, and I won't remember it now, surely you'll remember it in your now? If you don't remember it, why would you do it?

Older: I'm with you. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but it's a selective memory block - when we're done, I'll remember here and now but not there and then. Does that make sense?

Younger: As much as any of this does. So what can I do for you?

Older: Well, to be honest, I just fancied a chat.

Younger: You risked violating causality for a chat?

Older: Kind of. It's just... You won't understand this until you're my age, but right now you have a lot of possibilities--

Younger: Oh no, please. Not the "world is at your feet" speech.

Older: Not at all. Besides, even if I did, you wouldn't remember it. But you have an interesting and occasionally difficult time ahead of you. So for you this is just an unremembered interlude. For me, I guess, it's kind of therapy.

Younger: What do you mean?

Older: Well, things won't turn out exactly as you might have liked. You'll do okay in your exam results - not great, not as well as you could, but you'll squeak by and get a place at a decent university - just.

Younger: Why only 'just'?

Older: You remember that place you applied to twice?

Younger: Yeah.

Older: Well, your main results won't be quite good enough to get in, but the thing you did on the side will swing it in the second case. You'll end up being one of only six people on a kind of hybrid course.

Younger: That sounds good.

Older: Yes and no. You'll 'get' half of the course, and not the other half. Then in the second year you'll transfer to another hybrid course, but again you'll only 'get' half of the course. Meanwhile, all sorts of shit will be going on in your personal life. You'll be juggling money problems, academic problems, personal problems, relationship problems, and you'll still be addicted to video games.

Younger: ... Huh.

Older: There are good moments, too, but they end up overshadowed by the issues that you won't know how to solve. That's how you learn how to solve them - the whole 'learning through your mistakes' part is pretty important. And that's just the first two or so years.

Younger: Do things get better after that?

Older: Yes and no. Your money issues don't go away until you get a decent job. You sort out the academic problems yourself - I'm proud of you for that. You get a handle on the personal problems, but as for the relationship problems... They go away, but kind of leave you soured on the whole thing. But that's something you can work on when you get to be me. I hope.

Younger: And the video games?

Older: Well, Diablo II sucks up a lot of your time. That and Crazy Taxi, Final Fantasy X, and even Burnout II. You'll get into them in a big way, then slowly stop worrying about them. Enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, and you won't get to play Portal until something like three years after it's released, but look forward to that one. But anyway... It takes you having a 'voluntary sabbatical year' to get your academic and money issues on track. In that year, some appalling, disturbing worldwide events take place. I'd like to say things calm down, but they kind of.. haven't, yet.

Younger: What sort of events?

Older: You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. You go back after your year out, and finish your degree. The result isn't what you'd hoped for, but it's the best you could get with the issues you experienced. Then you move back home, pay off your student overdrafts in good time - and then...

Younger: Then?

Older: It's kind of boring. You get a job to pay off the overdrafts, and then you stay on because it keeps you in DVDs and such. Your ambition kind of drifts away, but your love of film - which you'll pick up a little before you leave uni - starts to grow. You make a couple of attempts at filmmaking, but nothing comes of them. Then you get made redundant, and...

Younger: And?

Older: Look, it's complicated. On one hand, you're still living at home, and mooching off your parents. On the other hand, you go back to university with a proper, actual passion for what you're doing, instead of going because you thought you should go. So you get to do something you love, and all it costs is... A little dignity, I guess. Your parents believe that you're passionate about what you do, and you are, for the first two years or so. And that's where I am now.

Younger: What happened after the first two years?

Older: I don't know. It feels like a kind of burnout. You'll still love film - and, finally, you'll get around to watching The Sopranos and Alias - but the work will leave you with good results and no motivation. So I wanted to come back and have a chat with you now, before life unfolds, just to see what I was like back then.

Younger: But surely you remember?

Older: Memory isn't that reliable. As part of the package of issues you go through in a couple of years, you end up taking anti-depressants, which have a listed side-effect of 'memory loss', and you'll want to blame them. But the truth is that your short-term memory is amazingly shit. I can remember things now from when I was you, but the last couple of years are still assimilating themselves. It's just the way things go - you'll learn about neuroplasticity, believe it or not.

Younger: So let me get this straight. I have three years of difficulty ahead of me, then one year of amazing, followed by six years of boring and two years of amazing again before I... 'burn out'?

Older: Something like that. I wish I could give you specifics - but it wouldn't help. There are amazing things - you remember the sushi you had in America over this summer? Seriously, that's everywhere by now. And you'll travel more - America again a few times, a bad time in Eastern Europe, and some amazing times In Bruges and in Greece. Seriously? Filled vine leaves. 'Dolmades'. Amazing. You have some fun ahead of you, and some difficulties.

Younger: So what's going on with you, other than risking the nature of causality to have a casual chat with your younger self in the hope of feeling less crappy?

