After having acquiesced to the notion that I will never be anything that I want to be, or do anything that I truly want to do, that I am a victim of my environment, my times, and my genetics, I found quite some peace in being able to just be free, be myself, and let go of all these silly feelings and thoughts that were holding me back. I have longed to be a writer. Dreamt of it, day and night, talked about it, wrote about it, and for some reason, it just doesn’t seem to stick. It seems like a destiny or a journey a planet’s length away, and my chances of launching some kind of rudimentary device to get there intact is slim-to-fucking-zero. But knowing it’s out there, and I’ve had some successful launches to areas nearby, to complete the analogy, I realized, “Who really cares if I fail or succeed?” Honest. No one. If I fail, my friends and family and environment around me will encourage me to continue writing and sharing my warped thoughts. If I succeed, well, holy fuck, why are we reading this dreadful, sob-story? Let’s get to that good sci-fi or fantasy writing that got you all hooked on my style in the first place…
So why am I writing? That’s a fair question, and one I’ve asked myself a lot lately, or actually, why am I NOT writing? Because for the longest time, I didn’t feel like I had anything to share. And anything that I could share would be dismissed as boring or pedantic (I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in a natural sentence. See, maybe I am destined for this) so I’ve naturally kept every thought and inkling to myself out of some irrational fear that this one thing that I might be good at, I’m really not good at. I wasn’t great at most of my other jobs: Jamba Juice, GameStop out of high school, gift wrapper at Shane Co., guy who trained disabled veterans to use computers, bouncer/bar-back, and my last job, the guy who recommended you which strain of weed to get. Technically, I have something published, although since the website it was published for was taken down, I doubt it exists anywhere on the internet anymore. Shame. So the work I did have published is unsearchable, and the website I interned for has moved on to another domain name, basically making it seem like I have no experience writing. But, the honest truth is I have been writing my whole life. I would get bored in physics class, and write a short story about some character I had in a Vampire the Masquerade role-playing game, which I will explain later, if given the chance. Even before that, I was writing stories in my head every day. Stories about how I was dying, or drowning, or suffocating because of anthrax (during a more pronounced panic attack, I was almost certain I had been exposed to anthrax, all thanks to a university class I was taking on toxicology and poisons. Sigh.), and they were all fiction, because none of that happened as evidenced by my still being here. As I’m writing this, I realize how gullible I must be: to believe the same fictitious detailing of my imminent demise over, and over, and over, every day, by the same narrator, in the same panicked tone, and to believe it with certainty. To know that I am dying, and this is the thing that is going to be the thing to kill me, whatever it happens to be that day, yesterday it was probably a combination of not eating, being out and about in waiting rooms all day or on the road waiting in traffic, and then coming home and smoking a copious amount of weed (my medicine) before slamming an entire Chipotle burrito, the only thing I had and did eat all day. When my body is introduced to that foreign energy, it always reacts in a precarious manner, like if you fueled your car and when you tapped the gas, it reacted as if you slammed it down to the floor and goes flying forward; it feels like, over the course of the seventeen years that I’ve been dealing with this, that whenever I introduce food, or caffeine, or a super racy Sativa like Trainwreck, my body is overloaded with energy and my nervous system acts out by overreacting: sweaty palms, accelerated breathing, increased heart rate, I feel nervous, my thoughts begin to turn inwards and I begin to analyze every part of my being and consciousness until I find something wrong and lock onto it. Could be a dry mouth, a sore throat, an aching arm or back, or worst, my chest. Maybe I haven’t drank enough water and I’m dehydrated, so I begin to have a headache. My mind immediately associates the headache with something awful: brain an heurism, stroke, migraine, but really it’s just a mild headache more often than not and it passes with time or some Advil/Ibuprofen. I’ve had to train myself, every day, to recognize these feelings of doom, process that they’re actually incorrect interpretations of what’s going on with my body and what I’m feeling, and finally convince myself, I’m not dying, I’m just having my 10,578th panic attack. Part of me likes to believe there are others out there just like me, with similar problems and similar feelings that they are struggling with every day, just like me. Part of me wants to be that beacon of light, that guide to help those that are lost to the surface, so they can enjoy this beautiful thing called life and not be so reliant on where or how a panic attack is going to hit them, because that’s all I used to worry about. I would panic about getting a panic attack. I still do, who am I kidding, because for me, that is the worst outcome, and I would rather die. It would be less painful, and it would be over, no more panic attacks, no more anticipating the unanticipateable (I know it’s not a word. Deal with it.), just peace, or nothing, which is the opposite of what I have now, which is chaos. There is a war raging within and every day is a control to make sure it doesn’t break through to the surface and make me lock up or freeze up. And the only reason I am writing this is to give a sense to others who may have friends or family who have panic attacks, but have no idea what the hell to do or how to act around them while that’s occurring. I am writing this in the hopes it sheds some light to the plight of our people, and that just because there isn’t an open, visible wound that you can see, touch, smell, taste (please don’t taste wounds), does NOT mean that the person isn’t hurting and needing help (I know, the double negative makes it confusing). On the outside, I am a perfectly healthy twenty-nine year old male; on the inside, I am a scared child who has been running from the shadow of a monster so long he’s forgotten what he’s actually running from and now starting to ask questions and size this beast up. And it hurts when that pain isn’t recognized. Before I got laid off from my last job due to budgetary concerns, we had an open meeting where team members are allowed to suggest things. At this dispensary, they have all these wonderful programs: cancer compassion, AIDS/Chron’s compassion, food closet for the hungry, and I just saw today free cannabis oil for children who suffer from seizures. Lots of good stuff. But I wanted to ask what we were doing as a facility for people with mental health disorders, so I raised my hand, waited my turn, and did, and it offended me so badly that we were willing to discuss the pros and cons of truly trivial protocol procedures, but the topic of mental health wasn’t worthy of more than a “That would be too complicated to verify”. So there you have it. You can’t see it, you can’t touch it or sense it with your worldly perceptions, the person must be faking it or have such a terrible problem, you’re not even sure you’re equipped to deal with it yourself. And that’s where we are in America. We know we have this problem, we know veterans killing themselves back here at home and on the battlefield is a problem, we know “crazy” young people armed with firearms who are going into public places and killing innocent people is a problem, we know those who are so indoctrinated into religious zealotry that they would wish harm and death upon others simply because of their lifestyle is a problem, but more than anything, we want to associate the cause with the symptoms: yeah, he was acting out in class, he wasn’t showing up, he stayed up all night playing video games and not focusing on school, but yeah, if it weren’t for those goddamned easily accessible guns, maybe we would have avoided this problem. Do I have the answer? Fuck no. I have no idea how to treat or deal with every single psychological or mental disorder in the DSM, but I do know exclusion is not the way to go. “Oh, I don’t know anything about this topic and it makes me uncomfortable, so I will just ignore it and discuss something I do know, like guns.” Well, welcome to my world, where I am uncomfortable every day, and in my own skin. Just because I am uncomfortable, should I not be allowed to live? Is my existence of discomfort not worthy? And when I am dealing with this discomfort, is it wrong that I should choose to go about in my own way, given that no one has ever experienced it like I have or ever will? Would it not make sense that I would be ultimate gate keeper to who or what happens in my body since ultimately I am the only one that feels it? People with other mental disorders act out; they hear voices, they see things, they process the world in a different way than you or I, and some instances, they can be dangerous, to themselves or others. I have an incredibly brave friend who was courageous enough to come forward to me and my friends during a nightly role-playing session and tell us he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, had been committed to a psych ward, and at one point, had tried to kill himself.
