My days are starting to get brighter. Its a relief. This is the first time in months I've felt comfortable in my own skin. This past year has been a big reminder of all the things I take for granted: conversations, company, being active and doing healthy shit. I was getting really deep into depression there. I'll be bold face honest and say it was beginning to scare me. I was writing letters to people and filling them with horrifying details about how I wanted to off myself. How I had to do it right this time and stop being a pussy about it. And I would just save them and never send them to the people I was writing to. I stumbled across them last night and almost broke down. I felt bad for that person. I wanted to reach through those letters and give him a hug. I'm not sure if I'll ever send those to the people I wrote them to, mainly because those were extremely painful glimpses in my life but also because I dont think the people I wrote those to would want to read that shit. I even had to stop myself after a while.
Anyway, today was a huge dose of needed inspiration. I helped teach this workshop at the juvenile home and even though I really didn't do much, it was extremely fulfilling. We were working on judgment and first impressions and my brother asked each of the 5 classes to bluntly and honestly judge me. I didn't have a problem with it because its natural to judge folks. But being gifted with the opportunity to hear how people judge you is almost an advantage. You get to hear how people perceive you, with out hearing you speak or engaging in a conversation with you or anything. It was interesting. 5 out of the 5 classes thought I was a skateboarder. The majority of the classes thought I party hard and that I smoke. Other kids said I look mean, that I look 'young for my age' (still not sure what that means), and that I do cocaine. But the thing that shocked me most was when someone would look at me and tell me something extremely accurate. One kid raised his hand and said,
"He looks like he's trying to go somewhere but hasn't gotten there yet."
Several other kids looked at me and said,
"You can tell he's been through some stuff."
It amazed me how people can look at you and automatically know what your about. Of course, judging someone without knowing them is usually full of wrong observations and projected ideas, but those little bits of truth are so personal yet so obvious and we still walk through life thinking our masks aren't see through. I guess I wasn't aware of that. Definitely food for thought.
I also had to perform a piece today for each of the classes. I was surprised at how connected I still become to poems when I orate them. I embody them. I inhale them. I'm not saying that my performance was flawless or even close to decent, but without fail, each time, I nearly cried. This is a piece I've memorized, meaning I have ran the shit out of it in my head, pacing in my house or in the garage while I smoke. It might not take me long to memorize but usually, I disconnect myself emotionally and make peace with all the gut wrenching parts and just go. But this poem would get me teary EVERY single time. Theres not really a moral to that, its just crazy for me to think about the fact that I can do a poem back to back to back to back and still have enough emotion to make my eyes water. There has to be something to that. Maybe I'm just emotional today. Or maybe its cause I'm tired. I'm not sure.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Confessions
Its hard not to desire perfection. I'll admit that. Its difficult to turn on the tv or go to a store or think about your ideal mate without having a plastic, nice ass, perfect smile expectation level. Ads shove it through your eyes. Stores surround you in it. People emulate it. Its all just one big circle of feeling unsatisfied with what you have or what is realistically available.
They say that whenever we catch ourselves disappointed or bothered by something someone else does, typically its a reflection of what bothers us about ourselves or our actions. I think thats one of the hardest proverbs I've attempted to digest. I still fumble it on days. With the way I act sometimes, you might think that entire concept is foreign to me. I'll damn people for acting 'stupid' or doing something 'stupid' in a relationship or saying something 'stupid', without acknowledging that I am by far one of the dumbest people on this planet. Hands down. I will not argue that. But its this disappointment that I experience every time I do a self assessment that provokes me to be a bitch towards certain people or certain events or certain actions and this
is something I am desperately working on.
With this awareness, I've been transitioning my focus when it comes to change. I used to love to change people. Help them, if you will. Sweep up the broken glass and glue it back together. I was a rescuer. I still have those tendencies. However, I never once reflected in. I never once took a step back and thought about how I need help and how I need to change and thats brought me into a very arrested developed state in my life. I am basically the same person I was when I was 9 and thats not right. Yeah, I got some fancy words and some fancy jargon to talk about. I can tell you some cool scholarly things and I can possibly wow you with what I've overcome and been through but at the end of the day, I have neglected the shit out of myself. Not physically, but emotionally. Other people can take care of themselves and seek help if they need it but I, well, only I can make sure I am okay. Only I can make sure that I dont wake up tomorrow in tears. This is lifes basic, never changing mission: live life for yourself.
I love to help people though. Thats just how I'm programed. I dont feel like I was put on this planet to be pious or authoritative. I dont feel like I was put here to just run my course and leave without a print. I know I am meant to do stuff for people, what ever it might be. However, this is where I am stuck in my lesson. This is my crossroads. Help others at the cost of not helping myself, or help myself at the cost of not feeling fulfilled?
