From the Journal of Pachy


I really did.
From the moment you are born, you are waiting to live. The people that surround you are waiting for you to live. You constantly find yourself saying to your friends, your parents, or anyone for that matter, that you cannot possibly wait until you are old enough to do the very thing that your older sibling is doing; To be able to do what you're not able to do.
From the moment you are able to want, you are constantly striving to become the person you want to be, whether it be not so far down the road being the party animal in your frat house or when you're 90 years old feeding the pigeons.
At this stage in your life, the inbetween, when you are not old enough to reach certain things on top of the refridgerator, you have not a care in your life, because all you have to do is to live. You think to yourself, "Just a little bit taller, just a little bit older, just a little bit more."
Those people around you that reach for the things you want and hand them to you one at a time (but not too much), the ones that just watch and chuckle and reminisce about times when they were that young and cannot even imagine remembering, are the ones you have no understanding for; There is no relation between you and me. I am just beginning, you are already passed this stage.
You get to that point when you are at the cusp of your prime, when all that was once forbidden, is not within your reach. But you cannot not yet grab it. What could possibly be the difference between here and now and then and there? Why are you people doing this to me? I hate you.
This time you see to have no priorities is an excellent one to practice for the world series. But no one will help you. So your grudge slowly grows on through years that you are able to do things yourself.
This seems like it is about yourself. When it infact is about everyone else not revolving around you. You are consumed with trivial desires and you begin to hate the person who had been there before you; The person you believe is not waiting to live, but living, already, in the moment.
Years go by, and you begin to understand others' stuggles. There is, no doubt, a world within your home, a world that has been seen and lived. You set aside your petty griefs and that chip on your shoulder slowly dissolves as you start to understand that you are not the only one. You develop friendships among family and now instead of going out to be with friends, you find you are already encompassed by a world of memories, stories, AND friends.
You are now waiting to live again, waiting for the stories to enhance you experiences that you can then on, pass to your children. You develop a new found respect for the ones you used to hate.
It is then when everything seems so right in the world, that one must go. It is now when someone is waiting to die. This whole time they thought of themselves as being 80 years old still in the same place, piecing this puzzle they had once made together.
Being in an indirect possition, you imagine what it feels like to die. You close your eyes, pretend you are in a dreamless sleep. Nothing disturbs you, you know nothing of what's going on around you; You know nothing. You feel nothing. You do not remember anything. You are waiting for the simplicity of death and you can't help but to taste the complexity of life on your way out.
Along this journey, you are always waiting to live, and just when you think you're going to be able to, you realize there is so much more that you must wait for. You're entire life you are waiting, and the only thing that you can wait for that will truly happen, is death.

This is the only story to have gone in my journal, the rest are just idiosyncrasies..