The Last Tofu in Paris (or, Where Is My Mind?)

I went out for dinner last night with my friend DH who was visiting NY from Portland, Oregon.

It's weird, because DH wasn't really my friend in college, despite the fact that he was friends with many of my friends and despite the fact that, as some of you may remember, I lived with him.

I think DH and I are friends now because we grew up to be the same person, which is cool but also bad because we connect because of some of our more self-absorbed and self-righteous traits.

DH and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village, which was absolutely delicious and at which DH ordered a dish called "Last Tofu in Paris," which will probably make me smile for the rest of time.

DH is brilliant and prone to novel ideas and appealing monologue.

Listening to him speak reminds me of how smart I no longer am. I can't keep up. I couldn't monologue if my life depended on it. I don't have as much to say as I used to, which is probably because I don't know as much as I used to.

I used to know things about hunter gatherers and integrals and organic chemistry and could tell you why certain people no longer have the ability to comprehend nouns. I don't know any of this anymore. I'm not even certain that college happened because I took nothing from it.

Things are really dumbing down. I'm not happy about it.

After dinner with DH last night, I was contemplating my ever-growing stupidity and was thinking about how my mind is changing. I'm no longer book smart. I can't remember things. I used to know lyrics to every song ever, and I can still sing "I Can't Fight This Feeling" from start to finish without thinking about it, but I haven't remembered any lyrics in, like, the last 10 years. I can't recall details. The only thing about which I have any degree of expertise is pop culture. I can tell you all about Britney's shopping habits. But I can't soliloquize. I don't believe in anything that strongly anymore nor would I have the confidence or words to describe it if I did. I am becoming more and more right brained as I get older.

I went home and started a new project, which involved my writing and then, gasp, drawing a comic. When I was a little kid - well, not little - middle-school-and-early-high-school-ish - I used to write all sorts of stories and illustrate them for my friends. You can think of them as a late-80's / early-90's blog. I used to do this without even thinking - like it just happened, and was satisfactory, and people loved them. I also used to write stories for my friends. Vast works of fiction that just sort of happened.

Not anymore, kids!

Sitting there on my bed with pen in hand, agonizing over the first panel - should they be walking? Are they holding hands? Should there be a city scape in the background? If so, are the buildings realistic looking? Cartoon-y like them? Are they in silhouette? Is he wearing a hoodie? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even asking these questions? I can't draw anymore!!!!

Ridiculous.

I feel totally ineffective. I am going to draw the comic even though I have no idea what I am doing. I think this is a good opportunity to be creative and to challenge myself. I just hope I don't feel even less effective than I do right now when all is said and done.

I guess I just wish I could be like DH, and wish I had tons of new and exciting ideas and things to say, and drawings to draw, and causes to champion, and ways to improve society.

I feel so stupid.

Ergh.

And then, like, if my mind has deteriorated this much since college, in only 6.5 years!!!, how boring will I be in another 30 years?

I can't even think about this. I could cry. Or maybe I feel like I could cry because its 1:15 and I am starving to death and can't go to lunch for another half hour.