See, theres been some tough realities I've had to face in the past few years of my life. I've had to face my own mortality. Addiction. Pain, both physical and emotional. Depths of depression. Health issues. Deception. Betrayal. I have a litany of bullshit. But so far,
the hardest lesson of my adult life is accepting that I gave up.
I didn't give up on you because I lost interest.
I didn't give up on you because I forgot who I was or lost your number or because I dont like you. The truth of the matter is that you're
a shitty person. And sometimes,
shitty people
are just
shitty people.
They say that whenever we catch ourselves disappointed or bothered by something someone else does, typically its a reflection of what bothers us about ourselves or our actions. I think thats one of the hardest proverbs I've attempted to digest. I still fumble it on days. With the way I act sometimes, you might think that entire concept is foreign to me. I'll damn people for acting 'stupid' or doing something 'stupid' in a relationship or saying something 'stupid', without acknowledging that I am by far one of the dumbest people on this planet. Hands down. I will not argue that. But its this disappointment that I experience every time I do a self assessment that provokes me to be a bitch towards certain people or certain events or certain actions and this
is something I am desperately working on.
With this awareness, I've been transitioning my focus when it comes to change. I used to love to change people. Help them, if you will. Sweep up the broken glass and glue it back together. I was a rescuer. I still have those tendencies. However, I never once reflected in. I never once took a step back and thought about how I need help and how I need to change and thats brought me into a very arrested developed state in my life. I am basically the same person I was when I was 9 and thats not right. Yeah, I got some fancy words and some fancy jargon to talk about. I can tell you some cool scholarly things and I can possibly wow you with what I've overcome and been through but at the end of the day, I have neglected the shit out of myself. Not physically, but emotionally. Other people can take care of themselves and seek help if they need it but I, well, only I can make sure I am okay. Only I can make sure that I dont wake up tomorrow in tears. This is lifes basic, never changing mission: live life for yourself.
I love to help people though. Thats just how I'm programed. I dont feel like I was put on this planet to be pious or authoritative. I dont feel like I was put here to just run my course and leave without a print. I know I am meant to do stuff for people, what ever it might be. However, this is where I am stuck in my lesson. This is my crossroads. Help others at the cost of not helping myself, or help myself at the cost of not feeling fulfilled?
See, theres been some tough realities I've had to face in the past few years of my life. I've had to face my own mortality. Addiction. Pain, both physical and emotional. Depths of depression. Health issues. Deception. Betrayal. I have a litany of bullshit. But so far,
the hardest lesson of my adult life is accepting that I gave up.
I didn't give up on you because I lost interest.
I didn't give up on you because I forgot who I was or lost your number or because I dont like you. The truth of the matter is that you're
a shitty person. And sometimes,
shitty people
are just
shitty people.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Good Ol High School'isms pt. 2... or something
*Disclaimer* I dont disclaim the majority of what I write because I'm free to write whatever the fuck I want and I dont intend on caring about what people might think. HOWEVER, I am an adult now with adult-like responsibilities and connections and networks so I will preface this story like this: "I dont do this shit anymore. Period. This is simply a depiction of one of my crazy excursions through my high school career and in no way, shape, or form is this current. It is a story. Don't be so god damn serious". That is all.
There's moments in our lives where we have to choose between a good choice and a bad one. The line is vague and definitely subjective but ultimately, you have to decide one way or another. It's these times that tend to define us as people and our memories as memorable. Are you going to be the person who said they were there and saw what happened? Or are you going to be the person who said they fuckin did that shit and it was amazing? We have these flickers of opportunity arise invariably and its those who step up, take a deep breath and jump in head first that deserve the memory of taking a chance once. It doesn't matter if it pays off or if it was right. What matters is you nutted up and did it. Your memory is your reward.
Graduating always seemed like such a finale. Like everything was building up to that last moment, to that hand shake and recieving of your diploma with spot lights and symphony music and a slow motion scene where everyone who you went to school with gives you and only you a standing ovation for being so fucking awesome. It doesn't go quite like that though. Its more of a cattle call, where you line up behind some 50 year old molding curtains waiting to walk past some clearly under budget stage flowers and some metal shit and then hope you dont trip going down the stairs in that fucking awkward dress you have to wear. Thats graduating. It is not 'your moment'. It is not a runway for you to strutt down. It is grimy and boring and simply a cluster fuck of mispronounced names and girls worrying about their make up.
The end of high school just felt right though. It felt like I had won finally. Like I had been battling this monster of expulsion and lost credits and assinine homework and I had finally slayed him. Finally. And I needed a party. We needed a party. And fortunate enough for us, we had this ridiculous nonsense after graduation called 'Grad Bash'. Now, I'm sure everyone had some form of 'Grad Bash'. Maybe it wasn't called that. Maybe it was lame. But the just of the situation went like this: graduate, run home and grab what you need, then run back to the school so you can catch the busses to go to your 'Grad Bash'. Our year, and I'm pretty sure the years following us, got to go to this place called Craigs Cruisers. Its like Dave and Busters or any other cool fucking place that has go-carts and video games and fun writen everywhere.