It still shocks me to this day because of the type of person I have always perceived him to be. But him telling me that changed everything, because before that, his outlandish behavior and his quirks were just some funny thing for me and the boys to laugh about because of how uncomfortable they made us feel. Needless to say we don’t laugh or mock him anymore, and never would have since he was just our goofy DnD friend who happened to like to hum to himself on occasion, or when he had one soda, he had to have six. What fascinates me even more is last week he ran his first story where he was the story teller and we were the characters in his story/world, and I thought he did a fantastic job, let alone for a first time. Before this revelation, these were just little games we played, a way to pass some time with some friends and have some mutual, non-destructive fun doing it. But now, it is so much more. It’s a chance for this friend to come out of his shell, for me to come out of my shell, and to experience things together that we would never have a chance to experience otherwise. It’s beautiful and I wouldn’t trade our role-playing sessions for anything, as I know how powerful they are in self-discovery for me and my friend. Love you, Drew.
I used to have these visions of being free, doing what I wanted to do. In these visions, I would be in interesting places, talking to interesting people about relevant and fascinating subjects. I wasn’t the center of attention, but I wasn’t so marginalized that my thoughts and feelings were negligent. These dreams would keep me going, keep me writing, keep me on “my grind” but lately, there’s nothing to grind. Any edge I had has been worn down to a dull point, so that instead of piercing through things like I used to, I’m finding myself having to bludgeon my way through obstacles. And I’m tired. I’m worn down. I’m close to giving up and throwing my hands skyward.
I know I don’t do anything all day, at least by your standards. I’m not sitting on a fat account. There are no houses or properties that I will be closing ESCROW on any time soon. Just student-loan debt, cell phone bills, and the daily need to feed myself. I’d rather go without food, to be honest, with my stomach as messed up as it is, and all the stress tearing at my insides making me feel like food falls right through me. But I go through the motions anyways. I think the realization has hit me that I won’t ever be anything. You’ll never read my words and gain inspiration, I’ll never feel that life fulfillment that comes with being good at something. Doubt and anxiety are my companions through it all, and as needy as I may be, I can’t think of two sensations I’ve felt a need for less than those two. I know the seriousness of my situation. I know that if I don’t land a serious job/career here in a little bit, my life will be perma-fucked, and I’ll be lucky to one day have a house to call my own. It’s frustrating to know how wonderful this world could be, how many opportunities could be waiting for me, but with how far away everything seems, I can’t help but admit I’m drowning and there’s no way out but to drown.
Maybe I can swim to safety. Maybe someone will throw me a life preserver. I hate this feeling. I hate this hopeless sensation that is overwhelming me and taking me over. I hate how weak you make me feel and how eagerly you remind me how fucked I am. Everyday I awake to this burning deep in the core of me. This thing that tells me hurry, move, get your ass up and move or these flames will take you over and reduce you to a pile of ash. I’ve been burning for I don’t know how long so maybe a dive into the deep end will do me good. That’s what I keep telling myself through all of this. This is good for you, you need to be reminded how things can be, how things are. And for awhile, it was enough to keep me motivated and positive, keep me pushing and wading through the daily mountain of bullshit you have to wade through just to keep your sanity. But lately, day by day, incidence by incidence, it’s like there is nothing sacred anymore. There is no sure thing, there is no clear path as to what you’re supposed to do or who you’re supposed to become. I used to so clearly know exactly who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be that person, but now, I just feel like I don’t have the tools to do anything that I really want to do.
Let’s say I really did want to write as a profession; where would I even start? Just write, they say. Don’t stop writing. Live, eat, and breathe writing. Don’t put the pen down. But I don’t even know what to write. Does this count? Is this inane rambling good enough to qualify as writing? I honestly don’t think it is. I don’t think anyone cares, honestly, what I have to say or how I say it. I don’t think anyone but me wants to me to succeed at this. Call me selfish. Call me a loser who can’t acknowledge the people supporting him and holding him up. But you know what you won’t do? You won’t tell me how much you enjoyed my writing and how disappointed you are that I don’t write anymore. You won’t tell me that you can’t WAIT for me to end this story I’m writing, or how you need to know how it ends. People tell me I write brilliantly, but, what exactly am I writing? To me, this feels like some pre-pubescent’s high school diary, complaining about how this isn’t working or that person isn’t feeling them. I want to tell myself to get the fuck over it. Who the fuck cares what people do to support or not support your writing. You didn’t start writing because people like it. You didn’t start writing because you wanted people to read what you wrote. You started writing because YOU enjoyed it, and it was a release for you to explain what was going on in that chaotic little head of yours. So why does the need for a plot or story change that? Why can’t I just do this and enjoy it? Why do I have to become successful or known from this? Is it because I fear working a dead end job for the rest of my life? Am i afraid that I’m destined to be a blue collar worker for the rest of my life, surviving in between odd jobs and favors? I know next saturday I’ll be bouncing just because I need income. I know that the degree I earned, that I EARNED, won’t be used during that 8+ hour shift of yelling at co-eds to keep their drinks off arcade games or cleaning puke out of a bathroom stall. All that degree does is remind me of what I should be doing with my life, how much money I should be earning, and how much I gambled with on those to assumptions.
So fuck. My girlfriend wants to tell me about her boss and how they know each other so well that he can finish a story of hers two words in, how they can hang out at a lake where she can grab a dip in the water while he presumably watches and perhaps even joins her. I don’t think she’s cheating on me, I hope she isn’t, but for fuck’s sake, how often do I have to be reminded of how much I don’t know you or how I’m not someone else in her life. I swear to god I feel like I know her ex better than I know myself sometimes. But she’s a sweet girl, and she’s young. She treats me right and she doesn’t have that superficial vibe that I can’t cater to at the moment. Yeah babe I’d love to buy you a house and car to go with that diamond ring but my loan payment is too high and I need enough money to feed myself so, how about some subway instead?
