Week 34

     Earlier today, while sitting in a movie, I excused myself for a restroom break during a particularly predictable montage scene. Poor theatre design made it so that I'd have to take an awkward stroll past the front row in order to make my exit. As I made my way, I noticed the lone occupant of the row, a man in a wheelchair, take notice of my awkward stroll, and proceed to back away from the path. Now, there had to be 50 to 60 feet between the row and the screen, and good 10 feet between my path and his feet, yet here was this guy, obviously dealt a shitty hand in an even shittier world worried that he was going to be an inconvenience to me. How about that?

     Mortality is a thing. No matter how much we may not want to acknowledge it, we are all going to die someday, and in the immortal words of Tyler Durden, "...until you know that, you are useless." Now, other than perhaps the fear of not knowing what comes next, the biggest fear surrounding death is the thought of dying alone. But this is a moot point. Whether we died curled up in our bed, or on a bus full of fellow screaming, pants-shitting individuals, when things go black, we have only ourselves. And with that being the case, I tend to worry more about how I shall be remembered when I'm gone. That is, if I'm remembered at all.  

     I can almost guarantee that no one will remember me in the way that I imagined I will be remembered. But I guess that's because we mean different things to different people. And depending on the timing and circumstances of my ultimate demise some may choose to wipe me from memory completely. One look at me and it's clear as day that I have never taken care of myself, and if I were to pass soon, sure some might say "How sad. Poor thing." But most would shake their heads in secret and feign surprise when they heard the news. Perhaps that is why it's so important to me that I do things worth remembering while I'm here. Otis Redding was my age (26) when he died, and he's considered to be one of the greatest voices of all time. If I died before my next keystroke, what is the first thought that would go through people's minds? 

    You know, I live for the movies, but to this day, I have yet to make one. I don't play the piano, nor do I sing vocals for a band like Postmodern Jukebox. I don't know French or Spanish, nor have I earned the right to call myself a writer. I haven't taken a wife, had kids, or found one of my true loves. I can think of nothing but all of the things that I haven't done. And perhaps that is the way it is for most people. Thing is, I recognize that I'm already on borrowed time, which is something most probably can't say. I need to get started on my life. And perhaps, so do you. 

Week 33

My head hurts.....

***

    Does anyone ever actually have a good Valentine's Day? Seems that most people are either miserable for not having anyone to celebrate with, or disappointed because they're celebration is never as magical as in the movies/TV shows/reality bullshit that they watch. Is they're a third group of those who are pleased with the day and it's outcome? Can Valentine's Day really ever live up to it's potential?

Asking for a friend.

***

     Does my enemy know that he's my enemy, or does he think me as his friend? He seems to go out of his way most days to make my life hell. But then he turns and makes jokes and does favors without me even asking. I'm confused.

***

     Walking out of the grocery store the other day, I heard a call for security to come to the front door. I wondered to myself what was going on, but decided to keep moving since I was expected back on set ASAP. I began loading the massive amounts of water and chips into the back of the truck, I noticed a small, albeit well dressed manager storming over to me. When he reached my vehicle, he gave the contents of my cart and truck a once over, and then asked me in the most accusatory way possible, "You got a receipt for all of that?" It took my mind a second to register what was happening. I pulled my receipt from my pocket and threw it at him. His eyes bounce back and forth between the items and the receipt. "Have a nice day, sir," he says, handing me back the receipt and skulking away. A cashier runs outside. "You followed the wrong guy, idiot!" I smile.

***

Damn, I was hoping that would help.

Week 32

 
      It's cold. Not like back home, but proper cold for all of us who are accustomed to the dreamlike weather of Los Angeles. Luckily we've been able to take refuge in tavern full of lively locals. It's...awkward at first. No other black faces seem to lie amongst the crowd. Memories of recent world events seem to have me on edge. We settle down at a table in the center of the room. I bury my head in the menu, but find myself distracted by tapping on my arm.  A jolly older woman looks me in my eye and belts out, "Do you like to dance?!" A feign a smile, "Maybe after a few drinks." She slides her full glass of gin in front of me and nods. It's going to be one of those nights.

