Week 42

Soooo, there was a new Star Wars teaser trailer released this week. Not sure if you guys had heard.....

     

     Immediately I was zapped back to my childhood. In the summer of 1995, I was a 6 year old who's only concerns in the world were swimming pools and Power Rangers. And then one day, everything changed. My father called me into the back, sat me down and said, "Today, I'm going to show you the Star Wars." And my life was changed in every way.

     On day one we watched A New Hope. I can still remember seeing Luke Skywalker ignite his father's lightsaber for the first time. I couldn't think of anything else during the entire movie, and I nearly jumped for joy when Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader squared off on the Death Star. This was the greatest thing I'd ever seen. I didn't want it to end, which is why it felt like Christmas when my father told me there were 2 more films.

     I don't remember anything about the next day other than sitting in my fathers room, impatiently staring up at the screen as the THX logo faded in and out. Then it began. For the next 2 hours I sat wide-eyed in anticipation for the promised climax between Luke and Vader. And then it happened. It REALLY HAPPENED! Vader uttered those now infamous words causing my heart to drop and my soul howled out in tandem with Luke. How could this be? I MUST HAVE MORE!

     I'm not sure how I survived the wait to the next day. But somehow I did, and finally, it was time for my first journey through that far, far away galaxy to come to an end. And what an end it was. Han was back. The Empire was defeated. And best of all, GREEN LIGHTSABERS! Yes, it was a fitting end for a truly magical journey. The next day my father took me to Service Merchandise (does anyone else remember that store???) where I was pleased to find that they had shelves upon shelves of Star Wars products. And I loaded up. By the time we left, I had enough ships and figures to start my own Galactic Empire. And I had my very own lightsaber.

     It wasn't until years later that I realized just how much that summer meant to me. My dad and I kept up the tradition of watching each episode for the first time together. That is, until episode 3. Maybe that's why I didn't like episode 3. Although that probably has more to do with horrible acting and even worse writing, but the sentiment remains. Being introduced to the Star Wars saga changed something deep within me. I can't imagine who or, what I'd be had I never seen them. And I don't want to.

And now, just for fun, perhaps the greatest video to ever be uploaded to Youtube:

 

Week 41

Have you ever had something that you really needed to say, but had no idea how to go about doing it? Or had a conversation that went unfinished and just wanted to find some way to complete it? Just a thought...

     I'm fat. I'll give you a moment to recover from shock. 

Yes, I said it, I'm fat. According to my doctors, I've been overweight since 6th grade. According to my elementary school classmates, I've been fat since before Power Rangers was a thing.  It's not a secret, and anyone who knows me will know that I won't let too much time pass without bringing it up; I don't like the notion of ignoring my weight when I know that it's clearly a defining feature of who I am. But ever since moving here, to the vapid and shallow capitol of the world, my weight has become something else entirely.

     My weight has always been a challenge. Growing up big leads to you seeing the world quite differently from everyone else. I have to be aware of things that normal people never even dream of. And then there's my mind. My mind has been trained to be defensive. Constantly afraid of what people are thinking, or saying under their breath. Constantly believing that any laughter I hear nearby is about me. To be honest with you, it's exhausting. And it's only become worse since arriving here. Everyone and everything here is about body image. People aren't satisfied with themselves until they're skin and bones. Everyone loves to gossip about their new diets and cleanses. Damn near everyday during lunch I have to endure a conversation amongst perfectly in shape people about how fat they feel, or how they have to cut out carbs and gluten because it's making them hideous. All the while I just sit there wondering if any of them even realize that they're indirectly shaming me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking or expecting anyone to be ok with being fat; I know I'm not. But it just seems that no one here is capable of thinking about anyone outside of themselves. I guess to expect anything else would be naive.