Feelin’ some hopeless
Tryin’ to smoke the dope less
But without the smoke, I feel a mess
An angry monster in distress
It don’t matter, no one cares
From the bottom, its a long flight of stares
Full of self doubting and despair
Like you want to sit down but life’s already pulled that chair
So whatever, who’s got time to sit?
Never enough time to deal with all this shit
And this drama, like a tight shirt that don’t fit
Chokin’ on the stale air feelin like a misfit
Cause freedom tastes so fresh and sweet
Serfdom done ruined my feet,
Blistered broken and ready to bleed
Sometimes I wish you’d just end me
Stop making me suffer through this endless charade
No relief in sight, all night and day
Just pain, which you pay to play
Can’t stand it? That’s okay.
This too shall pass, they say
But then comes the next day, with the same fate
The same problems just a different date
Yet all you want is a little escape
A little relief from the disappointment, the shame
Knowing you’re fucked but what’s to blame?
You, and your lack of fame?
Your inability to conquer and lay claim?
What you want isn’t coming to you
Instead of rolling in green, you drown in the blue
Depression, anxiety, misunderstandings to name a few
Searching for answers, all you need is a clue
A reason, a path, an adventure to start
These cloudy skies will one day part
And the light will you hit you so bright it’s blinding
Embrace the warmth til it’s binding
These days won’t last
Your pain will be your past
So, before you denounce man and become an outcast
Look up to the sky kid, life can be a blast
I Need This
I need you. An audience. Otherwise I’m just telling stories to myself. Which, don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind them. I think they’re good stories. Entertaining stories. But they’re just glimpses and flashes. A scene here. A character development there. Some kind of possible ending or scene that ties up all the horrible and nasty and awful things to turn them into something beautiful and majestic and wholesome.
But I’ve been broken for the past couple months. It’s a long story and perhaps I’ll tell it another time, but the energy and time involved with that side of life drew me away from this, which is what I need. I can no longer afford to sit around idly and neither invest time or efforts into something I so clearly need to be working on. Some people go their whole lives without receiving a compliment about an action or skill or talent they may possess. I’ve had the direct pleasure of multiple people telling me they ENJOY my writing. They come back for it. They subscribe to my channel, but, this makes me shy somehow, like someday I’ll say something that will make them decide in their head I was nothing to enjoy to begin with. This fear, this anxiety, has driven me my whole life. Everything I do or don’t do is a result of standing up to some fear or acquiescing to it. And it’s exhausting. It really is. To doubt everything you do..
Something, someone is telling me to doubt this no longer. It doesn’t matter if I write about video games or sex or movies/tv shows or quirky interactions I have with people in life or some made up fantasy about people that don’t exist in worlds that aren’t ours, and yet, for a moment, all of these can be interesting and draw you in because, me? Yes. Me. I have to write. No one else is going to do it for me. No one is going to come up to me and tap me on the shoulder and say, “Kid, you should write one of them space drama novels! The youth really loves them these days!” And don’t worry, kids, one of those is already in the works, but really, I have to just remain disciplined and keep at it or else this skill, like so many others, will slip by the way side and I’ll be reduced to someone who never was.
I’ve been very fortunate and blessed to do the things I do, be able to enjoy the things I enjoy, and still be around to share my experiences and hopefully provoke a little bit of thought. So, I need you. It’s gone beyond wanting to write for the fun of it. I am not the same person when I don’t write. I don’t feel any hope or joy getting up; just worry, self-doubting, and self-shaming, which I am great at. None of these things do it for my anymore, though, and I’m ready to start trying at something again.
So many topics to choose from. For awhile I wanted to try my hand at some steamy erotica, but I don’t really have an outlet for it as I wouldn’t feel entirely comfortable sharing it here. I want to go back to The Henchman of The Princess and Her Knight, but I’d have to re-read them to get back in the mood, and quite frankly it’s awkward to re-read my own stuff. I don’t enjoy doing it. I’m so damned critical. But I have to get back in the habit of doing that too.
Since I can’t decide on which old story to work on or were to progress to, I’m going to cop out and basically chronicle my friend James’ role-playing game. The premise is we’re all people chosen to board a giant spaceship with a brand-spanking new technology that’s going to slingshot us across the galaxy/universe to an inhabitable planet like 33 years worth of travel away. So naturally we’re going to be frozen for the trip, the ship is like a giant freezer with thousands of humans, and then start a new life on this planet. For my character, I was thinking he’d be a botanist, cause, well, knowing plant life would be kind of useful on a foreign planet, right? Also, I was thinking he’d bring some plants from earth that would help us self-sustain until we figured out if there was anything we could eat while they’re there. But, even though my character was a botanist, he was mostly going to be masquerading as one. His real character profile is he’s a spy from the USA made to ensure that the planet has a USA influence. No one’s calling my new city/town/planet New Moscow or China II. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know that weeks prior a fellow player had talked to the game master and arranged to also be a botanist, so, inadvertently I stole his character makeup and forced him into a tech-y role. Sorry Adam. My other comrades were of various backgrounds, mostly from USA, except one, Scott, who always plays “unique” character types.
That’s the setup. Humans signed up to travel into space to setup a new planet, a new way of life, far, far away from the Planet Earth…
My Neat Mess
I don’t remember creating you, and yet there you are. Starring me back in the eye. Try harder, you say. Try at all, you say. But here I am, doubting myself, pacing frantically back and forth inside the cell that is my head. I’m alive, but I’m not living. I’m moving, but I’m not progressing. Stagnation. Stale thoughts. Decay. All the things I fear forming before me.
But I just keep pacing along, waiting for some sign, some miracle, some Manna from Heaven to trickle down and set my world on fire. This slow burn of frustration and futility is starting to burn me out; can you be the spark to jump start my heart? Can you be that bolt of inspiration that sets me free?
I’m begging you. Unleash me upon the world for I grow wary of cages. Look to me and I won’t lead you on. This is the world we live in, and with chivalry dead or dying, you wouldn’t spare a knight his one last smoke, would you? Very well. Let’s do this.
I’ve done a little “celebrating” tonight; i’ll be honest. I recently received a mandatory pay raise, and starting feb 1, should be covered insurance wise, so, that should be cool. 2012 was a tough year and there are still remnants shown through this new year. Two 45+ hour weeks back to back on top of some internship stuff. Heartbreaking news about the Sacramento Kings leaving Sacramento, where i was born and raised, and the team i was looking forward to covering, or at least getting a chance to see what it might have been like but, it looks like that probably won’t be happening. So, if i can’t control what happens to the kings, and i can’t control whats happening at work and i cant control the women i so badly wish would let me into their lives, i will instead focus on controlling my thoughts and desires into things more productive and positive, like trying to write again.
