Kill your father

That was the goal of the first level. I was in a game with other players, and our first mission was to kill the man that was our father.

We walk through various rooms. We see him. He lunges at us. I run for my life, back to the starting point.

"Where did he go?" I ask. A fellow player points to a pair of feet underneath some curtains. "He's hiding, over there."

In the end, there is a confrontation. A couple of us surround him, but I am the one who charges when he doesn't expect it and trip him. My players cheer. He's on top of me with his hands around my neck, and mine around his. My hands squeeze tight, and I kill him.

I know he is not my father, but my eyes fill with tears.

Youth is not invincible.

Death.

It's the one thing that's indiscriminate. We often lament how unfair it is. How sudden or tormenting. How there was so much potential, so much ahead. Well, if anything, it's the fucking fairest thing in the world. It doesn't care who you are, where you come from, whether you're young or old, whether you're ready to face it or have never given it a thought. When it comes, it comes.

Life.

Goes both ways. Life is short, go out there and live. Death is always imminent, what really is the point? Is it really so ridiculous and irrational that people turn to a greater being to make sense of all this crazy shit? Call it a crutch, but why is logic and reason any less of one? Or even the acceptance of the belief that shit just happens, and there aren't any explanations. We all depend on something to get us to keep moving. Who's to say who's got it right? Who the fuck cares, as long as we're carrying on?

Death is exhausting. I've been trying to look at it in the face to the extent possible. Not in the sense that I'm putting myself in life-compromising positions. I'm trying to understand it. Confront the idea of it. Come to terms with my loss, and the fact that I will die. That everyone around me that I care about will die. And that regardless of who and how, the rest of the world will go on doing what it does, and in the greater scheme of things, none of it will matter. It's so simple sometimes it's almost laughable. But only when it's not terrifying. There is nothing that makes me feel as vain and self-centered as thinking about my own death.

Life is simple, really. The complexities seem like indulgences. Ornamental details that make and keep things interesting. Otherwise, what's the point, right?

I used to find so much solace in spilling my guts.

Now all I want to do is hole up and disappear.

I'm having trouble identifying the cause of my increasing desire to leave. And I'm not even sure what it is I want to leave. Is it my apartment? While not atrocious, our neighbors do bug the shit out of me. Is it my neighborhood? Junkies and drunks. Is it the city of San Francisco? Getting cramped, getting old. Is it California? Been here too long. Is it my life as I know it? Need to molt and refresh.

I know I have a pretty serious case of the travel bug. But what if it's the thing that I've always feared -- that I cannot and will not settle anywhere? That I can be bored of anything -- relationships, lifestyles, environments. That I constantly need a change, and minor ones won't do.

The simple answer, though realistic, sometimes seems too simple. That it's taken a year for all the shit in 2011 to catch up with me. That, despite spending some time last year being utterly heartbroken and torn, right now is when I am starting to feel the intolerance for imperfections, the impatience with sentiments. The bitterness sinking in. The sense of gratitude for what I have slipping away from me more often than I would like. All that, paired with having been in the same place for over two years, is too much to bear. I want to run away from one thing, I want to run away from everything. I don't know how else to deal with this.

I've tried to rationalize things. Tell myself that the things that bother me are just a matter of attitude. That I just need to tweak my mentality. I'm not capable of lying to myself. Once I know I don't really buy it, I don't indulge in self denial. I don't put off the necessary. I care too much about being true. Being happy.

I constantly feel like I'm at a lack of air. Escaping, breaking out is the instinctual reaction. But it doesn't mean it's the solution, does it. But I'm tired of this self-diagnosing. I'm not desolate enough to not see the light at the end of the tunnel. But the light seems way farther than it's ever been. Either it's going to be a longer journey, or I'm going to have to running. Running is probably not even an option. Some things can't be forced to happen. Some things can't be rushed.

For the first time since I've moved to San Francisco, I don't feel like going back. For the first time, I don't really miss anything about it. I actually almost despise it. I know it's not the city's fault, or anyone in it. It's just become associated with all the fucked up shit that I've lived through while being its resident.

So what do we do with this bitterness. This intolerance and impatience.

I really don't have a fucking clue. But something will have to change. Soon.