We gathered ourselves out front before we left the graduation to situate what everyone was doing. The plan was to go home, take as many psychedelic drugs as possible and then pile onto the busses. So thats what we did. All my friends were taking Moly but I, well I had some snazy shit. Some shit you'll never find. It was a fossil drug. Rare, intense and long lasting. Some shit you've heard about in folklore or seen in movies or something someone once told you that someone they knew, somewhere knew someone.... it was one of those. I got home, took off my dress and persisted to dabble in some powdery fun. I only had a half hour to do everything I needed to so I hurried as much as I could. The thing with this drug is that no one knew how to dose it. No one. It was so potent that something the size of needle prick could put you over the edge. But I said fuck it, put my pinky in the bag and just stuck it in my mouth. I wasn't worried. This was going to be an experience worth writing about.
I made it back to my school and met up with everyone. It was an odd event. Civilian cops were standing around, scoping out who they should search and picking their noses. But we didn't have anything on us. We were the smart ones who ingested their illegals before we got there. Take that law. All of us got together and pow wowed about what this night was going to be like.
"You take yours?"
"Yeah, we both did. I want to bring my cigarettes but they said we can't bring anything."
"Thats some bullshit. Someone will though and we'll just have them give us some."
"Right, what bus are you on?"
Apparently, we all weren't on the same bus. Actually, none of us were. I didn't think about this much prior to but when it went down, I was totally unprepared for it. I was already feeling myself sinking through my shoes and this bus ride was going to be awkward. Everyone on my bus was pretty much old friends, who of course wanted to reminisce about 7th grade and pool parties and our parents giving us rides to the movies but I was not having that. I walked slowly onto the bus, soaking in all the faces that I was going to have to put up with for the next 30 minutes and decided to sit as far away from everyone as possible. This could, after all, potentially be a really bad move. I could flip out on someone for yelling too close to me or I could say some weird shit to a supervisor or I could vomit on someone. That was one thing with this drug: you just puked. Whenever. You could be laughing and walking around and just BAM... you're puking. It was never painful or intolerable, actually the puking usually felt good. Like you were getting the unneccesary out. But these were all the factors I had to keep in mind as I came up on an experimental drug on a fucking yellow school bus next to 40 of my peers.
We got off the busses and everything became a riot. Somehow, everyone had shifted from graduated 18 year olds into gossipy little annoying pigs and to be honest, I didn't give a fuck. I had lost my mind miles ago, somewhere between Paw Paw and Grand Rapids and the walls were already breathing in sync with me. It was a done deal. From that moment on, I was in this for the long run. The next 16 hours were devoted to debauchery.
For some reason, the staff had bought gallons upon gallons of Monster Energy Drinks. This was horrible. I understood that everyone else who wasn't tripping would probably need this to stay awake all night. However, my friends also thought it would help out their roll. Their energy levels were radiant, I'm telling you. When I met up with them, they were frothing at the mouth and chewing gum till it turned to foam and I could tell they were going to crash hard.
The inside of this place was a drug enthuisists jungle gym. There was so much shit going on, I just had to look around for a good 20 minutes. There was putt putt golf, decorated in fancy pirate ships and miniature houses and water falls. There was 3 different go-cart tracks. An airal obstical course. Laser tag. Bumper cars. Video games and to top everything off, there was a group of creepy college students giving free 5 minute massages. I will admit that I hestantly let a very obese man rub me and it was probably the best thing thats ever happened to me. No questions asked.
The hole experience was hilarious to me. Theres no other way to describe it. I was walking around in my graduation dress, wide eyed with a smile from ear to ear like I was untouchable. Undoubtly, I probably looked like a fucking retard but I was okay with that. I blended in with the other lunatics. At one point, we all gathered into this little black light lit closet which apparently was the briefing room for laser tag. People always take that game so damn seriously. The other team was all lined up like marines waiting for the gate to open and find the smartest cover possible while we were just trying to figure out how not to put our vests on backwards. The other team got pissed because in all honesty, not one of us had a clue what was going on. Organized shooting with lasers? Psh, thats for the birds. There was way too much stuff to look at and WE HAD FUCKING LASERS! I got into it for a second but ultimately, my team just sat in the back of the arena doing light shows and dancing with our guns.
Driving go carts was by far the most unsafe thing I did. At the same time, very very fulfilling. I teamed up with my bestest girl/friend ever, who I've always had feelings for but never capatilized on them because I am a huge vagina. Anyway, her boyfriend at the time was in our group of rough riding go carting folks and so I made the decision to make the entire race Mario Cart. So I just hit people. Hard. Especially her boyfriend. I did not like him.
