Memories Past

So I was on a mission tonight to stay up through the night and all day Sunday. This was in order to establish a more regular sleeping pattern. I've been going to sleep around this time (5:30 AM) for the past few days, and not waking up until about 4:00 PM. That just isn't cool, not by a long shot.

So, that being said, I've been left to my own devices when it comes to figuring out how to pass the time. There's nothing interesting going on, I'm like one of three people on Facebook out of my approximately 850 or so friends, so that just won't really help. For awhile I found solace in Spotify. I turned on a Damien Rice related station, and just relaxed. I ended up hearing a lot of songs that I already knew, but had forgotten, and a lot of songs that I currently have on playlists. Therefore, I'm convinced that Spotify's radio is superior to whatever algorithms are used by Pandora. But that's a whole different can of worms, and has nothing to do with this post.

However, what does have to do with this post is the nostalgia that I encountered upon listening to said station. It was absolutely insane, and that doesn't come close to describing it. Having not really listened to this kind of music too recently, it brought me on a trip. I had images of middle school, along with some high school as well. Then it went to early Drexel days, and the people I met there. From there, it was right into the beginning of the party days (aka the "Good Old Days"). I then went on YouTube and was watching trance sets from DJs like Armin van Buuren and Cosmic Gate. I even started looking up more stuff about it. 

And that is how I came across this lovely pic. I immediately felt the need to post it on FB, as if anybody gives a shit about it. But to me, it is an important memory that I'll always hold dear. I even shared a video from that night. I guess I can put it on here, too. I'll just do that at the end of the post. Anyways, it then occurred to me that this happened seven (yes, 7) years ago. I wasn't even 20 years old, in fact I had just turned 19 two months prior.

These were the days when everything was still good. I was in school, I had all kinds of friends all over the place, was working, had a car, had a place to live, etc. I guess that's why I like to consider them the Good Old Days. Actions didn't seem to have much of a consequence. It was okay to leave school or work on Friday, and head up to NYC and not come back until Sunday night (and usually without sleeping).

These were days filled with all sorts of crazy shit. I was debating on which direction to go with this blog, and I suppose this is the defining moment. I'm leaning towards the "keep it real" attitude, so that's what I'll do. Usually, these weekends were filled with all sorts of "entertainment". Yes, we went to the clubs, and fucked about in New York at ungodly hours, but even more of the time was spent in a state of delirium, laying in a bed, listening to music of my DJing some tunes on Ableton. We would take an unfathomable amount of ecstasy, taking it like candy. And that was just for starters. But then I remember that that's why it was the Good Old Days, because we were just weekend warriors, and drug abuse didn't come into play until a little bit later.

That's when things were more fun. But as I look back, I think that I'm fooling myself. These days may not have involved sticking needles in our arms every couple of hours, but they were not without risk. Almost every time I would be coming back home, I would be falling asleep at the wheel on the NJTP. It seemed that every time I woke up, I was just about to rear end another car going about 80, and always swerved out of the way. I never did run into anybody, but I was putting not only mine, but other lives in jeopardy as well, all for the sake of a fun weekend.

That being said, I'm also completely downplaying the legality of ecstasy. We always had any number of pills on us, not including weed, and coke, or whatever else we had. I can recall countless times being pulled over by the police, rolling out of my mind, and somehow always managed to come out of the situation without any trouble. I remember one time specifically when I actually had a few ounces of weed in the trunk, in plain view. I was pulled over because my trunk wasn't closed. The cop looked in the back, and then came to the window and asked why my trunk was open. My eyes must have been popping out of my head when I said "I have no idea", and then he just let us go (I had a full car, five people). Still to this day I wonder why he didn't do anything about the weed. He certainly must have seen it, but chose to let us go on our way, even with me being in a less than desirable state of mind, I think obviously.

So, it's dandy to reminisce, but it's of equal importance to remember things how they were. Things weren't all rainbows and butterflies, I was in the beginnings of a serious decline into something much worse. I suppose that's where the illusion sets in. Things weren't as bad. And that's something that my subconscious seems to hold onto steadfastly. 

I'm unsure of my plans for this blog. I don't know where my thoughts will lead me, or how effectively I'll be able to communicate what it is that's plaguing my mind. But for now, I think I'm on the right track. I'll probably go into some of the more interesting stories that I can still remember (I was able to keep a few brain cells), and might dive into a few thoughts every now and then. I could go on and on with this post, but I don't want it to turn into a rant (if anybody recalls my previous blogs), so I'll end it with the promised video.