I'm being compelled to write more. When you live by yourself, and with a pretty lame social life, fears start to pop into your head. What if you had some sort of heart attack or seizure and you died because no one's around to help? If no one sees me today, am I like that tree that falls in the forest that no one's around to hear? Who's going to remind me what happened to me on December 14th, 2016? Anyway, this entry kind of sucks, cause I'm just writing but whatever.
Time starts to warp too when you're alone with your thoughts. Days become weeks, weeks become decades, etc. Or maybe I should say decade.
I drive a 2004 Toyota Camry. It's dirty, got a decent amount of miles on it, a bit scratched up, but it still drives well. It's been in the Kim household since 2004, when I first became a legal adult. So it's been around for most of my adult life, which is around 12 years. I drove it to and from North Carolina a few times, and once across the country. My mom used it mostly for 6 years when I lived in the city, but I took old Shadowfax (the name Michael gave it) once I moved to Los Angeles.
It's weird, 12 years is a long time, and then it's not. When I was 12 years old or so, I remember riding the school bus looking out the window thinking, man, I've already lived 1/6th of my life in all probabilities. Six more of these and I'm done. That sucks.
Sometimes, living by yourself you do strange things to make it seem like you're not living by yourself. So I walk by my car sometimes, and I just sit in it. It's like a relic of the past, that I can just transport back into time by just being inside it, like I'm back in 2004. Or 2005. Or 2006. Or any other year that I've been in that damn car. I sit in the back seat, like I'm riding it, being driven around with my family or something. I sit in the passenger side, imagining conversations I've had with people in that very seat.
Lots of things change in that first 12 years after you become an adult for sure. Given the nature of my unpredictable path that I've chosen, I'd say the next 12 years there will probably contain significant life events that may change the course of my life, but I think the tone of them will mostly be the same.
Which is probably why I've held onto the car for so long, and will probably have it until it dies. Getting into the car and sitting and taking it in is my opportunity to go back and try to redo my adult life. It's sad cause when the car does die, the trajectory of the rest of my life will likely be set, as I drift off into nothingness like an astronaut untethered to his spaceship. There will be nothing left to redo, I suppose.