Totally by accident, I stumbled upon a letter I wrote to a dear friend of mine a few years ago. I thought I did a pretty decent job with my sentiments, so I figured I might as well share it here since it doesn't reveal anything confidential and it was well-crafted enough to be worth sharing. It's also amusing to me, since some of the misgivings I expressed about myself flowed directly into Solid State.
To: Rob
From: Tim
Date: April 6, 2021
Re: Remembrances of Things Past
Greetings, my dear friend-from-the-before-time……….
Boredom. I’ve written about it many times. I invariably describe it as more terrifying to me than death. I’m not exaggerating. The prospect of having nothing to do is miserable beyond belief to me. I do not idle well. I’m not going to relax. I don’t want to relax. I want to create things. And when I can’t make things, I lose my mind. Trust me, I’ve been losing my mind severely lately, and my grappling with the boredom demons has never been worse.
Of course, I don’t just roll around on the floor shrieking when I am in this state. I desperately try to find something productive or constructive to do. But sometimes there’s just nothing left, and I have to get creative. After all, one can sort the proverbial sock drawer only so many times. So I did something I hadn’t ever done before: I opened up my huge trunk of memories, and I sorted through it.
Now, just to explain what this trunk is all about: I have this steamer-sized metal trunk. I don’t remember where it came from, but I’ve had it for something like 40 years, and, sentimental soul that I am, I’ve kept it packed with all the yearbooks, photos, letters, and press clippings that ever meant anything to me. I tend to throw out a lot of stuff in my life, but when it comes to sentimental objects, they have survived the decades and many moves from place to place. It’s kind of a miracle that this trunk has managed to make it through my life intact.
So the sorting and order of the mountain of stuff in there took place about a week ago. And yet my desperate need to Do Something persisted, so I decided to do Round Two with this thing, and I endeavored to specifically take out the countless letters I had kept and sort through those. That, I knew, was a hazardous undertaking, because I would wade into waters that were populated with tumult, emotions, heartache, and regret. There be dragons here.
I began thumbing through the piles, putting them into different groups. Letters with friends go here. Love letters to Chi in this pile. Love letters from Chi in that pile. College admissions and rejections go over here. Indeed, looking at the stack of letters Princeton sent me, urging me to join their school, induced plenty of mixed emotions, even though it all took place thirty-seven years ago.
It starts to sink in again: what I might have been compared to what I really am. Am I half the person I could have been?” No, that’s too generous. A quarter? A tenth? My estimate keeps plunging. Maybe 1%, if even that. The bottomless pit of missed opportunities, squandered promise, and all-around fuck-ups makes my stomach turn. As I stare at all these records of my past, and the memories associated with them, I can think of only one thing: you, Tim Knight, have blown it. It haunts my every waking hour.
But, in all honesty, I also think just the opposite: that I don’t deserve ANYTHING that I’ve got. Not Chi. Not this house. Not my reputation, in whatever puny form it may still exist. So in that sense, I suppose, I am very lucky. I have somehow managed a comfortable existence in spite of being a colossal fuck-up.
About the letters: in the back of my mind, I always had this fantasy of presenting to you the Rob Original Letters in some beautiful format, maybe even handing them to you in a public forum of some kind, such as a Kareo Sale Celebration (should such a thing ever transpire, after lo these 16 years and counting). But then I decided, meh, why wait? So I tried photocopying them, and the copies were worthless. Light pencil on paper just doesn’t cut the mustard. So I am parting with something very precious to me, only because, in all sincerity, I’d like you to have these.
It has long been my opinion that people simply do not change. The infant Rob will be the same as the 80 year old Rob – – just not quite as well-read. Indeed, as I look through my old letters, I am filled with revulsion about my own nature. In your case, though, you’re the same funny, saucy, randy chap you’ve always been, and always will be. And, good heavens, you saw some amazing concerts. It is a veritable Who’s Who of great late 1970s/early 1980s acts. You certainly know how to carpe that diem.
Being in touch with “A Real Life Preppy” (in my demented mind) was such a pleasure for me back in the early 1980s, and it is amazing and miraculous that our friendship has continued to this day. As Kareo is my last wispy hope of Something Good Happening In My Life, I have held myself back every single day from writing to you and asking you, hey, hey, Rob, how’s it going, but I at least wanted to get you these missives, since I think they are absolutely priceless. I hope you enjoy visiting yourself from the year 1982.
Most Sincerely…………….
Blue Knight * * *
