Jun 29, 2009


Feeling timid and anxious as the weekend came to a close last night. A bit of dread. Seated with three friends over a quick dinner, the conversation lilted in and out of my frame of consciousness; unable to concentrate, I tried to laugh when I was supposed to laugh, follow the cues, act the part.

Dread for the onslaught of Monday, what it brings, and what it means. Another day at work. A job that I've painstakingly realized is not for me. One that's taught me things about people, about the world, and about myself. One that's allowed me to live this meager lifestyle.

It's helped to define who I am; on one hand, there is a certain attachment to the title that I have when I put on my collared shirt and head to the office. There's also a separation, a disconnect in that I don't fully feel comfortable in these shoes. It's more so that I know what I don't want to do rather than knowing what I want to do.

It's been two weeks since my bosses notified me that if I didn't pull of a miracle in six weeks, I'd be gone. I'm not a miracle worker. I cannot repeat what I've done before in six months when given only six weeks to do so. It's not a matter of quality of work done, but rather the quantity. Imagine I'm a used car salesman. The cars I sell are ones I sell well; just not in the quantity that is expected of me. Not to mention that population that I am tasked to sell to doesn't normally lean towards the type of cars I sell. But that's neither here nor there. This is part of my identity. Even if that part that is most foreign to me.

I told my bosses straightforwardly that the miracle was not going to happen. Period. I wish they'd have let me go right then and there instead of handing down a sentence that was to be carried out in six weeks time. I realized then that as much as I tried to fool myself, this profession is not for me. I can't sell things; I cannot make things seem greater than they are. It's not in my personality and will to misrepresent.

So here we are, four weeks to go. I meander through job search sites, sifting through what little there is out there, trying to find my fleck of gold in the river delta silt. I don't need much. Just to shake the feeling of weighted dread as the sun sets and the moon rises, knowing that the night will offer naught but a brief respite, walking steady on my feet, uneasy in my head.

Reset, and start it all over again. I want to get away from this environment, but I can't. I need money. I'm willing to take a huge pay cut, as well as a loss of benefits, the ones I pay for but rarely use. Is it too much to ask to not be in a routine that's all about chasing money instead of personal satisfaction? I know, I should be happy just having a job, right? That's what they tell you, what they want you to believe, because that deflects attention away from the real question: How to truly achieve happiness, and whether or not the institutionalized path is direct enough to take a person there.

Gonna end this ramble, and start over again tomorrow.

Jun 26, 2009

The Last Move

Settled, finally, into the faded-yellow two-story across from the gas station. It isn't the country, but it works. Screaming fluorescent lights send the stars into faint hiding during the night, but if I stand in the back yard there is still enough flickering beauty to behold. Belching engines of motorcycles tear through the quiet dark. In this silent vigil, oh world, look down on me.

It's seemingly never been more important to figure out where my place is. Though at last deeply rooted, I ask, "What next? Where do we go from here?" Excitement stirs within at the unknown. Using the words of the late Dr. Carl Sagan, "if we don't destroy ourselves first," I yearn to better understand what I currently do not. I want to make a world that is beautiful and ordered all the same. One where parents don't have to fear so much for the future of their children, worries on not only how bad it could be, but if it might even exist. Deep down I refuse to believe that we are on a brink, at the edge.

In the triumph one of human spirit is that of all others.

Jun 25, 2009

Hiatus - to Remember

Confession: I've written almost nothing in the past 6 months. After three years of somewhat intense blogging that would ebb and flow, there's been an absolute dead silence as of late. Some sort of gate-keeping going on, as the lack of activity put forth onto the page betrays the flurry of thought that has been going through my head.

As I look over the most recent posts on this blog, the one I write in most frequently, there seems to be a lack of continuity. Simultaneously, I'm glad there's still a bit of a record showing--for lack of a better phrase--where I was at a year ago. Apparently, I was a bit emotional in the lead-up to turning twenty five last year.

In retrospect, I wasn't in a very good place. It was a Sunday in May where I left the woman's bed for what I thought was the last time. Walked out with nothing more than a sigh and a goodbye. Already by the time of my birthday, not three weeks later, I found myself somewhat deeply involve with a new woman, an involvement that I never quite accepted and became comfortable with, because the woman loomed in every dark-haired woman's walk, in ever shrouded corner of my bedroom, to the point where sex became a chore.

For reasons I can't fully recount, I engaged in that relationship for many months more than I should have. There were a few nights when I actually went over to the woman's house at her request. This was after she had extinguished the flame which allowed me to see all that she was, and what we could become together. It was after she had realized what she had given up. And there we were, victims of time and place, connections that never properly lined up when they seemingly needed to. We shared a long embrace one of those nights, and I felt a timid surge of sexual energy and knew that I would not return to see her again.

It's here where I lost the desire to write any longer, the desire to put my thoughts and observations down in print no matter how insignificant and small. I became lost in meaningless sex, computer games, too much marijuana, and alcohol. Just a man in a suit during the day and a brooding recluse in the evening who's only desire was to shut the world off and crawl into a dormant corner of the mind. It was about living a life inauthentic. It was about forgetting where I had been and not caring about where I was going.

Some of my darkest ruminations are strewn in about a dozen notebooks like fallen leaves on an earthen floor. Bits and pieces here and there, some profound, some dark, some embarrassing, and some frightening. Words put down under such a dark state of consciousness that I can't recall how to get back there, or if I should even try to; most involve love and loss.

So, I wonder to myself, does this post constitute the dawn of a new era? Can't say for sure, but I'm leaning towards the answer being no. Over the last year I've become less observant and more reflective, something that at many times isn't very enjoyable. In fact, that's one thing I'd like to change. It seems to me sometimes that as I get older and become more aware and sure of who I am, the more I become concerned with where I am going, where we are going.

Life, too, has become more involved and demanding of the resources that I would normally tap into to create pictures via written word. The job that I've held for the past three years will most not likely be the job that I will be doing in two months; whether I'll have any sort of a job is another large question, but one I am not too worried momentarily. I've got a pretty good track record on survival. Perhaps I can reclaim some of the creative life-force that the corporate world, whether intentionally or negligently, sucks out of me.

I've recently also begun to research alternative topics that I've always been interested in, but never with so much ferocity. Unfortunately, there's a lot of white noise that comes along with supposed answers to some of the larger, important questions in life. It's that very sifting through the white noise that brings on stress, which I think contributes to me staying well within the confines of my skull rather than expressing outwardly. Maybe I need to step back and take a break.

Realize that my time here is just one drop in a vast ocean. Realize that the answers to some of the largest questions that plague are out of my control, even if I knew them well. Realize what is in my control, and work off of that.

I have no desire to be great, renowned, or remembered. I have no desire to change the world. But I want to, and will change someone's world.

After spending what was possibly too much time swimming in the deep end, my heart and soul are both tired. It's time to return to shore before the water completely wrinkles my skin, before I wade out where the tide becomes to strong for a return back.

Discipline. Love. Hope.