After flailing around on the harness from the airal obstical course, we were told to get down so we went to the golf course. I'm pretty sure at the moment, I grew 40 feet. There was a house below me that was no taller than my chest and I thought it was the cutest thing ever made. So my boy and I sat on the porch, struggling to keep our giant bodies from pissing off the occupants and smoked a cigarette.
"Well, this was definitely a good choice," I said, watching the smoke trail off my lips.
"Yeah, I'd say so. Shits crazy man."
"I know right? We're done with high school. Thats so nuts to me. Fuck, was it just me or was Mr. Oprea standing by the video games earlier?"
"Oh no, that was him. Yup."
I began to laugh.
"Wow. That was scary to me for some reason."
By 5 am, everyone was zombies. Everyone. Including the majority of my group. I was sitting in the concession area listening to a raffle of some sort while everyone who I was with just had their heads on the table. It wasn't looking good. But I was still going strong. I'm pretty sure my face was twisting inside out by then and I had given up on all forms of sensical conversation. I was in the belly and I was loving it. McDonalds.
We got back on the buses and proceeded home. I was a cat going in a bath tub; I just did not want to get back on that fucking thing. But I had to, so I did. I just wanted to get home, wash my face and smoke trees till I finally fell like one. The only problem was that it was 5 am... on a Saturday... and no ones going to try to sell us a bag at that ridiculous hour. I got off the bus meloncholy and asked one of my friends what we should do.
"Oh its straight man, Tyler was sitting in front of me on the bus and he said he has a quarter in his truck I can have."
That was a god send. Fucking miracle. I knew I had to be to class in a few hours but I also knew I could not show up in this condition. So we decided to roll up a few blunts and hang out in my drive way. For the next few hours, with morning joggers and little children playing in their yards, I sat at the edge of the street performing sloppy, stuttering poetry with a blunt in my hand. No better way to end a crazy night. A crazy four years. And then, sleep for two days.
I can say I did this. I did the shit out of this. And it was careless and stupid and basically one of my top 5 most valuable experiences in my entire life. Sometimes, the dumbest path is the boring path. I'd rather take the one thats risky. With lasers and miniature houses and boyfriends that I just do not like. I earned that memory. I lived that moment. I did. And it
was
beautiful.
There's moments in our lives where we have to choose between a good choice and a bad one. The line is vague and definitely subjective but ultimately, you have to decide one way or another. It's these times that tend to define us as people and our memories as memorable. Are you going to be the person who said they were there and saw what happened? Or are you going to be the person who said they fuckin did that shit and it was amazing? We have these flickers of opportunity arise invariably and its those who step up, take a deep breath and jump in head first that deserve the memory of taking a chance once. It doesn't matter if it pays off or if it was right. What matters is you nutted up and did it. Your memory is your reward.
Graduating always seemed like such a finale. Like everything was building up to that last moment, to that hand shake and recieving of your diploma with spot lights and symphony music and a slow motion scene where everyone who you went to school with gives you and only you a standing ovation for being so fucking awesome. It doesn't go quite like that though. Its more of a cattle call, where you line up behind some 50 year old molding curtains waiting to walk past some clearly under budget stage flowers and some metal shit and then hope you dont trip going down the stairs in that fucking awkward dress you have to wear. Thats graduating. It is not 'your moment'. It is not a runway for you to strutt down. It is grimy and boring and simply a cluster fuck of mispronounced names and girls worrying about their make up.
The end of high school just felt right though. It felt like I had won finally. Like I had been battling this monster of expulsion and lost credits and assinine homework and I had finally slayed him. Finally. And I needed a party. We needed a party. And fortunate enough for us, we had this ridiculous nonsense after graduation called 'Grad Bash'. Now, I'm sure everyone had some form of 'Grad Bash'. Maybe it wasn't called that. Maybe it was lame. But the just of the situation went like this: graduate, run home and grab what you need, then run back to the school so you can catch the busses to go to your 'Grad Bash'. Our year, and I'm pretty sure the years following us, got to go to this place called Craigs Cruisers. Its like Dave and Busters or any other cool fucking place that has go-carts and video games and fun writen everywhere.
We gathered ourselves out front before we left the graduation to situate what everyone was doing. The plan was to go home, take as many psychedelic drugs as possible and then pile onto the busses. So thats what we did. All my friends were taking Moly but I, well I had some snazy shit. Some shit you'll never find. It was a fossil drug. Rare, intense and long lasting. Some shit you've heard about in folklore or seen in movies or something someone once told you that someone they knew, somewhere knew someone.... it was one of those. I got home, took off my dress and persisted to dabble in some powdery fun. I only had a half hour to do everything I needed to so I hurried as much as I could. The thing with this drug is that no one knew how to dose it. No one. It was so potent that something the size of needle prick could put you over the edge. But I said fuck it, put my pinky in the bag and just stuck it in my mouth. I wasn't worried. This was going to be an experience worth writing about.
