I'll Try Harder Tomorrow

I frantically gasp for air; just enough to muster a scream, but only a faint cry for help escapes my lips. My throat is sore and raw and I have to stop to catch my breath. I stand there, hiding in the dark and realize... silence. I try to stay quiet but my heart is pounding from running and I swear he can hear it. My mind races, "I'm going to die out here." I try to pull it together, I have to concentrate, think. I wait in the dark paralyzed from fear.  I must have lost him, out ran him. Now what? Suddenly I feel the hard, cool grip of fingers across my mouth, my head jerks backward. He found me.

This is the scenario re-playing in my head as I drive through the desolate camp site. Where the fuck am I? The log cabins are dark and vacant and I am positive this is a dead end. I quickly pull a u turn and my high beams pierce through the broken windows of the log cabins. As I drive away I keep my eyes in my rear view, positive a white-masked murder will pop up any minute behind me.

My wheels hit the smooth black top and relief flushes over me. I'm safe. I look at my GPS and restrain myself from throwing it out the window. I was unaware that a detour would lead me so far into the West Virginia woods. I check the clock, 11:30 PM, great. I don't have much faith in the technology that just tried to have me killed, but my sense of direction is less than impressive. Unfortunately the satellite is my only source of hope, so I hit the detour button again and pray for the best.

I like to consider myself a risk taker and only those who truly know me will tell you otherwise. Don't get me wrong I'm up for a challenge, but the anxiety that eats at my inner being before taking the leap is enough to deter most people from doing it in the first place. My fear of driving in the unknown is similar to this and every time I venture out on my own, I feel like I am conquering some huge life obstacle. This night is no different. My ultimate downfall was that I had never used a GPS before; I actually tried to avoid it. The stories my mother told me about unsuspecting women following the British accent right into an ocean or off a cliff petrified me, so I decided I was better off without one; Looking back now I find this quite ironic.

Focus. The GPS tells me to make a right and the houses lining the street comfort me. The homes look inviting and well maintained- no inbreed cannibals living here. I turn Rage Against the Machine up louder and tell myself the worst is over. The GPS orders me to turn left. A few more miles of smooth sailing and the pavement quickly turns to gravel. I warily press on, still feeling comforted by the houses and signs of life. It’s at this point I forget how I got here. Suddenly tree branches slam off the sides of my doors and windows, and the gravel road turns into a hill of giant-sized potholes. I start to panic and shut off the radio. The blue line on the GPS tells me to move forward and the black surrounding the only road I am on assures me I am in the middle of nowhere. My hands are numb from gripping the steering wheel as I try to control the car, and even though I am only going five-miles an hour, I am completely out of control. I’m no mechanic but I imagine my Jetta is not equipped for this off-road trek and I’m afraid I won’t be able to go much further. The only light is right in front of me, emitted by my high beams. My nightmare is coming true and I can hear the laughter and gun shots in the distance. This is so Texas Chainsaw Massacre and I can't stop the tears from streaming down my face.

The GPS assures me that in two more miles I will enter civilization again and I am convinced it's wrong. I grab my phone ready to call 911 and order a helicopter to life-flight me out of here. No reception. My panic turns into a full blown anxiety attack and I start to think this is it. I pray out loud. “God don’t let me die out here,” I plead. “I promise to go to church, be a better person, stop smoking weed.” I think of everything I’ve never accomplished and the life I would never get to live. I think about the all the opportunities I’ve had and half-assed and swear that I will try harder. As I start to say my goodbyes, the rocks turn back to gravel and the road widens… relief. I make the right onto the highway and I can’t help laughing. I’m convinced this is what a near death experience feels like. My hands still shaking, I need to calm my nerves. I pull over, light a joint and take a drag. Exhaling I think, “I’ll try harder tomorrow.”

New Year Resolution

I have come to the realization that I have been existing in this life... Maybe more like orbiting. As of late I find myself searching for meaning and purpose. More importantly I find myself searching for happiness. I read a quote the other day that said, "The art of being happy lies in the power of extracting happiness in common things." I thought this to be very profound given this metaphorical state I am enthralled in. And so there is it, I decided over a hard boiled egg and toast, my New Years Resolution: To be happy.


