I’m surprised I can sit comfortably at the moment. Yesterday’s sudden work out has left me completely sore. On the bright side, I’m back at working at the stadium, which means my “Confessions of a Parking Nazi” blog can come back to life. However, this year I’m not a parking lot Nazi, I’m a clubbie assistant – they hired another guy to teach me the ropes for a year (you know, how to wash their uniforms without damaging them).
June 1st, I am going to be in charge of the show – with the bar guy. It’s going to be a school district thing, so I’m guessing all the kids who did well on their tests or had perfect attendance all year round – something like that – will be there. But at least we’ll have our minions – I hope.
A few of the friends I made last year are coming back, but the rest were replaced by Workforce. That’s good, because I don’t know if I could handle survivor’s guilt.
Undesired, I feel that I am left free falling. Falling. Falling. Crashing. Tumbling. Thrashing against the rocks, tossed by the waves. Gnarled upon the stones. The salt washes away my sin.
I started thinking more like Donovan – the character, not the friend. Meanwhile, I write the skeletons for “Squares” even though I’m unsure where that project is going or whether JD is still up for it. I stopped texting him and he hasn’t been around much online. Apparently, he’s gone soul searching. I’d rather hear it from the horses mouth – I’ve been stung by the scorpion one too many times.
I’m on Kathryn’s storyline, still. I’m working my way around a wall about what drives her to her all-so-predictable suicide attempt to her letting Miguel go. I give myself some pats on the back with Hope’s storyline, being that I’ve managed to prove that even the most pious can be corrupted by one’s own need to be free.
Discoveries of late have left me a little crestfallen; though, I hate myself for letting something as infantile as that for bringing down my high spirits. I’m still a good friend; I know it. Even though I don’t think some people think that, I still see myself as a caring person – damn the events of the past.
It’s stupid. It’s silly. I’m twenty-seven-years-old – I shouldn’t be all butt-hurt over it. But I am human, aren’t I? Admitted, a rather over-emotional one.
There’s this dream I keep having. It comes in many forms, but it’s pretty much the same dream.
I’m standing in a half lit hallway. It’s a dull green color, at least that’s how the light illuminates it. Upon the back wall, there’s a movie playing. It’s a possibility movie, another reality playing before my eyes. I begin to crumble.
I shake awake and I’m standing in an empty room. Outside, there’s a vibration – the sounds and feeling of an ongoing party I wasn’t invited to. My hands are balled into fists. I know I’m suppose to do something – find away out of my situation, but my mind isn’t allowing me to.
Then I feel it, that lurking fear. Creeps up my spine and down the sides of me. I’m being held down by something and I’m struggling to get up. Wake up, I keep telling myself. It’s only a dream.
I remember when I was younger. I usually left signs to let me know I was dreaming. Somehow that doesn’t work anymore.
There are things I want to regret. Like not being more adventurous when I was a teenager. Or like losing my virginity on the floor of Carmike theater while my – at the time – best friend watched on. I say want to regret because I don’t regret those things. In fact, I really don’t pay much attention to shit like that because it’s not important to me. Just another experience in this whole life ordeal.
I have this deepening feeling that I’ve dug my grave and now I must lie in it. I think a lot of it has to do with writing “Squares” – I’ve been writing the “treatments” for each chapter before I start the dialogue/comic script; my only hope is that JD’s still game with this – I haven’t spoken to him in a while.
Speaking of “Squares,” I’ve been rethinking how the set up should be. While this is a reality base comic and not a typical comic book – you know, superheroes and such – I do want to focus on experimental elements. I want the layout to be something both the artist (JD, if he’s still up for it) and I can have some fun with. Bridge we’ll cross when the time comes.
I’ve listened to a lot of dance music lately – for some weird reason, it’s the only music I can write to, no matter the topic. Like any writing session, however, I’m making an “inspirational” playlist of music that would go great in the “Squares” world. That’s a task in of itself.