Its a tad frustrating because i just signed a non-disclosure agreement so i cannot really talk too much about work and there’s still a lot of questions i have for management as far as what i can even confirm/acknowledge publicly but until then all i can really say is that im a patient services representative and i work for a medical facility in west sacramento called RCP Sacramento. I like what i do, and im having to work more in my life than ive ever had to which has left less room for things i want to do like write or work out or play basketball or hang out with friends or see movies or play video games, etc etc… I can see my arms getting leaner and my body too. I can see the facial hair sprouting all over. I suppose this is a time of transition, and I’m totally eager and willing to embrace the change, but i cant help but just reflect on how far ive come and all those that have helped me along the way. I feel so much more humble a person, and so much more… Confident. Dont get me wrong; i have my shy moments and moments of doubt same as ever but i also have a boldness and fearlessness that can give me great strength when i need it. Im thankful and grateful to have these talents, and these friends and families whove given me ample opportunity to grow into the man i am today.
Tonight, im celebrating the fact that im still here. Im celebrating that im not underwater in debt, i have some money in my wallet (not lots but enough), some friends to look forward to hanging out with, and a job i look forward to going to, despite all the politics and office dramas. At the end of the day i feel like im helping people, people who have told me thank you for giving me advice, and you were right, and i feel so much better, and yeah… it just feels very.. rewarding. I guess all the bullshit i had to go through to get here was worth it, and next up, after i put away some money, i think ill go back to school and get some kind of fancy degree. But first, i got another 40+ hour week ahead of me so, have a lovely weekend. I apologize for the lack of updates, i really do but know that im just so busy working and resting in between work that i havent had much time to myself. I appreciate you now more than ever, and thank you all for continuing to come back and read and check up on me.
Youre often a quiet group but i can feel your silent presence around me :) Happy new year and have a blessed rest of your January ;)
2012 =====> 2013!
Well, it’s a new year, and thank goodness, because for a second, I thought I lost this file. I definitely don’t write anywhere near close to 2,000 words a day but that’s only because I have become saturated with work. I work full-time at a medical facility in west sac that I must be somewhat discrete about due to our patient confidentiality agreement with our collective members/patients, but I can say that I’m working close to 45 hours this week, and it’s pretty much my first real, full time job, where I’m working for someone I don’t know, and I’m showing up to work everyday like its my last day. But I can’t approach it that way anymore because there’s some consistency finally showing through and I dunno, I work tomorrow, and supposedly there’s going to be some evaluations so, I’m hoping for the best and crossing my fingers. Hopefully my hard work and efforts pay off.
I just feel distracted by the fact that I don’t really have anyone in my life to share my life with completely, outside of like a few close friends/family members, and even with them, there’s probably only one person I share everything with, and I shield some of the negative stuff from her because she’s sensitive like me. And lately I’ve just been negative because things have not played out with the ladies as I had hoped they would, but that’s okay, because I’ve been so busy at work, I haven’t even really had time to maintain a relationship, let alone my messy room. I want to have some time to breathe and write and create and get back into some of these stories that were my way of expressing myself, but every time I imagine the story, it was something bad or negative, and I’m tired of bumming people out. I want good things to happen, I really can’t explain it but it’s so frustrating to only report bad news. And that’s not to say my life’s all bad; I’m just really busy working, and that’s all there really is to say.
It’s a new year, and a year of exciting opportunity and growth, so, I’m going to approach with the ABE mindset: Always Be Expanding. Don’t let myself stagnate. Keep growing, keep fighting, keep getting better, keep knocking that debt off, keep grinding away those work hours until I have enough saved up and enough experience to self sustain. That’s the plan. That’s the goal, but I know for awhile, it’s going to be grind time. And, after being a bouncer and standing out in the frigid cold to check ID’s at a college town, I don’t mind the current job that I have now, at all. I just know, its New Year’s Day, and it was my first day off after working like 12 days out of 14, and I feel exhausted knowing I have to fall asleep to do it over again. I’m hoping the New Year brings change, and I hope my hard work has sewn a bright new future for myself.
For those of you saying tell it to your therapist, first of all, I don’t have the money for that, and secondly, I don’t really have anyone to share this stuff with so let me vent, okay? Alright, now that my defensive mode is off, let me just say sorry for the delay in between writings. Its been such a hectic, crazy past few months. At times I really did feel like the world might be ending but, nope; we’re all still here. Everyone’s still doing what they did yesterday, and the day before that. No zombies. No nukes. No aliens or sea monsters. Just another day of monotonous grinding and slaving away to earn enough money to pay my debt off, which, again, not complaining, just preparing myself with the proper mindset. I will get a break some day but not tomorrow. And not the day after.
My lil pupper Melvin, a 15+ year old jack Russell terrier, had to be put down a couple weeks ago. It sucked. I don’t feel like talking about it much. He was a cool dog and I’ll miss him, even if he did tear up the door after we put him in the laundry room to sleep, and then pee all over his bed and floor, too. But ill miss the lil guy.
Not much else to report really. I have to work some more over the next several days, but I’m hoping to bring good news so stay tuned. Happy New Years, and congratulations on surviving that tumultuous 2012 ;)
Coming back soon…
He woke up confused and disoriented. It was still dark out, so he knew there was no way he’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep. A soft snoring sound was coming from his travel companion, the Princess on the Run, as he had heard her been called. While looking over her angelic features, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and vulnerable she looked. The expensive fabric of her gown clung to her curves accenting all the features that made his blood rush and his mind race, feeling the mark on his head slightly pulsate, as a red deep, red glow dimly lit the immediate area around him. Quickly, he brought his hand up to his head, covering the mark from illuminating their campsite. Then, he felt a gentle but firm grip overtake his wrist, and slowly his hand drifted away from the mark.
She sounded a little tired still, but enchanted by the mark on his head. To this day he still felt self-conscious and embarrassed, and turned away from her, bringing his hand back up to his forehead, until the mark changed color to a royal purple, so dark that it dampened what little light shown in from the canopy above them, making it harder for anyone or anything to see the knight and the princess.
“I don’t think so. It gets me into more trouble than it’s worth,” He absent-mindedly rolled his eyes down to his feet, feeling his thoughts go way back. Back to a room with jars, bottles, candlesticks, and cobwebs as far as the eye could see. The sharp cold stuck with him, and a shiver ran up his spine.
“What is it?” She looked concerned.
Now the mark on his head was glowing a sickly green.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me. We should go back to bed.”
