Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Jamie Wagner at Stroke Recording, Chicago, Illinois
We barely let on that we're mostly overwhelmed. We just let it all go. We fake it most of the time. We pretend that we've got a majority of the long division already done. We've shown our work elsewhere, but when we've stepped through the entryway to our house and we pry off our shoes -- first one with the rubber toe of the dominant foot and the other with the sweaty sock of the first one freed -- we are different creatures altogether.
We're more like the people that Lawrence Arms frontman Brendan Kelly describes as having "these shakes and bad breath." The problem always lies in the immensity of the scope, in the range of the sample. You figure out a lot when you think of the people who burn the midnight oil, who have those anxiety attacks about never having enough time. It's about never having enough time, but then also realizing, or thinking that you're realizing that others are making the most of theirs and then all of that starts to really threaten your composure. What are you really to do with yourself when you realize that you'll never have enough time and that other people are using their limited time more wisely than you ever will? OR that there are people who understand that it's a doomed sort of equation and yet they tell themselves that they're not meant to maximize what they've been given, that they'll just fritter it.
It's nothing but one big cluster fuck and perhaps that's all it's ever been meant to be. It's fine that we're just minnows. It's okay that we just knife our names into the trees or the tables that we eat upon in public. It's fine that we take a chance on love. It's okay that it was all for naught.