461: it’s those restless hearts that never mend

All those times ago, you knew. Those were the times you felt most alive, thinking about your friends around you, sitting by the canteen during recess time round a round table, playing pretend-war with your cardboard drinks. When you were in junior college you hung round the edge of the building, staring across the courtyard, perching on top of your little hideout (and of course it was, who else went there? Your own little elitist paradise. Your moral high ground. What else was it?), waging mock battles across the lecture theatre. 

There we were, brown in our uniforms, sometimes white and blue, each the same as the other. Every day we ate the same things, did the same things, pulled the same tricks. I slept in almost every class. I had a whale of a time. I brought my own cushion. 

Now my cushion is being dry cleaned, and it will come back pure and new, for a new work day and many more late nights. I have said this so many times, but something has changed. When you are working day to day you feel nothing and you think nothing, but when the nights come and you are still awake because this is the time you are always awake (and still working), you remember the times when you did nothing. Thought about everything. Had thoughts about everything and wanted to write about everything. These days we are quiet and tired. Sometimes I think I drink mostly just to remember how I felt when I had nothing to care about when I was younger. 

Which is not exactly true. But nostalgia is powerful, and always available when you need it. At the end of the day the memories only get better with time. Were they really? I’ll never know. But as with these things, they are only what you think they are. 

Tomorrow I will be on a boat. Sleep is precious, but weekends are more so.

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