Her hand reached forward and then she pulled it back, placing it neatly in her lap.
“It’s okay to tell me things, you know that right?” Now he looked confused, and the mark switched to a swirling grey.
“Tell you things? Like what kind of things?”
She bit her lip a little, trying to phrase her words delicately.
“Like, who you are, or why you’re helping me. We’ve been travelling for several days together and I know nothing about you, other than you’re a decent man who has saved my life on multiple occasions. But you ask for not money, or power, or recognition, or…” Her fingers ran up her legs,
“Favors. You simply do as I command and never ask for anything in return. What sort of man has no wants or needs?”
He’d never thought about himself that way. Survival had been more important than earthly pleasures like fine silk or costly women, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent towards it all. Sure he wanted nice things and to feel the warm touch of a good woman, but he decided that wasn’t for him to choose the time and place. You don’t simply go to the market and pick up the love of your life, especially when you had as much going on as he did, but he had to admit, he often times dreamed of living a normal existence in which he was a married man with a loving, loyal wife and an armful of children to make his hair gray. But, after some time, and reflection, he realized that life wasn’t for him. His path lead him down to a different journey: a journey that had brought him here, to this forest, with this princess.
“The sort of man who has no need for needs. As a young man, sure, I lusted, and chased after women, if only in my mind, but I realized soon thereafter the more I wanted something, the more impossible it became to achieve or have whatever it is my heart cherished. So, I decide to live without wants or desires. If the world puts someone or something in my way that needs help, I will help it, or die trying. I don’t live for myself, and sometimes wonder if I’d rather not live at all.”
She gasped. “Don’t ever say that. I have not ever met a man like you.”
The knight smiled. “Lucky you. Go back to bed, Princess.” His mark shifted back from purple into a soft, scarlet, as he covered the princess with a roll from his pack.
“You have my thanks, sir.”
The knight nodded. “Aye. And you have mine. Now close your eyes.”
She wondered what he possibly could thank her for as her mind drifted back to sleep.
The dream had been the same as many nights as he could remember. He was looking for someone, a girl, possibly, maybe a friend, maybe a lover. All he knew was that she was missing and that he had to find her. Everything depended on it. He pushed his way through a crowded cobblestone street, eyes sweeping the streets back and forth. Nothing, no sign of her anywhere. For an instant, he thought he had her scent, and he was following it inside some kind of apparel store. There were women populated throughout the store, all of them different looking, with different hair styles, and different mannerisms, but he could tell none of them was the one he was looking for. Still, he searched the rest of the store, checking every corner, and coming up empty, decided to wander back out to the streets, which were now empty. He looked back inside the apparel store; it was closed. The seemingly bright and beautiful day was now dark and cold; his eyes spied many different alley ways and avenues. Deciding it was best to go back to the hotel, he jogged back, seeing shadows form along the walls around him before he burst through the hotel’s double doors and into the hotel lobby. There was a gaunt man standing behind the lobby desk with a rim-less cap and a tightly fighting uniform that looked impeccable. Clearly the man was too busy or important to be bothered, so he continued from the lobby into the elevator and hit a button. The elevator began to rise, quickly, and all around him, the world rushed past him. He could see out onto the hotel’s roof where a single pool was. It was overcast out, which made it hard to determine what time of day it was exactly, but he could tell there were more than a few people surrounding the water. They were all in various stages of lounging around or lazily swimming in the pool, barely causing so much as a ripple in the water. While the elevator was shooting up to the 95th floor, he could see that whoever he was looking for was also not by the pool. He sighed, frustrated, by his lack of progress. Ding. The doors opened behind him and he saw a giant hallway going left and right. He went left, following it all the way to room 9519, where he tried the handle, pushed in his keycard, and then pushed the door open. An empty, sterile, clean hotel room lay before him. No one was in it, and he approached the window looking over the city directly in front of him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling it fall to the floor. The cool air from the aid conditioning unit felt nice against his warm skin. Again, he sighed.
“Hey, you.” The voice was definitely female, and definitely belonged to the woman he was looking for. He turned around, in time to see her dark hair and her dark eyes before he snapped awake from his dream, covered in sweat and gasping for air. He was so close to seeing her face and knowing who she was. But it wasn’t time yet. He rolled over and went back to sleep knowing that time was swiftly approaching.
The Man and the Princess (pt 2)
They were a safe distance away from their pursuers when the Man decided to slow down His steed, and set up camp for the night. However, the Princess wasted no time jumping off the animal’s back and onto the ground, landing softly and gracefully as one might expect of a Princess. She also looked quite angry with Her brow furrowed and Her tiny little fists clenched at Her side. Seeing this as He was tying His horse to a nearby tree, He asked Her, “Something a matter, Your Highness?”
“The nerve on You, Sir, I’ll have You know I had that situation handled until you came swooping in and damn near destroyed the place!”
The Man finished tying a not, securing His steed from fleeing while they slept, and turned to face the Princess directly. “I apologize for nothing; we were both in danger, and I got us out of it.”
The Princess scoffed, “A few men with pitchforks? And a lone giant with a couple blades? How weak do you take me? I could have handled them, just fine! But nooo, the big strong man has to come in and save me from myself! Well I don’t need any saving!”
Seeing She was upset, but for more than obvious reasons, He approached Her slowly, extending His hand no more than a foot away from Her. “No one is saying you couldn’t have dealt with that on your own, Your Highness, but when I walked out front to get our horses, there was a group of ten to fifteen armed soldiers bearing the mark of the Blue scanning all around for you and me. It was only a matter of time before the Giant went outside and alerted them. Fleeing out the back was our only option. You could have disarmed and disabled every man in that tavern, true, but what of the fifteen armed, trained soldiers outside? What of them, Princess?”
She looked down at His hand and backed away, bringing Her hands up to Her chest, clutching them closely. “But, the mark of the Blue, that’s only for…”
Now the Man stepped closer, finishing Her sentence, “For fugitives they tend to capture and execute ON SITE! If they would have found us, we would have both been slaughtered on the street, like rabid animals!”
“Impossible!” She exclaimed. “My father would NEVER allow harm to come to me,”
Hearing this, the Man winced. He had heard something terrible and tragic had befallen Her father, but now was clearly not the time to tell Her.
“What is it?” She sensed something was wrong; the mark on his forehead flashed a solemn grey.
“Your body reveals You, Sir.” Her finger pointed at the scar on His forehead.
Now, he turned away, and went back to his horse, unloading the gear that was on it. “I couldn’t get to most of our equipment, but these sleeping rolls and rations should suffice, for now. Good night Princess.”
The Man unrolled his mat by his steed, petted her twice, then laid down and closed His eyes. The Princess watched, sighed, grabbed Her mat, unrolled it on the other side of the steed, and laid down. They both slept angry that night.
