Van and I went out to dinner at the same steamboat restaurant I'd eaten at the night before. One of the waiters, a man in his late 50s whom I suspect is a co-owner, gave me a knowing smile as he pointed us to a table. So I found myself, on a hot 30-degree day, down-wind from the steam coming out of our pot, which was an annoyance.

Afterwards, stuffed, we walked to the cinemas and discovered that we'd just missed the 8:55pm of The End of the Affair, both of us being quite avid Fiennes followers. Of course, she also likes the brother, Joseph, and I just do not see what the deal is with that. As an alternative, she favoured Magnolia and I /really/ didn't want to sit through The Beach, so I watched Magnolia for the second time. Magnolia, I must admit, is much better the second time around, after all the shocks of the plot-line have been dulled and one can be left to appreciate the other aspects of the film.

I have been doing google searches all day for a solution to my 'soundcard hiss' problem. The soundcard. It hisses. Not so noticeable with the speakers I've been using until now, but plugging in the Sony headphones this morning, I realized what a terrible effect white-noise pumped directly into your ears can have on mental well-being. Nothing has been turned up, though I am partial to the 'build your own electrostatic shield' solution, requiring the use of aluminium foil, cardboard and a great deal of duct tape.

Life goes on, life does not go on.

We forgot about the ice-cream, getting out into the street at 1am. Van drove me home in her new Honda Accord, for which she has just bought $180 worth of racing-car-esque blue seat covers. She is twenty-five and getting married. For the past year, her fiancee has been applying to immigrate into the country from Mauritius, an apparently slow and frustrating process into which sincerity and goodheartedness does not figure. I know this because my mother recently tried to apply for a holiday visa for her sister, for... a holiday, and was subsequently denied it. I am annoyed with both the immigration department, for accepting any such applications (and its attached processing fee), when it seems all applications are denied without much genuine inquiry. And with the people who take advantage of the hospitality of other nations to overstay their welcome, destroying the faith placed in them, and in effect, making sure no such faith will be extended in future to anyone else of their statistical profile.

People do whatever they can, right? To survive, to make it better for themselves. I have heard stories, from my mother mostly, and in response I'll scoff at the characters involved and make passing judgements about them. I have no right, of course, and my mother makes me well-aware of this. So while I attempt to overcome my astounding incomprehension of human behaviour, I can only fall-back on the only thing I /do/ understand, which is that people do whatever they can, to survive. It must be said with regret, always, with a sadness in the eyes. It is the conclusion I'd prefer not to be true. As an excuse, it is even worse, it is the get-out-of-jail-free card that allows you to fuck everything up and claim no responsibility. It gives you the privilege to forgive yourself. Are there are other ways of forgiving oneself?

We are talking about sincerity and idealism and the /right/ thing, as opposed to the wrong. We are talking about fairness and worth and the rules, those damned rules, and honour and bitterness and a wish to be completely alone and being careful what one wishes for. It seems, we are forever talking about this. In the car, Alex asks if I know any good people. I say yes. But they are not like us.

At the table, we gossiped about the various members of our gang, that magic year of highschool, the three months post-graduation. I mentioned how I'd gotten back in touch with Amanda and that we would have to have an outing for her birthday, to which Van feigned astonishment and said she didn't think I'd really liked her. Yes, of course, I responded, despite her shameless flirting with my boyfriend at the time. I recalled a flicker of the excruciating pain in having to stand on the train watching the two of them exchange witty banter.

There are always consequences. You say, that is done with, we have paid the price. But there are forever complications, a thing I dislike. We make mistakes and we just have to live with them, watch them pile, hope we have learned. And the book says, we may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us.

before : during : after