Afternoon
Time seems like a roll of toilet paper nowadays: the more you have, the more you feel like you can squander. There’s always some shit you have to deal with, but its always a matter of how you can get it done with what you’ve got. But time is the enemy right now: the illusion of extra rolls of toilet paper in the cabinet, or an over-abundance of that terrible and unusable Cottonelle brand that shreds and makes a nasty mess — I’m just not quite sure of how much I have left. So right now, I’m trying to make the most of it:
I’m going to the California Academy of Sciences with my dad.
…
The thing is, both of my parents grew up as orphans. My mother’s parents died before she was even 10 years old, and my father carries the burden of having watched his mother pass away when he was just a teenager. I feel incredibly lucky, by comparison. Don’t take it for granted, I tell myself. However, there’s always that feeling of responsibility: to justify their past with my future, to resolve the family legacy, to somehow rectify those unspeakable tragedies; to make it all seem worth it, in the end. Because, ultimately, everything must have a purpose.
Screw it. Not today, though… just. not. today.
The Academy of Sciences is nearby in Golden Gate Park. We’ve both been there since it reopened — its only a 15-minute walk from our house — its just that we’ve never had the time to go together. We make our way through the museum and hit up our favorite spots, just sort of reminiscing about how it all was before the recent renovation while commenting about the new additions:
“That was cool.” “This is neat.” “I sort of like this.”
Then we reach my favorite exhibit: Claude, the albino alligator. I like this guy — I mean, there he is, with his white artichoke set leg-and-body plates, just sort of quietly enduring his exhausting solitude. But suddenly, some guy walks in front of us and obstructs our view: he’s wearing a cowboy hat adorned with a cobra head, noisy alligator boots that clank with authority, and he’s even got a cane covered with stretched-out snake scales. Worst of all, there’s that smug look on his face.
He’s definitely that guy who dislikes your favorite youtube video and negs your clever comments just to make you waste your time with bitter, petty hatred. He gets off on animal bestiality, then masturbates into your milk tea; he pisses into your washing machine while your clothes are sloshing around; he uses up a whole roll of toilet paper in one shitting; he’s a bandwagon Giants fan with a whole slew of memorabilia from the championship season; he thinks he’s better than you.
He’s the embodiment of evil. I’m sure I’ll see him again in the future. Because, well… he’s everywhere. But he’s just not worth it.
“Let’s go to my favorite spot,” my dad says.
The rooftop garden.
A short, welcome respite from the memories of his past, and a quiet reprieve from the demands of my future. Usually, time is of the essence; but right now, true essence lies within timelessness.
Right now, I don’t want to think about teaching, or law school, or careers, or saving the world, or whatever.
Right now, in this moment, I just want to spend some time with my dad.