I made it back to my school and met up with everyone. It was an odd event. Civilian cops were standing around, scoping out who they should search and picking their noses. But we didn't have anything on us. We were the smart ones who ingested their illegals before we got there. Take that law. All of us got together and pow wowed about what this night was going to be like.
"You take yours?"
"Yeah, we both did. I want to bring my cigarettes but they said we can't bring anything."
"Thats some bullshit. Someone will though and we'll just have them give us some."
"Right, what bus are you on?"
Apparently, we all weren't on the same bus. Actually, none of us were. I didn't think about this much prior to but when it went down, I was totally unprepared for it. I was already feeling myself sinking through my shoes and this bus ride was going to be awkward. Everyone on my bus was pretty much old friends, who of course wanted to reminisce about 7th grade and pool parties and our parents giving us rides to the movies but I was not having that. I walked slowly onto the bus, soaking in all the faces that I was going to have to put up with for the next 30 minutes and decided to sit as far away from everyone as possible. This could, after all, potentially be a really bad move. I could flip out on someone for yelling too close to me or I could say some weird shit to a supervisor or I could vomit on someone. That was one thing with this drug: you just puked. Whenever. You could be laughing and walking around and just BAM... you're puking. It was never painful or intolerable, actually the puking usually felt good. Like you were getting the unneccesary out. But these were all the factors I had to keep in mind as I came up on an experimental drug on a fucking yellow school bus next to 40 of my peers.
We got off the busses and everything became a riot. Somehow, everyone had shifted from graduated 18 year olds into gossipy little annoying pigs and to be honest, I didn't give a fuck. I had lost my mind miles ago, somewhere between Paw Paw and Grand Rapids and the walls were already breathing in sync with me. It was a done deal. From that moment on, I was in this for the long run. The next 16 hours were devoted to debauchery.
For some reason, the staff had bought gallons upon gallons of Monster Energy Drinks. This was horrible. I understood that everyone else who wasn't tripping would probably need this to stay awake all night. However, my friends also thought it would help out their roll. Their energy levels were radiant, I'm telling you. When I met up with them, they were frothing at the mouth and chewing gum till it turned to foam and I could tell they were going to crash hard.
The inside of this place was a drug enthuisists jungle gym. There was so much shit going on, I just had to look around for a good 20 minutes. There was putt putt golf, decorated in fancy pirate ships and miniature houses and water falls. There was 3 different go-cart tracks. An airal obstical course. Laser tag. Bumper cars. Video games and to top everything off, there was a group of creepy college students giving free 5 minute massages. I will admit that I hestantly let a very obese man rub me and it was probably the best thing thats ever happened to me. No questions asked.
The hole experience was hilarious to me. Theres no other way to describe it. I was walking around in my graduation dress, wide eyed with a smile from ear to ear like I was untouchable. Undoubtly, I probably looked like a fucking retard but I was okay with that. I blended in with the other lunatics. At one point, we all gathered into this little black light lit closet which apparently was the briefing room for laser tag. People always take that game so damn seriously. The other team was all lined up like marines waiting for the gate to open and find the smartest cover possible while we were just trying to figure out how not to put our vests on backwards. The other team got pissed because in all honesty, not one of us had a clue what was going on. Organized shooting with lasers? Psh, thats for the birds. There was way too much stuff to look at and WE HAD FUCKING LASERS! I got into it for a second but ultimately, my team just sat in the back of the arena doing light shows and dancing with our guns.
Driving go carts was by far the most unsafe thing I did. At the same time, very very fulfilling. I teamed up with my bestest girl/friend ever, who I've always had feelings for but never capatilized on them because I am a huge vagina. Anyway, her boyfriend at the time was in our group of rough riding go carting folks and so I made the decision to make the entire race Mario Cart. So I just hit people. Hard. Especially her boyfriend. I did not like him.
After flailing around on the harness from the airal obstical course, we were told to get down so we went to the golf course. I'm pretty sure at the moment, I grew 40 feet. There was a house below me that was no taller than my chest and I thought it was the cutest thing ever made. So my boy and I sat on the porch, struggling to keep our giant bodies from pissing off the occupants and smoked a cigarette.
"Well, this was definitely a good choice," I said, watching the smoke trail off my lips.
"Yeah, I'd say so. Shits crazy man."
"I know right? We're done with high school. Thats so nuts to me. Fuck, was it just me or was Mr. Oprea standing by the video games earlier?"
"Oh no, that was him. Yup."
I began to laugh.
"Wow. That was scary to me for some reason."
By 5 am, everyone was zombies. Everyone. Including the majority of my group. I was sitting in the concession area listening to a raffle of some sort while everyone who I was with just had their heads on the table. It wasn't looking good. But I was still going strong. I'm pretty sure my face was twisting inside out by then and I had given up on all forms of sensical conversation. I was in the belly and I was loving it. McDonalds.
