Unraveled

So close.  I can practically taste it.  Six days before my big deadline with CBS.   I have a feeling this is it.  Every part of me is ready to take that big leap, into the abyss of story.  Nothing in my life can satisfy this craving.  Sadly, everyone else can feel the hunger pangs, because of my now over-anxious behavior.  

Not only that, but I am also sensing the other pillars of my life begin to crumble.  The very foundation of my life is being stirred up.  Work, I am becoming an unraveled mess.  I honestly can't explain what is wrong with my mind, but everything is pointing North when I am still South.  Do it. I am told.  I have responsibilities now.   I can't just up and leave.  Something this drastic would require at least a 2 weeks notice, which I am not able to do either.

Today at my job, I realized how unraveled and disassembled I was becoming when my boss receives an e-mail from Security.  On Sunday, I left the gym, front, and side doors wide open.  I would absolutely own up to my own neglect; however, I know for a fact that I locked those doors.  I remember helping some ladies with directions to Mustangs and Burros.  But that was not was what almost made me melt down.

Summer Shoemaker, our director of events, wanted to confirm some appointments she scheduled with me.  The frightening thing was, I do not remember having one single confirmation with her.  I was training the new girl, when I felt both sides of myself being torn apart.  Am I really going crazy?  Is this really happening?   After 15 minutes of self-torture, Summer made a mistake and sent the e-mail to Brisa.  I almost wanted to cry, because I did not want to feel like I am losing it.  I don't want anyone to feel like I am not cut out for this.  Because if I have a meltdown while at the spa, something ridiculously easy, will I ever really be cut out for this?

I got home, grabbed an IPA, Goldfish, trail mix, and began to eat my feelings.  Hello fatty, next stop: diabetes.

Susan or the Tower

Stephen King is, in my honest opinion, one of the most influential writers of the 20th-21st Century.  To date, I have read around 20 of his novels (including those under his pseudo-name Richard Bachman). Two of his novels I disliked(Tommyknockers, Cujo), three others scared me(Insomnia, Carrie, Desperation).  King has a talent to which he is able to infuse terrifying scenarios in to real-life situations.   His characters that he creates exhibit either a genuine stream of consciousness, or a genuine form of evil.  In some of King’s work, evil is not possessed by a demon or some can-tah in the mining shafts in Nevada; rather, evil is something that lies dormant within an individual, awaiting its host to snap and thus allowing evil to take control.  

Recently, I decided to begin reading his epic series entitled The Dark Tower. It is based on a poem by Robert Browning entitled “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.”  Unlike the poem however, this seven-book series involves an adult Roland Deschane, the last gunslinger, in his pursuit for the Dark Tower.  This fabled structure, standing at the center of the world, secures reality, time, and balance between both good and evil.  But Roland senses that something is wrong within the Tower, because the hinges of time and reality become unfastened around his world.   Initially, Roland begins his journey in solitude; yet as the story progresses, he begins to form a ka-tet, a team of his own apprentice gunslingers.

I know this may sound weird—and quite possibly bizarre/crazy—but I feel like Roland Deschane of Gilead, pursuing my own metaphorical Dark Tower: my career as a writer.  Without writing, the hinges to my own sanity become unfastened and become displaced my own feelings and psyche.  Writing has always been my retreat for creativity, a therapeutic comfort, and way to process what is going on within my life.   

As you follow Roland and his ka-tet on their journey, he explains a tale of forbidden love with a woman named Susan Delgado of Hambry.  However, he is forced to make a choice.  He could pursue the Dark Tower and restore balance to the world, or he could pursue his romantic endeavors with Susan.  If he choses this woman, the Dark Tower will fall and reality/time/balance will end everything under its restraints. I am not going to give the story away, so you will have to read it yoruself. But just like Roland, I am slowly coming to understand that there are better things in life than love.  Like the last gunslinger, I am forced to make a choice with my own destiny.  

They say that the people that you care about are the ones that hurt you the most.  Recently, I experienced it firsthand.  Although it was not the action itself that became the abysmal downward spiral, it did become the catalyst for my fears and insecurities to surface.

I understand that I am a complex person.  When I am upset/disappointed/angry, there are several layers buried underneath the issue at hand.  It is not the incident itself that pisses me off, but rather the underlying insecurities that haunt me.  Will I be successful in reaching my Tower?  But even once I do reach it, will I be completely satisfied?  Is love ever truly fulfilling when it has the potential of running away from you? Driving home that evening, I was plagued with these damning thoughts in my head. They soon advanced into questioning my integrity as a writer, a lover, and a human.  There are too many words to describe each facet to my doubt.  I became lost within myself, like Dante in his forest before his journey into the Inferno.

Stephen King writes in his memoir On Writing, the life of a writer is one that is damned to solitude, a prisoner within the narration of his life. However, it is having a support system always encourages a writer’s future endeavors in his literary journey.  Thankfully, I have a great support system of close friends and family that encourage me and push me closer to my goals.  My own ka-tet if you will.  

But I was not planning on falling for someone, it just happened.  I became so enthralled with this new experience, I surrendered my journey for my Tower.  As of right now, I am lost within my own choices and finding solace in whatever can pull me out of my current state of mind. Regretting the choices I made while still enjoying the times shared.  But in any case, I am hurt and brought back once again to the unresolved question: to love or be a writer?