The Man and the Princess
“You have no right to speak to us in that manner!” She exclaimed as the Man that accompanied Her nervously glanced around the room, eyeing all the large men with diminished glasses of liquor and beer in front of them. “Erm, Your Highness, maybe we should,”
“Non sense!” She brushed His hand off Her shoulder. “If you have any mind about you at all, you’ll steer clear and let us out.”
“Not so fast,” A booming voice came from behind the crowding group of men, loud enough to make the chandeliers quake and the tables’ contents rattle in their various bowls and containers.
“She’s wanted, although I could care less about the likes of you,” the larger man said, pointing his knife’s tip at the Man standing next to the Princess, who was now nervously looking around the room and behind Him.
“That’s fine, sir, because in all honesty I could care less to make your acquaintance as well,” the Man said, and started to slink away from the Princess’ side.
“Hey, wait a second, where do you think You’re going!” She yelled at the Man, as the crowd didn’t budge one way or another once He got to the line of drunken, heavy breathing men.
“Let him through, he’s one of those weird whatchamacallsits. You can tell by the mark on his head and how it’s starting ta glow…”
Sure enough there was a light scar on the Man’s forehead, almost smack dead in the center, that was starting to warm up and illuminate a dark purple color. It was as subtle as a light on the middle of one’s forehead can be, but as soon as the men saw it darkening, they stepped aside, and let Him through. Immediately the Man walked straight out the door, and was gone.
The crowd turned back, to look at the Princess, who was standing tall and proud, but a little bit more vulnerable and naked without the Man at Her side.
“So is it going to be the easy way, Princess?” The large man said, stepping forward, only feet from Her, extending his hand outwards.
“Or the hard way?”
The Princess looked up at him and half snarled before spitting in the overgrown man’s face.
“I will NOT cower to bully’s tactics, SIR!”
He half laughed as he brought his claw like hand to his face, wiping the spittle from his cheek.
“That’s fine. If we’re going to start telling truths, then I wanted to do it the hard way, anyways” His laughter sounded a little more evil and full of pleasure while his hand made its way to his sheath.
A dull, purple tendril snuck in through the window directly behind and overhead the Princess. Shooting across the room like a whip it snatched the man’s wrist and yanked it upwards, causing the swing of the blade to send the men on either side of him backwards for fear of losing an eye, or a nose, or even worse, their heads, while also crashing into the rafters above him. A large snapping sound gave way as the structural support collapsed, somewhere, causing parts of the second story to come crashing down around the large man and the Princess. Behind the princess, a section of the wall cut away, and in the pale light of the exposed moon She was able to spot Him, Her Man, atop the horse that had accompanied them to town. “Come on, Princess, let’s go!” He extended His hand and helped Her up onto the steed. They raced off away from the town as men came piling out of the tavern coughing, groaning, and cursing the Man and the Princess as they disappeared into the night.
I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I used to have this vision, where if I did A and B, then C was going to be coming my way, but that’s not the way the world works, and there are so many unknown unknowns that it makes it virtually impossible for me to follow one game plan all the way through, so what I have done, is become better at being versatile: not great at anything, but decent at almost everything. When I was younger, I already felt so different from everyone, I never felt the need to stand out anymore by striving to be the number one student. I don’t exactly remember what triggered the change, but there was a moment where I decided I was going to give everything I had to being the best student I could be, and then, the next day at class, after I spent pretty much my whole night reading and studying, I was more than prepared for the teacher’s line of questioning. Only, when she asked, I was the only student that raised their hand. I don’t remember the answers, or the questions, other than it was material related to U.S. history, I think, and I remember the feeling of every single student’s eye on me as I correctly answered question after question. Towards the beginning, there were other students to be called upon, students raising their arms and waving them eagerly as if to show that the answer was loaded and painfully ready to come out. However, as the questioning went on, and it became apparent that I was prepared for the day and others weren’t, I felt something greater than the thrill of success and accomplishment: I felt the sting of jealousy and envy. My classmates didn’t like that I was the only one answering questions, and that the teacher seemed to like that, engaging me with a warm smile and complimenting me on my effort for the day. I remember thinking if I ever wanted to succeed, I was going to have to do my damndest not to stand out, but why? Were other people’s negative feelings and thoughts to me so palpable that I could literally feel them without a single spoken word or gesture? Maybe I am more susceptible to negativity than I am positivity, which is a frightening prospect. For the life of me, I don’t understand or can’t admit why I am so fond of escaping success. Do I plan to live my life as a loser forever? Living with mom and dad uncomfortably until they kick me out or move away or some other disastrous series of events happen forcing me away from heart and home?
Now that I think about it, there are other sides to this picture. There’s a little boy who wants to please his mother and father. A little boy who is sensitive and scared, and knows that his scarier, meaner, and older brother would not like the little boy being more successful than he was. A little boy who knew that if he stood out too much or grew too fast, his brother would be there to chop him down at the roots, or throw him back down to the ground. (Microsoft is telling me the last two sentences are fragments. That’s how those parts of my life feel so I’m leaving it.) I can admit now that I was terrified of my brother and what he could or would do to my sister and me if he ever became so enraged or jealous that his actions were no longer his own. In a way, I’ve let his jealous and shallow actions force and shape my life in such a way that I am not who I was supposed to be. It’s painful to admit. Extremely painful. As I hear news of him and his wife settling down into their first house and proclaiming they’re thinking about starting a family, I stop and pause.
I am alone. I have no family. My parents watch over me, they feed me, they help me out financially when I absolutely need it, but emotionally we’re worlds apart. My father will come home from work, and I’ll inquire about his day. He’ll either tell me his day was long, or busy. And that’s about it. Then, lately, he’ll do this thing where he asks me how my night at work was, and then, when I start to tell him, he’ll close his eyes, stop moving, stick out his hand like he’s telling me to pause, then suddenly open his eyes, say “Okay!” and then go back to whatever it was he was doing before we were talking. It’s kind of a rude dick move and it drives me crazy, but he thinks he’s a silly jokester, and I’m living underneath his roof, so who am I to say anything. I am content to spend most my time in my room, like a confined prison cell, dreaming of a free world in which I get to do the things that I want to do, and not the things that are placed before me.