We got back on the buses and proceeded home. I was a cat going in a bath tub; I just did not want to get back on that fucking thing. But I had to, so I did. I just wanted to get home, wash my face and smoke trees till I finally fell like one. The only problem was that it was 5 am... on a Saturday... and no ones going to try to sell us a bag at that ridiculous hour. I got off the bus meloncholy and asked one of my friends what we should do.
"Oh its straight man, Tyler was sitting in front of me on the bus and he said he has a quarter in his truck I can have."
That was a god send. Fucking miracle. I knew I had to be to class in a few hours but I also knew I could not show up in this condition. So we decided to roll up a few blunts and hang out in my drive way. For the next few hours, with morning joggers and little children playing in their yards, I sat at the edge of the street performing sloppy, stuttering poetry with a blunt in my hand. No better way to end a crazy night. A crazy four years. And then, sleep for two days.
I can say I did this. I did the shit out of this. And it was careless and stupid and basically one of my top 5 most valuable experiences in my entire life. Sometimes, the dumbest path is the boring path. I'd rather take the one thats risky. With lasers and miniature houses and boyfriends that I just do not like. I earned that memory. I lived that moment. I did. And it
was
beautiful.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Good Ol High School'isms
Sophomore year was intense. And by intense, I mean incredibly stupid. I fought more people and did more damage to my body than most people would do in a mosh pit. That was simply how I lived: one less care at a time. This didn't only effect my lifestyle though. It completely effected every aspect of my life, including school. I dont know what it was but for some reason, I never made it to my first hour on time. Actually, it wasn't just some reason, it was because I just didn't give a shit. First hour was always a seminar for me anyway and usually that was totally on purpose. I knew my tendencies. I knew my drive. And both of those added together meant that this guy was not going to be to school at 8 am. Oh no no no, this guy, this guy was coming in at 9 at the very earliest.
I walked into the computer lab typically late. Michigan had mustered up the awesomeness to produce another shitty day and I wasn't even trying to be at school. I was trying to be in my bed. Or shit, just at home would have beaten getting up to go play on computers. But that was my semester and even though I didn't want admit it, this credit mattered and I had to be there. My teacher hadn't gotten used to this though. My total disinterest in punctuality hadn't taught him that he should let me do what ever the fuck I want to but instead, made him into a little bitch.
"You're late... again".
"Yeah, I know."
"What'd I tell you last week?"
"Um, I dont know. I dont really give a shit."
"Fine, well your more than 30 minutes late so go down to the office."
"Fuck that."
"Excuse me? Oprea will definitely like to hear you say that."
"Well fuck you and fuck Mr. Oprea. He's a faggot."
I sat down in the back row and logged onto the computer. I didn't see anything wrong with what I just said. This class was bullshit and I wasn't getting graded and there was no necessity for me to be there ON TIME for a class that I'm just going to sit in until the bell rang. I guess this wasn't the situation though. Behind me, I noticed my teacher on the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying but he was starring at me so I had a hunch. 5 minutes later, a note came up from the office. Notes from office generally were not good news. You could always tell by the office ladies handwriting if it was pissy or urgently pissy. This note had an A.S.A.P on it so I knew what was happening. I glared at my teacher as I walked passed him like it was his fault. At the time, I thought it was.
I got down to the office and Oprea was sitting at his desk eating his breakfast. He was a goofy looking man. Big bulbous eyes hiding behind wire thin glasses and hair that would make snow jealous. He tended to be a jolly fucker though. At least with me. I never understood it but he really liked me. I think it had to do with the first time he had to deal with me. Freshman year, my good friend wore a trench coat to school that he found in my closet. Just a trench coat and shorts to make it look like he was naked. It was funny as hell. But without my knowledge, he had also brought a dog toy with him that looked extremely similar to a dildo and apparently, he was poking people with it. Because he was living with me, I got called down to the office to explain the dildo and put it away until the end of school. I, of course, did not do that and gave the toy back to my friend. And then, of course, he got caught again with it... Yeah, Mr. Oprea didn't like that much. He threatened me with expulsion and some other crazy shit and I just had to let him know that he was being way to serious with me. From that day on, he liked me. Dont ask me why...
"Sit down"
"Alright, uh whats going on?"
" Well, Swinehart just called me and told me that you had something you wanted to say to me?"
" Hm... no. No, I dont know what he's talking about."
He looked down at his messy school lunch tray and took another bite.
" He said you showed up late for the 14th time today and instead of apologizing or anything, you cursed at him and then called me faggot."
We then had a long discussion about my actions. It lasted long enough for him to talk through his salad at me about my choices and my bad habits and what he might be forced to do and his grand kids and his yard work and bla. But he was a good man and I knew that. So after a few lecturing minutes, I gave in and apologized for what I said.
"I'm sorry okay. I didn't mean to say that about you but its early and I get cranky and I haven't eaten and just, yeah. I'm sorry."
