I always wanted the authors I really loved to be dead. That way, I thought, it would be possible to understand their work in its absolute context. Everything could be read, processed, contextualized, and therefore properly enjoyed. I also made it a point to read one or two biographies about them so I could have the FULL picture.

I realize now that what I wanted was to have some sort of story I could tell myself as I read, some context or relationship in which to understand the words and infuse them with meaning.

I thought of this the other day while I was with some friends on a tour of our city’s skyscrapers. The guide continually referred to elements of the design and explained how this architect felt some spiritual connection to triangles, or that this other guy used curves in all of his buildings in order to…whatever. The point was that she told us all of these truths which made sense as we looked at the designs, but really may or may not have had any real validity.

All of us have this desire, this monstrous need for logical narratives, patterns to make sense of things. Ways to explain why we see the things we do. Or avenues to make them important.

My problem is that I do not have access to my own narrative as I am still unfortunately living the damn thing from day to day. And it is this that is keeping me, I assume, from reaching my full potential.

What I need is the ability to view the video of my life before it gets released to theaters. You know, like Spaceballs‘ instant cassettes that are out in stores before the movie is made.

Otherwise, how am I supposed to know how all of these events relate to one another? And you know, like what is my over-arching theme? My allegorical meaning?