     I don't know if love at first sight really exists. I doubt it. But I do know that lust at first sight exists. Every human being blessed with sight experiences it everyday. It's the foundation for our first impressions of others; we're a lot more open and friendly to those that are appealing to the eye. That being the case, I, and many others like me, have to work a lot harder to "earn" that openness and friendliness that the more conventionally attractive people are given from the start. This has always been the case with girls. I've never had a significant other that didn't start out as a friend first. I've always had to take the time to convince any girl that I was interested in that I was actually worth while. And even then most still couldn't get over the physical aspect. Whenever friends ask me about love life, I tell them that no girl out here could be interested in a guy that looks like me, and more often than not they can't bring themselves to disagree with me. Everyone knows. And it's the same way with my work. I typically work as a Production Assistant, which involves a decent amount of manual labor and a shit ton of hustle. Employers see me and naturally assuming I can't meet the physical requirements of the job. Granted no one has ever said this to my face, but it becomes pretty obvious when every one of my new employers is so "impressed" by how good I am at my job. No matter what, the first impression of me will always be that of a lazy, sloth, because lazy sloths tend to look like me, and as we all know, minorities are all representative of each other. And I'm tired. So tired that I've started to train myself not to want certain things. Not to be attracted to certain girls. Not to expect good things.

     And before you even come at me with some bullshit about "why don't you change things up and go on a diet if you don't like being overweight?", please know that I have, in fact, done that. Many times. Once I even hired a trainer and got in the best shape I had been in since before 3rd grade. But it never seems to stick. I thought that maybe coming out here might change something. Maybe I'd see all of the pretty people and be compelled to become one of them. I've tried a few times since relocating to get my weight in order, but thus far I've had no such luck.No matter what I do, my body always seems to hit a reset button and return me to the form which you see before you. Seems to me that, if you believe in destiny, that I am meant to look like this. For what reason, I couldn't tell you. All I know is that I hate the way I look, and the way I feel. I hate the way I see myself and how the rest of the world views me. And I hate that there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. And for that reason I eat. And I drink. And I make myself fatter, because I can't make myself skinnier. Funny how that works, isn't it? Funny.

Week 40

  Legs are sore. Back hurts. Sleepy all the time. Yup, I'm back to work. And work is good. Work means timecards. Timecards mean paychecks. And paychecks mean I still have a place to live. So that's good. Is this where I want to be? No. Is this where I have to be? Not necessarily. But it's where I'm going to stay. For now at least. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what's next.

Week 39

     The other day while on set, I peered up into the night sky and felt my breath taken away. There were so many stars in the sky. More than one is used to seeing from smack-dab in the center of one of the most populated cities in the world. Yet there they were, planets and stars all twinkling above me. From where I stood I could make out Venus, Orion's belt, and even Betelgeuse. And that's when it hit me. All of these stars, every one dancing above my head, died millions of years ago. We just can't see it yet. We live life in the past; reliving events that have already transpired. And maybe, just maybe, someone else is out there looking up at an Earth where everything worked out?

     The other day I asked a friend who she would marry if she could only choose between past lovers. She knew right away who it would be and began to explain her reasons. My mind began to race as I realized that if asked the same question, I wouldn't be able to answer. My mind frantically bounced around from one girl to another, unable to permanently land on one. Naturally this led to an over-analyzation session of all my ex's and would be ex's. And then, as if the universe was bored, I inadvertently came across my "big" ex's Facebook page. A drunken night a few months back had led to me unblocking her.  My heart began to race as I scrolled through her page. She still looks the same. My head was transported back to the old times. I realized that I missed her. But then I began to wonder, is it just because I don't see a future with anyone that I now cling to the past? Could we have tried harder? Could things be different? Could I be happy?

     The other day I watched a short film. It felt like I something I could've made. Something I could've written. That is if I could ever manage to write anything. Seems like these days I can't seem to squeeze an ounce of creativity out of myself, no matter how hard I try. I see where other people are constantly creating. Constantly writing. I can't help but wonder what's wrong with me? How can I claim to be a writer and never do any writing? Why is it so difficult for me? Just seems like some things should come easy, especially if it's something you love doing. And if I'm not meant to be writing, what the fuck am I meant for?