Now for the two of you actually reading this, you know that this will inevitability be a most difficult challenge and I have therefore decided I will need reinforcements, if you will. So I enlisted the help of a therapist. I am not ashamed to say this for two reasons: One, everyone is in therapy (or is that just on TV?). Two, I am taking on a life altering challenge. Something of this magnitude can't be cured by reading the "The Secret;" For that reason I will need the advice and wisdom of someone who can see deep into my soul, past the bullshit and overwhelming doubts that are stopping me from achieving my goal in the first place. And I figure, at the very least, I'll have a story to write about at the end. 

“So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?” 
― Hunter S. Thompson

Giving Thanks

Today I am thankful for --

Sight, to see the sun beams during the day and stars at night.
My creativity.
Beautiful music. 
Todd, who loves me despite my flaws and delusions.
My sister who keeps me grounded, and
my brother who inspires me with his dreams.
My friends.
Freedom and those not afraid to fight for it.
My health.
My job.
A God who keeps this world afloat despite the neglect of many. 
My ability to forgive.




Happy Thanksgiving.

perceptions

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of being naked in public"- Paulo Coelho 

Polish Pancake

“Pancake Ass!” I heard her yell. Was she talking to me? A French fry hit my forehead. Yea I guess she was. Those were fighting words. I was completely aware of my genetic misfortunes. Flat ass and Pollock nose are just a few of the attributes I have my father to thank for.

As a carried my lunch tray down the middle of our small cafeteria, I nearly tripped over my bully’s foot. “Loser bitch,” she yelled at me as I dodged another fry to the face. What was her problem? College sucked enough without having to endure daily harassment from a girl twice my size; I ignored her as usual and opted to eat outside. I picked at the mound of potatoes on my plate, the only food the cafeteria cooks didn’t poison with laxatives. I opted for a Malbro Mild instead.

My first year of college was a joke. In a last ditch attempt at making something of myself I went to a small branch campus. I told everyone I elected to go to a satellite school to avoid being just a social security number at a large well-known university but the truth is that bumfuckeygpt was the only school I could get in to with my stellar high school grades. You’d think my fathers’ clever bribe of five dollars for every A on my report card would have actually persuaded me to go to school. What he didn’t know was that the breakfast burritos at the Amish buffet 45 minutes from school were much more tempting.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and decided that I was done with this girl bullying me. I had gone an entire year enduring her cruel remarks and physical harassment. A few nights earlier we were at a house party when I went to grab my Hurricane I had stashed in the fridge. Coincidently, while I was distracted and booty-dropping on the kitchen table, my bully had poured my 40oz down the sink. First instinct was to do a running karate-kick to the side of her head, but quickly decided against that. There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen to get a running start… So I’d get my revenge when I was sober and after I picked up a pair of brass knuckles.

At this point you are probably thinking I am this misunderstood, self-righteous, bad-ass, but I’m unfortunately not. It just happens that I had come to this pivotal point in my life where I could either eat shit, not saying anything, transfer schools and never see this cunt again; or I could man-up, stand-up and smack a bitch. I picked the latter.

A week later, it was time to shine. School was coming to an end and I knew that if I wanted to make a name for myself I had to act fast. I dressed for combat in my oversized-sweats and black bubble vest- I required a wardrobe fit for agility. I decided I may need reinforcements so I brought the girls down the hall in our dorm room, a Puerto-Rican firecracker and 6 foot ex-Army soldier . We roll up to the bonfire, our usual weekend hangout, in a blue cavalier, Limp Bizkit blaring from the speakers. “It’s all about the he says she says bullshit. I think you better quit, letting shit slip, or you’ll be leaving with a fat lip…” (Look, it was 2003 and honestly I still like that song, it’s on my workout mix).

I scout out my bully and lock eyes, acting cool and casual as I approach her. Fists clenched. Standing face to face she smiles, “What are you going to do? Hit me?” she asks laughing. “Yep,” I replied, pushing her as hard as I could, adrenaline pumping. The giant stumbles back and lucky for me, trips over an empty 40oz lying on the ground. She goes down hard. I pounced on her like a cheetah, or at least that’s how I like to remember it. I instinctively grabbed her hair as leverage and punch her in the face with my right hand. I get a few blows in before I’m being pulled off by my roommate, who wants her bubble vest back before the worst of the bloodshed. It was weighing me down anyway. I hop back into the madness only to find my bully attempting to run away. She’s stopped short by a size 10 foot to the head and at that point I am glad I brought backup. She’s down for the count. I stood there surrounded by people I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I light up a cigarette and walk away. Victory.