Of course it could always be worse, and I don’t mean to sound greedy or spiteful. Is it too much to ask to have someone tell you they’re proud of you every once in awhile? Would it be too much to ask for them to just ask how I am doing and listen to me talk for five minutes once a month, or every other month? They have such disregard for how I am and what I am going through, it’s just so painfully obvious they don’t want to know what I am doing and they don’t care, unless it’s something they can make fun of me for, or something that’s bringing in money. I thought it would be nice, spending this time with my parents in their twilight years where they can still have fun and go out and do stuff like give me advice and wisdom before it escapes their minds, but they’re old enough to let loose and live a little before slipping into walkers and pills and all that other bullshit that comes with aging. But no, they would rather sit home and catch up with Dancing with the Stars because the lives and the struggles of the characters and stars on the screen are that much more interesting than mine, I guess.
So I guess it’s time for me to try to be a little bit more interesting. Do I have YOUR attention yet? No? Well I guess I was a little too good at staying under the radar. I guess it’s time for me to rise.
Alright that rant felt good. Now I feel like I can breathe again. It’s Monday, Labor Day, and I have no plans, really. Finished Breaking Bad with Candace last night but now, I’m not sure what to do. I’d like to finish the Henchman. It’s just a difficult/challenging story for me to write because I know how much I suck at writing formulaic stories; I’m better at this straight from the gut stuff…
My Sister: “What are you writing?”
My Sister: “Oh, okay.” *shuts door to room*
Yup. Let’s write some stuff.
Happy Labor Day folks. Be safe, drink responsibly.
I think i’ll write something sexy…
I’ve always wanted to dabble with erotica but never really had the proverbial balls to do so. Maybe i’ll try my hand at it, again, no pun intended. Hopefully it doesn’t get me fired or put amongst a fine group of people that IS megan’s law.
We shall see. I literally have nothing else to do today; too injured to work out, too poor to go out, there’s smoke in the air so there’s a health advisory warning, so literally everything i know is telling me to stay inside and just do whatever i want today. So long as i stay at home and inside.
What else IS there to do? I can’t think of any games i want to play. Battlefield 3 doesn’t work… It just keeps saying its updating itself but it never lets me play it. Thanks EA. League of Legends is fun but when i’m playing it by myself i like blackout and then all of a sudden it’s dinner time or midnight. In Day Z me and steve finally got our characters together, in the same spot, both with loaded guns and relatively full health so i dont want to leave lest we decide to play that game again and i have to meet back up with him. So, no Day Z, i beat Deus Ex, no LoL, no BF3… I’ve beaten L4D/2 so many times… I’ve gone back to counter-strike only to discover i’m not the player i used to be.. And its not fun getting mopped over and over and over (i guess thats my come-uppance for all the domination i was laying down as a teenager. what goes around… *sigh*). Never really got into TF2.. Starcraft 2 leaves me feeling shakey and strung out, like coming off an adrenaline rush. I want a game i can sit back and just… build. Like a SimCity, or some such. I remember playing SimCity 2000 as a kid and building like the perfect city. I didn’t have to borrow any money or cheat; i just took my time, developed an even balance of residential, commercial, and industrial areas, tied them together with well-kept roads and highways. Got a nice wharf/marina going, as well as building an artificial waterway to neighboring areas to bring in business. Eventually made enough to establish an airport. At one point, everything was running so perfectly and i had so much money coming in, i was able to turn everything into like a bio-dome, where everyone lived in a perfect habitat and harmony. I had run out of things to do, which was okay because either my mom or my brother’s friend Corey had accidentally deleted my game, and i had to start over. I never got back to that perfect city, but… I think i’m willing to try at something else again.
Couple of things i want to do: start an online group to re-connect existing and curious role-players to an on-going dynamic world that i would have to create and run. Itd take a lot of work, and i can’t get my mind around all the details i would have to flush out. My horoscope says to start with the small things first so, first thing i would need is a system to run everything on: character creation, stats, perks/flaws, rules for combat/dice-rolling, etc… If i’m using a system that is going to be for multiple people that can’t necessarily see one another and is turned base, i don’t need it to be fast moving, i need it to be fair and accurate, as well as expansive because players will have some time to think about what they want to do, and they will get creative in their spare time, as players are want to do. In my head i’m thinking maybe Ars Magicka, but they start as normal people in a modern setting, this way there will be some familiarity in the world, as well as pre-conceived expectations on how other characters/NPCs in the world would react. Only, this world would give way to the possibility of magic, and magical entities, which would allow me, the story teller, quite some freedom as to what elements i introduce to push the story along. But right now, in my head, i’m thinking ars magicka is the way to go.
So i’ll have them all take some time to make characters and tell them they can be whatever they want to be, they just have to explain to me their character background, give me their stats, perks, and flaws, and then tell me which city they want to be in. I think i’ll have five cities to start from: a port city, a country/rural city, a city “south” of the border, a main/capitol city with a vast population, and then maybe a city across the sea on another continent.
Well, this has helped me tremendously. I could really care less if you enjoyed it or not lol. Just kidding, as always i appreciate your attention span and your continued support, but i have some work to do, and i think i just set myself off in the right path.
Oh, and the other thing i want to do is write some steamy erotica which is basically literary porn. Stay tuned! :D
And the Frustration begins to Set in…
I’ll admit it: I’m frustrated. Irritable. Upset. Angry. Impatient. I am all of these things, but why? I have the whole day ahead of me to do whatever I want, and yet there is nothing I really want to do. For one, I know that the empty fuel light has activated in my car. I know I have six dollars in my wallet, and thirty in my checking account. At some point I’ll get hungry, soon, but I know that just about anything I eat will end up making me feel uncomfortable and probably even a little bit of pain, too. I know that the first story I really motivated myself to publish isn’t worth publishing because I didn’t do it the right way and people can’t understand what it’s about. I never meant it to be a serious novel of sorts, but rather a glimpse into the life of five or six twenty something’s as we experienced an alternate reality together. Or maybe I was going to leave us out of it and let the story carry itself, but it would seem the story wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t good enough at connecting the dots and drawing interest from my audience. Either way, we can chalk that story up as another loss. To date, I’ve written about 66,000 words of unreadable bullshit. 66,000 wasted words that won’t ever reach the audience I was hoping they would, but that’s okay. Maybe I’m not ready to have a large audience yet.