     A few drinks and big ass burger later and I'm feeling it. The first instances of joy since the week started. I try not to think about tomorrow, and how much I'll regret not getting any sleep, and, most likely drinking too much. My eyes keep getting pulled to the far end of the bar, where a small stage surrounded by TV screens sits. One by one, inebriated patrons wail the lyrics of some pop culture song into a little microphone. The whole scene makes me feel jittery. Meanwhile, more coworkers come and go. This night was needed and I'm glad to see so many enjoying themselves. I hope we can survive these last few weeks. 

     It's not long before everyone has come to me and said, "So when are you going to go up there and sing something. I nervously stare up at the stage. I tell them I'm not sure. Truth be told this isn't really the crowd for any of my normal selections. But already I can feel the itch. The sensation creeping up on me. I want it. I need it. I sign my name. And I wait. 

And then my name is called.

     There's a ringing in my ears. My blood is still pumping. There are countless back pats and arm squeezes. I'm smiling. For the first time in a long time. And I remember what I had long forgotten. This is my happiness. This is where I belong. This is what I have to do. 

I take my seat. I drink. I dwell. And I remember.

Dear God (My Prayer)

Dear God,
   
     It's been awhile, as you know. I don't really see you in the same light as most others, and that is what's kept me away for all of this time. Don't get me wrong, I acknowledge your existence, as evidenced by this current writing, but, I am not the one who will sing your praises from sun up to sundown, even when everything has gone to complete shit. To me, you more like that absentee father who comes into to town once every blue moon yet demands respect as if you've been there all along. But even in that sense, I have to acknowledge that you did give birth to me, as well as the rest of the universe, so why not ask for a little support?

Oh, but first I should probably reintroduce myself a bit. I doubt you actually remember much about me.

About Me:
   
     I'm fat. I felt it necessary to lead off with that sense it seems to dictate every other thing in my life. I'm told you have a reason for doing everything "you do", so I can't wait to find out why I was chosen to see the worst from people as a reflection of my body image from such a young age. I hope it's a good'un. Let's see, what else? I curse regularly, drink heavily, eat the shittiest of foods, and I'm always in love. I'm extremely self-aware, yet still lack the fortitude to actually fix my flaws. I spend the majority of my time watching well written television shows and clamoring to the dream of one day writing well written television shows (without writing nearly as much as I should be). I'm asthmatic, have a nasal spray addiction, and can't grow facial hair (seriously, uncool). I also LOVE to sing yet lack the ability to write or play any music.  There's more, but I do actually want to finish this some time this year, so I'll just leave it at that.

About My Job:

     I HATE my job. Seriously, I hate it. I spent four years in school learning about the wonders that go into creating television and films only to be forced to spend my days working in reality television. That's like a zoology major working part time at Pet Co. I want to write. I want to create. But how the fuck do I do that exactly? I'm all ears!

About My Friends:

     I don't have many. Sure I have those that care about me, and I them, yet I never seem to be around them for very long. And I want that to change. I want my brother out of Little Rock. He's better than that place. Better than everyone he's surrounded by. He's got more potential than any other human I've ever met and yet he's back held down in a Podunk town. I want him to escape. I want him to strive. I want the match that will light a fire under his ass. He deserves it, and you know it.

About My Love:

     I'm tired of always being the one in love, but never the one to be loved. Look I get why it's difficult to find girls interested in me. But it would be nice, if, at least for a little while, I could stop having so many fucking feelings. But hell, while we're on the subject...
     I want my best friend to realize I'm in love with her. Or maybe she already does, in which case I want her to stop pretending that it's not the case. I want her to realize that I don't expect her to feel the same way, but to understand and maybe show compassion, for I am but a slave to my emotions. I want her to be happy. I want the world for her. But mostly I want YOU to take these feelings away, so I don't have to stop being her friend.

About My Future:

     I want light at the end of the tunnel. Right now I see nothing. I don't remember what hope feels like. Only fear, and anger. I want to know that it will be ok. I want to feel safe.

This is my prayer. And I send this, not out of greed, or desire, but desperation, and a longing to feel what so many others claim to. I'm asking you, God who art in Heaven, fora little help.