While I’m more of a fan of the Bubble Sci fi Remix, this song has been on a constant loop in my head. From some odd reason, every time I listen to this song, I always come back to a recycled character I penned a few years back. He didn’t have a name then, but now I’m thinking of calling him Donovan – not after a friend of mine, mind you. I thought him up on day and put him in the corner because he wasn’t behaving. Like most of my characters, he ran rampant. Sadly, however, I never released him from the clutches of the corner.
These days, the character has picked up a trait his original form didn’t have – killing people. I just don’t know how to go about it, which is why I never used him just developed his personality.
Before I go, one last thing. Last Saturday, I was out with Jyg, Izzy, Esmer and Jerry. We were wandering about when they decided to go to Rue 21. I didn’t want to go there, so I went to other stores. Stopping by Marshalls first and then heading over to Hobby Lobby to see what they had in crafts wood. I’ve deduced that it would probably be cheaper if I bought wood at Lowes.
When Jyg and Izzy came to join me, they didn’t bring Jerry and Esmer. I texted the latter where we were and they came to meet us. Because I knew they’d probably have a hard time finding us, I went to look for them. Before doing so, I saw a girl wearing these bulky glasses. I thought nothing of them, but I did do a double take. Something was off. When I met up with Jerry and Esmer, I saw the girl again. This time I knew I wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t wearing glasses, she was wearing just frames.
“Damn hipster,” Jerry said after I mentioned how she wasn’t wearing glasses – he noticed it, too.
I know I did a lot of stupid things when I was a teenager that I should regret, but Jesus H. Christ – being visually impaired wasn’t an in thing.
That’s the whole point of religion, right? To explain the inevitable nothing that we came from, that we will become again when our time on this earth expires. I don’t know why I’m thinking about it so much. Death is not at hand; I’m not knocking on its door. Yet the inevitable nothing is all I’m thinking about because I cannot fathom it. If religion has its purpose, it’s to blind us from this fear and, for that reason, I pray that I can reverse my stance on it.
I can’t, however, anymore than a homosexual can become straight. Once a doubter, always a doubter. The reborn can say differently, but no logical human can go from one side of the prism to the other without looking back. And it seems my whole life was spent looking back to the days when religion made me feel something more than a hollow empty excuse for not allowing reason to feed your mind. Those days weren’t better; I wasn’t happier, but I was a hell of a lot more content about the inevitable nothing than I am today.
I guess that’s why I never crossed over to becoming a full-time atheist, why I play in the gray of the believer/doubter spectrum.
Binx and I spoke a little about it while I helped him move into his new place. He also said that was the purpose of religion – its true origin, to explain the nothing. I simply said that I cannot fathom nothing. I cannot understand that all this came from nothing. He told me I’m focusing too much on it. I talked to him about the thermodynamic miracle, how of all the sperm swimming for the same goal, we were the outcome. That, of course, is a topic for another day.
So Jyg’s got me listening to Ayria’s cover of the Deftones song, “Change (In the House of Flies)” and it’s not half bad – see for yourself Change (Deftones Cover) – Ayria.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep from last night. Or maybe it’s because I’m growing older and my methods aren’t as effective anymore. Either way, I’ve been in such a bum mood. Earlier today, I thought about what I’d do if my life were suddenly being taken away from me. What would I do with my final breaths? I boiled it down to three things, two of which are apologies to two people I know for a fact I’ve hurt or let down.
I’m searching in myself, hoping to find that old self to pull out. But whatever metamorphosis that has taken place has cancelled out that hope of ever recovering. I think I’m just too messed up, or something.
I’ve been reading old blog posts, reading old journals, and slowly feel that the person that wrote those passages either never existed or has long since died. Sometimes, I can visualize myself sitting on a pew speaking to a priest from my childhood. It’s always the same situation.
I’m telling the priest how much the church meant to me in my childhood and now it’s just as empty as I am.
Chapin City Blues 