I’m frustrated because all my life I decided it would be more advantageous to me to stay in the dark and not be noticed then to make a big show of things and be the alpha dog. I don’t know if its because of my anxiety or because I was the middle child, but for some reason attention and the spotlight always made me feel uncomfortable. I never felt like I was worthy of all the attention. There are so many other wonderful things; why would anyone take the time to stop and admire me? There was nothing all that admirable about me. And I guess that’s the way I wanted it but lately…
The loneliness is worse than the discomfort. At night, I find myself questioning why bother writing if I am the only one who is going to read it? Isn’t that just the same as taking a thousand pictures of yourself, in a mirror, and then posting them to a social networking website? AKA narcissism? Only, instead of a snapshot of what I look like and what brand names I’m wearing, or what style I happen to have my hair in at the time, it’s an instance of what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and what I am trying to express. They say fashion is an expression of oneself, don’t they? The point I’m trying to make is it feels incredibly selfish to write these mundane blog postings expressing how things are going on in my world when I can’t even find cause enough to care. Things are the same. I am still broke. I am still single. I am still living at my parents’ home. I still drive the same silver Honda with dings on the side, which causes other drives to inform me that my gas cap is undone, to which I always reply, thanks, I know. I wear the same clothes. Have the same job. Play the same played-out video games. Occasionally I play basketball with some friends. I went out last Tuesday spur of the moment because I was tired of wasting my life away behind the empty glow of a monitor. I felt so disconnected, and I just wanted to feel relevant to something, again.
There was a day, it feels like, where I could set my mind on something, and I was invincible. Didn’t matter what kind of obstacles were in the way, if I decided I was going to be the best at something, I sat down, and worked at it, until I was. Video games, Lego’s, homework assignments, learning how to dance, learning how to drive, etc… I put the time and effort in, and as a result, when it came to things like Counter-Strike and/or Halo, I was pretty untouchable, Counter-Strike moreso than Halo because I was a surgeon with the mouse and keyboard. I would go whole rounds sweeping out the opposing team’s opponents, round after round, with whatever weapons I could get my hands on: TMP, scout rifle, desert eagle, pump shotgun, m4a1, ak-47… I was a virtuoso, and even spent some time with the Metal Elephants Clan which had this guy named No-Quero-Morir, who was just as good as I was, if not moreso, but he used the AWP/M and could one shot a whole team at will, if he wanted to, it felt like. But at some point the thrill and fun from that faded, and it was some other game that captured my attention but…
I’m out of games. I’m out of stories to lose myself in. I’m not sure what to devote my time and energies into. I suppose I should feel lucky that I have as much freedom as I do but I don’t feel very free at the moment. I feel locked down. Like life won’t let me progress until I figure out whatever it is I’m supposed to figure out. I don’t know. I refuse to let myself stop writing though, as frustrated and as down as I get. If it seems selfish, then I apologize, but right now, writing is all I got.
That feels a little better, I suppose.
Feelin super depleted.
Not necessarily defeated.
Just like ive given all i got
Not that it’s all been for naught
But not is all i got right now
There has to be some way, some how
I’ve crawled to every corner,
Gettin’ hot but mostly gettin colder,
From the deaf ear to the cold shoulder
Its like a boulder
On my back, but i cant carry
Im too weary
And the end seems so far away
And i know i wont find it today,
But, i keep on tryin anyway
Even if today’s NOT the day.
Because even if i have no energy
If i stop trying it will be the end of me.
Flash Fiction Month: Entry 13 (LUCKY 13 BABY!)
I don’t have a lot of time because wedding things are moving very quickly all around me, so, here’s my prompt, which I was GIDDY upon reading:
Flash Fiction Month - July 13, 2012
Today is another double challenge. In addition to incorporating two theme, like you have for the previous two challenges, you’ll have to incorporate a specific character archetype. If you need help, don’t be afraid to head on over to the official Flash Fiction Month Chat Room, where one of our volunteers will help you as best they can.
Write a story that includes the themes of failure and conformity, and where one of the characters is a Cloudcuckoolander.
Failure refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.
Conformity is the act of matching attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors to group norms.
A Cloudcuckoolander is someone with there head in the clouds. They are strangely oblivious to things that everyone else takes for granted, such as social conventions, like wearing clothing, being polite, or obeying the law. However, cloudcuckoolanders are very rarely malicious.
Shoot for the moon. That was the easy part, I had told myself. All I had to do was dream big, think big, and then boom, magically before my eyes, the world would present to me what I was dreaming. All I had to do was just be completely honest, and so I was. Every time I took a dump, I recorded it and uploaded it. Every time I decided I was feeling a little ornery and wanted to rub one out, I filmed it and hosted it with absolutely no censorship, start to finish. People were going to love this, I kept telling myself. I know I love it.
Gaining some popularity, albeit slowly and not with the crowd you’d necessarily think (think older men between the ages of forty five and sixty five; not the twenty something females we all secretly wish for), I decide it was time to up things a notch, and post the world’s first twenty-four/seven cam access where users and followers were able to interact and view me at all times of the day. It was brilliant. Putting on some flip flops, a tank top with a mustard stain, which was weird because I didn’t even like mustard, to go with a pair of neon green shorts and I was ready to hit the streets. Luckily technology was so advanced that most people couldn’t even tell I was filming myself, even though there was an object attached to my hat, filming the whole thing. I sparked up the joint I was hiding behind my ear and stepped into a particular eating establishment I wanted to try. Immediately, a line of ten people turned to look at me as I stepped into the lobby. Furrowing my brows, and looking concerned, I stepped back outside, wiped my sandals off on the doormat, and then stepped back into the lobby, taking a nice slow drag off the joint resting between my lips.
“There, is that better?” I half-mumbled, half-inquired as the smoke filled the space in front of me, and a few people nearby fanned the air around their faces, and darted past me on their way out the door.
“Geeze, what was their problem,” I asked a couple standing at the back of the line that gave me a somewhat confused, somewhat angry look in response, “And hey, what’s good here?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone behind the counter pointing at me, and then a couple of men in uniforms and boots fast approached me and escorted me out of the building, one of them grabbing the joint out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground, and extinguishing it with his boot heel before the other one through me into the back of their tiny, mall security truck..
What had I done now, I wondered. And how do they both fit in here? This truck is tiny.
The proceedings were pretty nasty. They said I was breaking some strange civil or penal law that I still refuse to acknowledge. And because I refuse to acknowledge what I had done, the state had decided to shut down my site, take all my cameras, and force me to pee in a cup every few days for some odd reason. Maybe they want to make sure there’s nothing wrong with my blood.
Now, I get to work a wonderful job, where I stand around all day, pretending I am making a difference or living out my dream, like the universe once whispered to me while I lay sleeping at nights, dreaming of possibilities and realities where I did everything I wanted to and everyone loved me for being exactly who I was. And then my boss yelled at me for not paying attention. So, I got back to work. I’m sure you know the rest of the story. All I had to do was shoot for the moon. That part was easy.
The falling face first on my way back down to earth was not. Oh well. At least they pay me to stand around and act bored now. I shrugged and told my boss I’d do whatever he wanted, so long as he got his fat gut out of my face. He didn’t like that but, I didn’t really care. I was just another man in a uniform doing a job he wasn’t suited for; failure was a feeling I would soon not forget. But for now, I scrubbed as hard as my back would let me.