For thine is the Kingdom
And the Power
And the Glory
Forever
Amen

Week 31

     The theatre was closing and the parking lot had emptied, all the while we embraced in the car. It wasn't the first time I had hugged her, but it was the first time I properly held her in my arms. After a moment we separated, just far enough to be able to look into each other's eyes. Time passes. Too much. With a slightly furrowed brow she asks, " Sooo are you going to kiss me?" God, I was nervous. I leaned in and our lips touch. It's not my first kiss. But it may as well be.

     I've always loved kissing. It's one of my favorite things. I just find the act to be so...spiritual. That's a really weird word to use right there, but it's true. As cliche and sappy as it may sound, I consider kissing to be the way souls touch. Ugh, even I hate myself for actually typing that sentence. But, nonetheless, that's how I feel.

     Kissing isn't just one thing. It can't be summed up and dropped into a little box with a bow on it. A kiss is so much more. A kiss can say hello, or be a last goodbye. It can tell someone you love them, or just let them know you like them. It's a handshake, a first dance, a congratulations. A kiss is an agreement, to surrender a piece of yourself to someone else, if only for a moment.

Unless you're drunk. Then a kiss is just means you're trying to get some.

     As I slowly made my way down the frozen section of the Ralph's, only half way taking in what I see, I notice a shrill cry cutting through the air. Near the front entrance, a couple pushes a screaming child in a cart. "Stop it, Johnny!" the woman yells. Johnny continues to cry out. "Stop it, Johnny! Just Stop it!" Dear God Johnny, just listen to her kid. I push my cart away from the spectacle, until Johnny's tantrum is far behind me. 

I wonder if Johnny's parents still kiss?

Week 30

I didn't make my bed this morning....

     The movie starts soon and I still need to the wake up. Time for breakfast? Only if I want to wait until tomorrow. I better get up. Yup, gonna get up. Any minute now. Ah, here we go. A face cloth and tooth brush later and I'm staring at my unmade bed. There's no time.  I mean sure there's time but really there isn't.

     Shit! It's dad's birthday. It's already 1:30pm back home and I haven't called or texted anyone. He did tell me that they were going to a show. I can probably wait to call. Ugh, but if I do he'll say I didn't care enough about him to call. Ring. Ring. Ring. No answer. Of course. The bed will have to wait.

     It's not until I'm in Simi Valley that I start to remember what I've heard about Simi Valley. So far no cop cars in sight. Fingers crossed that I won't be a hashtag before the credits roll. Corndog bites and civil rights. It's enough to make me cry. I do cry, though not because of the corndog. This movie makes me think. About life and the struggles of being black. Also about how no person nor relationship is perfect. 

     Dad calls during the show. I wish him happy birthday after the credits have rolled. I have to call back later for our talk. I know I have to but I really wish I didn't. Thinking and driving. I know she would've loved that movie. I'll talk to her about it later. I still need to make my bed.

     A healthcare shopping spree and one rebuilt toilet later and I'm finally ready for breakfast. It's 9:30pm. I fold my sheets as the bacon cooks. Pretty sure I'm doing life wrong. She calls me soon after. I like our talks, even if they're mostly disagreements. She tells me she loves me. I say I love you too. It's nice to really mean it. Nothing left but to show the day away.

Ugh. Why did I make my bed today?

Week 29

2015 To Do List

I should've started this when I still had a full bottle of wine.....

• Learn how to properly start lists.
• Stop hating the mirror. It's not the mirror's fault.
• Write more.
• Read more.
• Realize that writing this list and reading it doesn't count.

• Love yourself.
• Seriously, love yourself.
• Reread last two items.
• FUCKING LOVE YOURSELF!
• Stop cursing so much.
• Fuck that.

• Make HER love you.
• On second thought, forget about HER. SHE's been nothing but trouble.
• Find a way to be happy about going to work again.
• Realize that that last item means find a job you like doing.
• Accept your flaws.
• Realize it's ok to cry...but NEVER do it.
• Stop going out of your way for people who won't do the same.
• Or keep doing it. Just makes you the better person.
• Share your true feelings more willingly.
• Actually, keep that shit to yourself. Trust me on this one.
• Find reasons to fear death again.

• Forgive more.
• Drink less. More. Just keep drinking.
• Make someone proud.
• Smile, and mean it.
• And at the end of the day...at the end of everyday....look into your heart, and do whatever the hell makes you happy.