Older: Well, film school is amazing, even as a mature student. Oh, sure, sometimes I want to tell people your age how life should work, but I try to hold myself back, because I kind of remember what it was like being you, then... now... then... whatever. I've made a few little projects, and I love my classes, although unfortunately I don't have--

Younger: A crazy teacher who wears dark glasses?

Older: I'm so glad dad kept playing that song. Look, here's the thing. Everybody can give you advice, but nobody can tell you how to live. So - preachy moment here - it's up to you to work it out for yourself. And you kind of don't, because I'm proof of that. But you kind of do, too - you find something you love, and you stick at it, even when it feels difficult. And the boring job isn't that bad. If only I could tell you now to pay off your student loan, though. But you wouldn't, because I didn't.

Younger: So what's your advice, then? I mean, I know I won't remember it, but...

Older: Don't worry so much. You have people who love you and who you can ask for help, even though you won't because you think it's a sign of weakness. Nothing's so bad it can't be fixed, and it does get fixed. Don't bother with minidisc players or early mp3 players. Exercise more, or at all. And --

Younger: You're about to say something about friends, aren't you?

Older: Annoyingly, I do remember being this precocious. But... You'll have a few relationships with women, and some of them will be difficult, and some of them you'll miss. Such is life. As for friends - I can count on one hand the genuine, lovely people I would sacrifice anything for. The others come and go. You have to learn how to feel the ebb and flow, because you'll end up cutting a couple of them out of your life when you could probably have just waited for them to fizzle out. Again, such is life.

Younger: Okay...

Older: Got any advice for me?

Younger: You're kidding, right?

Older: Not really. I'm serious about the burnout. I'm a little lost at the moment.

Younger: Well... First, find something to distract yourself for a while. Then go back to doing something you love. But you're me, you're supposed to know how to look after yourself and sort yourself out by now. You're supposed to be a responsible adult!

Older: Doesn't quite work like that, kid.

Younger: Oh.

Older: Anyway, thanks for the chat. Just... take care of yourself, okay? And enjoy all the trade paperbacks while you can afford them...

Younger: Wait! So I won't remember any of this?

Older: Well... Maybe if I get bored and decide to continue this exercise in self-conversation. Maybe you'll only remember the previous conversations if and when the next one starts, otherwise having to bring you up to date would get really annoying.

Younger: Um... Great?
*

It's all just bits of paper flying away from you

Diary of a mature student: Look out!

There are many positive things to the summer period. Oh sure, the only jobs that want you for sixteen weeks tend to be fairly soul-destroying, and signing on for unemployment benefit means selling what little dignity you have left, but...

...

Give me a minute here, I'm sure I had something.

Time is a pleasure (because it's oh so rare), I guess. Last summer I spent most of my time scanning every photo I could find and digitising my CD collection to iTunes then getting rid of the pesky physicality. Same with books - I adopted a 'keep only the ones you need' mantra and the rest went to charity shops or sold on Amazon.

Around ten years ago, you see, there was The Move. Oh, sure, while I was on the merry-go-round the first time I moved eight times in three years, between different sets of accommodation, but while doing so I rarely accumulated more than a rooms' worth of belongings, and then suddenly, in the final year, everything sort of... ballooned into box after box of stuff that I obviously thought I needed at 22.

But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself. The Move meant that everything from my previous twenty or so years was packed up - and I was a packrat as a child and even more so as a teenager, so, damn - and boxed up and stuck in a huge pile in The Garage, which is basically where I've spent the last two summers.

It's strange, because the closest way I can put it is kind of a personal archaeology - like digging through the strata of my own history. But there's an element of psychology to it, too, because a lot of the material stuff had become a kind of psychic weight, in that knowing I had a garage full of crap was weighing on me.

Not so much, anymore. Oh, there are about twenty boxes of books etc., but you can actually get into the garage now rather than fighting over the detritrus of a life spent absorbing pop-culture in a pre-digital age.

It's an interesting equation - at least, to me - to consider the changes. For me, it was fairly simple;

music = audio cassettes and cds
film = videos, and later dvds
literature = books.

For the generation I currently interact with, everything listed above is now available - more or less - as data. And it's mostly entirely up to your personal ethics whether you pay for it or not, because with a modicum of knowledge and an internet connection, everything is potentially available.

For me, converting to digital was a relatively simple process - albeit time-consuming. My CD conversion project has yielded an iTunes library spanning 70gb of music, etc., meaning that if I listened to everything there I wouldn't surface until June 27th. And that's more than enough for me, because God only knows I'll never listen to all of them - it was just part of the process to digitise everything.

Videos were a little less simple, because although the basic expedient of not having a video player anymore made them less valuable, certain ones still had to be kept because they might not be available otherwise. And the equation for books was simple; need / don't need.

So that's a lot of weight, just, gone.

In case you can't tell, yes, I've been pretty bored.

I do have something to do in about a little over a week's time, but... We'll see about that. I'm naturally skeptical, but I'll say no more than that.

The world - or at least my world - feels like a quiet and solitary place, for the next three months. And then, well...