October 2009 Archives

I found a wallet today full of money. You should have seen it! This puppy was oozing green. It was a smörgåsbord of hefty legal tender. It was plump full of answers to oh so many of life's little problems. At the very moment, my conscious split into two separate personalities. One was called Id the other ego.

Id sported little horns and tail and sat on my left shoulder. Ego sported an angelic toga, halo, and harp and sat opposite on the right.

Id wanted nothing more than a shopping spree and ego a Good Samaritan award.

And so the moral battle began and fiercely lasted a whole two seconds. Ego turned super-ego and whopped Id's behind, before I hastily returned the wallet at the front the desk.

SIGH...The easier choices always seem to be the hardest.

The guy came in about ten minuets after receiving the call from the front desk clerk. He was huffing and puffing and a little teary eyed; I suppose in anticipation of having a wallet returned to him, devoid of his hard earned money.

He was a little shocked and overwhelmed with joy once he realized that the wallet's contents were as they were whence he lost them.

It turns out that he had just cashed his paycheck. I suppose that the teary eyed composure was implicit of the fact that he's probably having just as hard a time as I.

God knows that should I have lost that wallet in my present state of affairs, I would probably have had a conniption. Overall, I am glad that it worked out for him.

He ended up giving me twenty dollars and a handshake that lasted what at some point seemed an overly extend awkward gratuitous attempt of an apology for perhaps wanting to, but knowing deep inside that this was the best thank you he could afford.

To flan or not to flan; That is the question.

I received a body mass index reading at the gym the day before. After calculating age and weight then pinching my skin in four different places I was told that I am at 12%.

They stated that 15% is considered ideal for a fella my age and went on to add that I was hence doing much better.

But all I could think about was...15 minus 12 equals 3 guilt-free slots I get to fill.

And so, I made paella, shrimp stew, salad with fresh mozzarella, maple baguette slices, and later sealed the deal with a cream cheese flan I baked the night before.

Problem solved.

I have been up since 5:30am. I am starting to lose count of how many cover letters and resumes I have sent out today. The impeding future is a tremendous burden on the present. It's a yoke I care not to carry, yet tightly bound round my neck.

The days come and go and nothing changes. I have remained unemployed now for nine months. That would hence be the longest period of time I have remained unemployed since I was 15.

However, the bills continue to mount and the other half of the rent is all packed and about to move away any day now.

It's a whole lot to take in but that's exactly where it resides, in, in my head. All the worries, the heartbreak, the not having, the not getting, and worst yet, the not knowing, all transform into a deafening symphony that I am unable to turn off but apparently from time to time ignore.

I submerge myself in the mundane to keep the noise away. There are so many little responsibilities to tend to, so many small distractions by which to keep myself busy and the roar of my outer walls crumbling at bay.

And so, I fret over the day to day, the worldly, the smoke and mirrors of my composed façade.

And yet the moment I come to halt, the minute I close my eyes, sit, or become distracted the broadcasting begins and my mind becomes swarmed by the multitude of problems I try and dismiss.

It is then that my heartbeat quickens, my mouth becomes parched, swallowing difficult, and anxiety rears its ugly head and takes command of the situation.

The waves of panic then begin and I soon become unable to hear my own self think, until again, I am somehow able to pushback the cacophony to the easily forgotten, often overlooked but ever looming background.

Dear God,

I hate my life. It can't be mine. Excuse me, but something seems to have gone astray, a heavenly clerical mistake of sorts. Would you please give my case a second look? It would mean a lot, and we do go way back. I mean, you were there my day of conception or something, right?

Another thing, can you have someone up there take a look at my connection? I don't think any of my prayers are going through. I do apologize; hopefully I am not being a terrestrial nuisance.

Should the present state of my mortal coil be based on your decision, please excuse my audacious mundane questioning of the heavenly.

Yet, should my life case-file have been placed in the back burner of your graces, I beg you to quickly intercede. This gift that you have given me has been compounded by so much strife that I have been rendered incapacitated and unable at present to see any of the joys of the world around me.

My life lacks love and blessings and it tears at every fiber of my being. My fortune turns consistently for the worst, and worst of all my belief in my self and ability to imagine myself in a better place lacks overall positive creativity.

Could this be your plan for me? Is this retribution for having gone horribly astray in a past existence? The sins of my fathers? Stealing that Rapala fishing lure at K-mart when I was 14? Not having gone back to confession in some time?

Should I be steering Penta...Bapti...Luther...Episc...Advent...oh come, a little help here. Send me a sign; the animated windows help paperclip with a halo or something.

Wait, is Mormonism the key? Don't tell me Joseph Smith hit it on the nail.

Could it be real time hocus pocus from a here now enemy that communes with the dark side? Is it the African deities bit? Did I get that all wrong when I convinced my self that the good book was one big political ploy of the heydays?

It is not the queer thing right? I mean if we were a real problem you could just twiddle your finger and give us bad complexion and sever hemorrhoids, I mean that might just about wipeout 99.9% of the fashion savvy, finger snapping, H&M shopping, spittle-lisping, Miss Honeys outs there and that's a whole lot of us.

If it is, I'll need a really really good sign. For example, Gary Coleman in a basket sporting a cherub costume, diaper and miniture harp would do.

I suppose that this is perhaps not a very good way to go about experiencing the "joys" involved in this thing called life, ironically at times "gift", yet usually referred to as same shit different day.

I suppose, that it doesn't really matter what we call. Understand that the words we interchangeably use from time to time to express the experiences which encompass the "gift", a great many times happen to suck, and the irony of the eclectically accepted stand of refereeing it a gift when it may very well be a time bomb in an over done gift wrapped box is an all together different argument.

So can I get a little help here, joy would be good, a gig, some love, selfconfidence, a voice to say no, the c-o-jones to use it, to be/feel special, do great things, give of myself to the world without remorse rather then wake up everyday and feel that the universe is taking much more than it is providing.

I hope you understand my bind and will hopefully answer in haste.

Amen

William, Rudy, and I smeyezing it up @ D-Tox

Last Night: Kokonuts in the BX

Patroling the fig tree is a relentless ongoing duty.