He took his last bite and began laughing uncontrollably. For a second I thought he was either going to choke or spit his food out onto his plate, but he grabbed a napkin and held it to his lips.
" You know, I've been called alot of things in my life, Tim. But never... "
He began laughing again.
"...Never, have I been called a faggot."
I'm glad he got a kick out of it. Definitely helped when I went back up to my classroom and told my teacher to go fuck himself.
I walked into the computer lab typically late. Michigan had mustered up the awesomeness to produce another shitty day and I wasn't even trying to be at school. I was trying to be in my bed. Or shit, just at home would have beaten getting up to go play on computers. But that was my semester and even though I didn't want admit it, this credit mattered and I had to be there. My teacher hadn't gotten used to this though. My total disinterest in punctuality hadn't taught him that he should let me do what ever the fuck I want to but instead, made him into a little bitch.
"You're late... again".
"Yeah, I know."
"What'd I tell you last week?"
"Um, I dont know. I dont really give a shit."
"Fine, well your more than 30 minutes late so go down to the office."
"Fuck that."
"Excuse me? Oprea will definitely like to hear you say that."
"Well fuck you and fuck Mr. Oprea. He's a faggot."
I sat down in the back row and logged onto the computer. I didn't see anything wrong with what I just said. This class was bullshit and I wasn't getting graded and there was no necessity for me to be there ON TIME for a class that I'm just going to sit in until the bell rang. I guess this wasn't the situation though. Behind me, I noticed my teacher on the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying but he was starring at me so I had a hunch. 5 minutes later, a note came up from the office. Notes from office generally were not good news. You could always tell by the office ladies handwriting if it was pissy or urgently pissy. This note had an A.S.A.P on it so I knew what was happening. I glared at my teacher as I walked passed him like it was his fault. At the time, I thought it was.
I got down to the office and Oprea was sitting at his desk eating his breakfast. He was a goofy looking man. Big bulbous eyes hiding behind wire thin glasses and hair that would make snow jealous. He tended to be a jolly fucker though. At least with me. I never understood it but he really liked me. I think it had to do with the first time he had to deal with me. Freshman year, my good friend wore a trench coat to school that he found in my closet. Just a trench coat and shorts to make it look like he was naked. It was funny as hell. But without my knowledge, he had also brought a dog toy with him that looked extremely similar to a dildo and apparently, he was poking people with it. Because he was living with me, I got called down to the office to explain the dildo and put it away until the end of school. I, of course, did not do that and gave the toy back to my friend. And then, of course, he got caught again with it... Yeah, Mr. Oprea didn't like that much. He threatened me with expulsion and some other crazy shit and I just had to let him know that he was being way to serious with me. From that day on, he liked me. Dont ask me why...
"Sit down"
"Alright, uh whats going on?"
" Well, Swinehart just called me and told me that you had something you wanted to say to me?"
" Hm... no. No, I dont know what he's talking about."
He looked down at his messy school lunch tray and took another bite.
" He said you showed up late for the 14th time today and instead of apologizing or anything, you cursed at him and then called me faggot."
We then had a long discussion about my actions. It lasted long enough for him to talk through his salad at me about my choices and my bad habits and what he might be forced to do and his grand kids and his yard work and bla. But he was a good man and I knew that. So after a few lecturing minutes, I gave in and apologized for what I said.
"I'm sorry okay. I didn't mean to say that about you but its early and I get cranky and I haven't eaten and just, yeah. I'm sorry."
He took his last bite and began laughing uncontrollably. For a second I thought he was either going to choke or spit his food out onto his plate, but he grabbed a napkin and held it to his lips.
" You know, I've been called alot of things in my life, Tim. But never... "
He began laughing again.
"...Never, have I been called a faggot."
I'm glad he got a kick out of it. Definitely helped when I went back up to my classroom and told my teacher to go fuck himself.
Monday, October 17, 2011
On the edge
I didn't know why I was still in the holding cell, but I was and I had to get the fuck out. I had just refined my definition of bullshit. Not exactly how I had hoped my weekend would turn out but there I was, lying foot to head with 5 other men, some with stories about Pablo Escobar marrying their cousins in Peru, about getting pulled over with an ounce of pot and questioning if they might spend the rest of their life in prison, and others with stories they only let their eyes explain. Jail always feels like a the back page of the Sunday newspaper. Chaotic cartoons and I easily drew myself in. Kaki shorts falling off me, no shirt and a bloody lip. Model citizen.
I flagged down an officer after I realized no one was getting released. I was not going to spend another night in there and everyone who was getting arraigned had already seen the judge. But I hadn't. Shit, I hadn't even been told my charges. For all I knew, I was lost in a system of bars, sticky benches and cartoons. The officer came across the cat walk to see what I wanted.
"Yeah?"
