The fucked up thing about life is that there’s no common denominator, except your own self, and I’m not even sold on that. I guess I’ll always have me, but I feel so different in every situation, like water that moves in the wind. I wonder if there’s any continuity, really. I wonder if I’m one person. I get the sense I'm fragments of a bunch of other things, of everyone I’ve met along the way.
I could argue that the only common denominator in my life is my computer. It has all my photos, all my writing, all my auditions. All my old love letters, private messages, little things that I keep on my desktop for no reason, call sheets, school work; separate pieces of the past that I can’t delete forever. It comes with me everywhere I go. It's who I turn to when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I want to share, when I want to be alone. This machine knows my truest self and I can't decide if that's sad.
What strikes me, sitting here, looking through everything, is that there is no continuity. No fluidity. No one person or place that is common.
But there are shared themes. I think every person is given a set of themes that they come in with and leave with. No matter what, every phase, every relationship, every part of your life is built with the same bricks, held together by the same glue, dancing with the same matter, just rearranged, tricking you until you've spent long enough with it, until you're wise enough to realize it's all the same.
And that’s how you never escape yourself, not even when you try.
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