Tick tick tick.. . .
And I don’t know if you do this. But I look back on my Youthful Self … And its like looking back on somebody else. I barely even remember who I thought I was back then. Let alone who I actually was. I have to assume it was me. The Ace Backwords of 1994. Even though I can barely remember who I was, or who I thought I was, at that particular juncture of history.
Part of me wants to look back on my Youthful Self like I was a cool guy. Because, well, frankly, it was me. So I’m sort of rooting for myself. Even as another part of me looks back at my Youthful Self as a total asshole. Because I was certainly that, too (and I could catalogue all the fucked up shit I did, if you really want the details).
But the strangest thing, re looking back on my Youthful Self, is that it really feels like I’m looking back on somebody else. I barely even remember who that person was. The Ace Backwords of 1994. Even though I have to cop to the fact that it was in fact me. Same social security number and finger prints and DNA. Even as, I swear to god, its like looking back on somebody else.