" 'Scuse me ma'am, I dont know why I'm still in here. I was told I was just being held over night to let things calm down and I'm still here. Can you find out if I'm getting released or whats going on?"
"... Yeah I guess I can do that."
" Thank you ma'am"
" I'm a sir."
For some reason, I kept calling the him ma'am. I still dont know why, but it happened at least 4 times. Not the best move when you really need the guy to come back with some good news. Let alone, just come back at all. An hour passed and then I heard someone call my name.
"Minor?"
"Over here."
"Your leaving"
Watching the bars open felt like Jesus. Not that I've felt Jesus, but I have heard that he touches you and that seems special to me. I assume thats what it feels like. I was given my belongings and after giving a few guards a hard time for having to stare at ball sacks, I promptly got the fuck out of there. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I was going to smoke a cigarette and start walking. Purple prison flip flps and all.
The next few days, I spent the majority of my time overwhelmed with everything being on the edge of change. Everything. I knew the only thing that was going to stay consistent was my dog and myself. That was it. I had a car. I had my bags and some money and a drive to leave everything and go anywhere so thats exactly what I did. I packed everything into my car and without hesitation, jumped on the highway heading north. I figured the best place to collect my thoughts and my life was some place secluded. Some place I can escape into and no one can find me. Also, some place with a view wouldn't hurt. Fortunately, my family has owned a condo in the pinky of Michigan for decades so thats where I pointed and thats where I was going.
About 20 minutes into my excursion, everything started closing in on me. It felt like I hadn't left that cell. Like I was stuck and every fiber in my being was telling me to turn around. All the strength I thought I had disappeared. All the positivity and hope for the future, all of that came victim to my never ending trail of despair and inevitable loneliness I was going to be thrown into. What happens if something goes wrong? What if I get really sick or Mercedes gets really sick or what if I can't stay up there?
What happens if I can't do this?
I called a friend of mine freaking out and told her about what I was drowning in. She listened and calmed me and said,
" Listen, I know this has to be scary. I understand that. Change very rarely comes easy and smooth. Its usually pretty bumpy. But the thing about change is that if it isn't scary, it probably isn't right. That feeling you have means your making a decision outside of your comfort zone and thats a good sign that your heading the right way."
She was right. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and kept driving, knowing that where ever I ended up... was where I was meant to be.
I flagged down an officer after I realized no one was getting released. I was not going to spend another night in there and everyone who was getting arraigned had already seen the judge. But I hadn't. Shit, I hadn't even been told my charges. For all I knew, I was lost in a system of bars, sticky benches and cartoons. The officer came across the cat walk to see what I wanted.
"Yeah?"
" 'Scuse me ma'am, I dont know why I'm still in here. I was told I was just being held over night to let things calm down and I'm still here. Can you find out if I'm getting released or whats going on?"
"... Yeah I guess I can do that."
" Thank you ma'am"
" I'm a sir."
For some reason, I kept calling the him ma'am. I still dont know why, but it happened at least 4 times. Not the best move when you really need the guy to come back with some good news. Let alone, just come back at all. An hour passed and then I heard someone call my name.
"Minor?"
"Over here."
"Your leaving"
Watching the bars open felt like Jesus. Not that I've felt Jesus, but I have heard that he touches you and that seems special to me. I assume thats what it feels like. I was given my belongings and after giving a few guards a hard time for having to stare at ball sacks, I promptly got the fuck out of there. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I was going to smoke a cigarette and start walking. Purple prison flip flps and all.
The next few days, I spent the majority of my time overwhelmed with everything being on the edge of change. Everything. I knew the only thing that was going to stay consistent was my dog and myself. That was it. I had a car. I had my bags and some money and a drive to leave everything and go anywhere so thats exactly what I did. I packed everything into my car and without hesitation, jumped on the highway heading north. I figured the best place to collect my thoughts and my life was some place secluded. Some place I can escape into and no one can find me. Also, some place with a view wouldn't hurt. Fortunately, my family has owned a condo in the pinky of Michigan for decades so thats where I pointed and thats where I was going.
About 20 minutes into my excursion, everything started closing in on me. It felt like I hadn't left that cell. Like I was stuck and every fiber in my being was telling me to turn around. All the strength I thought I had disappeared. All the positivity and hope for the future, all of that came victim to my never ending trail of despair and inevitable loneliness I was going to be thrown into. What happens if something goes wrong? What if I get really sick or Mercedes gets really sick or what if I can't stay up there?
What happens if I can't do this?
I called a friend of mine freaking out and told her about what I was drowning in. She listened and calmed me and said,
" Listen, I know this has to be scary. I understand that. Change very rarely comes easy and smooth. Its usually pretty bumpy. But the thing about change is that if it isn't scary, it probably isn't right. That feeling you have means your making a decision outside of your comfort zone and thats a good sign that your heading the right way."
She was right. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and kept driving, knowing that where ever I ended up... was where I was meant to be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)