     

Week 38

     It won't stop. It keeps coming in waves. And it hurts....

     It started while I was in the shower. It felt like a baseball bat to the head. I hunched over and couldn't force myself to stand back up. The muscles in my face contorted and my vision blurred. Tears started streaming. I was crying. For the first time since I don't know when. I was crying and I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. 

     Lately, I've been trying to keep my head up. Been trying to stay positive and focused toward a hopeful future in one of the most popular cities in the world. But it hasn't been easy. And after yesterday, it's damn near impossible. Everyone keeps trying to tell me to keep my chin up. Just keep at it. God has a plan for you. Fuck am I tired of hearing about God's plan.

     Unlike most things, rejection does not get easier with time. In fact, the more it happens, the more you start to believe in the negative hype. The majority of my 26 years have been filled with rejection, so right now I'm thinking pretty negatively. Thing is, I can't tell if this is just a bad time, or if I'm realizing that I don't belong here.

     Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe i'm just confused, and doubting myself right now. But I can't help wondering what if. I've written this entry over the course of 4 days just incase my mindset changed, but it hasn't. I still don't know that I should be here. I truly am over this freelance bullshit, especially since it seems like everyone just wants to see me as PA. Things were simpler back in St. Louis. Not better, but simpler. Things made more sense to me. I fit in, though I didn't necessarily want to. Out here it seems that everyone can't get enough of telling me I don't belong. I'm lonelier here than I ever was back home. I here from "friends" less and less every day. I eat and drink myself poor. I haven't been able to write, no matter how long I stare the screen. Not a single female in this time zone has taken a second glance at me. I'm wasting away here.

     No one wants to be considered a quitter, especially in matters of the heart. I came here to follow my dreams. To do what I love. Or at least to try. And I'm trying. Have I done all that I could. No. But I already feel beaten. People say that life isn't a race. But the longer I go working in reality and not in scripted, the less likely it is that I ever will. And don't want to go working in reality. I can't stress that enough. I honestly can't.

     But if I did move back, what would I do? Where would I work? What career could I find that would give me enough money and benefits to live and not make me want to blow my brains out at the end of the day? If I ever figure that out, I'll take that as my sign to close the book on this chapter of my life. If I ever figure it out....
   

Anything But...

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
Momma always said I could be anything if I put my mind to it.
I chose to keep my head in the clouds.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I should've become a doctor, or a lawyer.
Or even a janitor who cleans the office of a lawyer of a doctor.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I wanted to be different. I wanted the stars.
I wanted to hit grown men in the head with steel chairs, because that's what dreamers did.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I wish I had never taken that writing class. Or won that award.
I wish I never had that moment of satisfaction as I changed my major.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
Because dreamers never win.
Dreamers never see.
Dreamers can only dream.

I should've been anything but a dreamer.

Week 37

As of this writing it has officially been one week since I last worked, and 6 days since the interview. And since then there have been no phone calls. No emails. No prospects.

Life....

     I've come to realize it's exceptionally hard for me to enjoy things. Even when things are going really well, which is rare, I often can't sit back and enjoy it because I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Unfortunately, it has been my experience that something bad always follows something good. And for some reason the bad has always overshadowed the good to me. Always.

     And it doesn't help that I have Destination Addiction (the preoccupation with the idea that happiness is in the next place, the next job, and with the next partner.) Pretty much since the time I first came out here I've been thinking about moving to Chicago. And New York. And Atlanta. And New Orleans. And, just recently, back home. Somehow I've convinced myself that things will be easier and make more since once I go to this place or that place. Lately, I've been thinking that things would just be so much easier if I move back St. Louis. And that is the most troubling thing of all.

     I have an interview tomorrow. And it's big. Or at least it could be. Last week's was supposed to be big also, and I never heard back from them, even after being promised that I would. So I'm trying not to get too excited about tomorrow. Trying.