Susan or the Tower?  Lady or the Tiger? I am trying to come to terms with understanding this ultimatum in my life.  If I put my mind to one facet of this choice to my destiny, great things can be accomplished.  Thankfully, I know I have my own ka -tet nearby.

Act Now, Apologize Later

It was the beginning to a well-deserved night out with the boys, raising hell in the city of Hillcrest. My entourage consisted of my best friend Riddick, his friend Dave, my ex Jeff, and my new friend Joel (this is not to be confused with Jeff's ex Joel). As the alcohol was flowing, so were the witty comebacks, the great company, and drink tabs. After dealing with an incredibly anxious week, this was to be the reward for all the hard work that was invested in keeping the peace within my life.

Little did I know that the events that were to take place towards the conclusion of the night initiated the beginning of an incredible train of thought that I am still not able to resolve.

Jeff, Joel, and I were making our way back to my car. It dawned on me earlier that evening that I have work at 7 a.m. the next morning and should be heading back home to get some sleep before a long day at work the next morning. I was currently working off a departing buzz while Jeff and Joel were struggling shaking off theirs. We got into my car and began to make our route to getting Jeff to his apartment so Joel and I can head back to our town.

My car halted in front of the light. It taunts me with its red luminance, refusing to change to the desired green. Inside my car, Joel was sitting in the passenger seat, his hand resting against my chair, Jeff sitting behind me. Moments later, a van to my right begins to play an overplayed Lady Gaga song. I was trying to figure out the song's title playing at full volume in the van next to us.

"It's Paparazzi." Joel mumbled. I was unable to hear, so I turned my head to face him. However as I did, I noticed something in my peripheral vision.

Joel's hand was no longer resting against my chair; but rather, resting in Jeff's crotch. I was doing everything in my power to stay calm and not release my rage in front of the traffic light. Seriously? I thought to myself as the light finally turned green. In my car?

Turning on the street where Jeff lives, I was speeding down the suburban street, doing everything humanly possible into dropping Jeff off in front of his apartment before I lose my cool. One block away from Jeff's apartment, I hear the sound of Jeff's belt being undone. Then I hear zipper teeth opening up the jean's jaws to allow Joel's hand VIP access. My heart was racing as I continued to keep cool. I see Jeff's apartment and I come to a swift halt.

"Bye Jeff." I uttered with a wavering calm tone.

The sound of Jeff's jeans rustling back up into their unexposed position was heard, almost as if he really didn't care whether I heard it or not. Joel and Jeff begin to swap phone numbers as he exited.

"Do you want to hang out with Jeff for a little bit Pablo?" Joel asks me in an almost pleading tone. He doesn't want to hang out.

"I want to sleep. So not tonight." I cockblocked.

As we begin driving home. It didn't take long before I released The Rage upon Joel. During the next thirty minutes en route to our home town of Escondido, he seeds thoughts into my head that won't seem to leave my system. No matter how many resolutions I create inside my head.

"I want you to be upfront Pablo. What's eating you?" Joel asks with a placid expression of concern.

"I'm not stupid Joel. I know what you were doing with Jeff. Seriously, you really think you could get away with it?"

"I'm not gonna lie. Yes, I did. Did that make you uncomfortable?"

"Do you really need to ask me that question? The fact that you were groping my friend in my car was definitely not your finest hour. You are lucky I don't drop your ass off and tell you to hike it on home."

"I am sorry I offended you. How I normally live my life is this: 'Act Now, Apologize Later.' I act on impulse. I do what feels right to me and I neglect any possibilities of a consequence occurring."

The conversation continued as I was speeding at 85 mph so I could drop him off so I can go home. He kept reittirating his mantra as I kept on finding a way to prove it wrong. He apologized, and I accepted it. However, one thing he said was enough to crack the ice in my thought process.

"…I think you are reacting in this way because you still have feelings for Jeff…"

When he said this, I almost told him to tuck and roll as I was on the freeway. I clarified to him that whatever assumption that he may have with Jeff/Pablo relationship is strictly on a friend level. Whatever feelings I had left for him died long ago. He is slowly becoming a person that I just pity because he is a man that has no idea what he wants, but will give up whatever opportunity that may arise for a good orgasm. "I don't care who Jeff sleeps with, where he does it, as long as it's not in my car. I am fine. I am not Jeff's boyfriend. He can go fuck himself for all I care." I bit at him.

As I dropped him off, the thoughts of our conversation continued to pop in my head. Act now, apologize later. That is one of the most immature phrases anyone can ever formulate into a mantra. When he had said this, it reverted me into realizing just how self-centered and evil humanity can be at times. Every day I spend with the general public, I realize that most people are very cutthroat and will do almost anything to find their thrill. Unfortunately, once that thrill loses its excitement, we go back on the prowl for the next great escape. The way we can sometimes pursue is almost animal-like in nature. We can manipulate and deceive those close to us so we can attain our prize. Mankind can never be completely satisfied because there is always something else that will eventually become more appealing. At times, I too am guilty of this deed.

When I first met him a month ago, I pitied him. Mainly because I saw that he was sitting by himself. I know what it's like to be alone at a bar. I hated it. So I brought my group over to the spot where Joel was sitting and invited him out to not feel alone. He had told me that his friends ditched him and that he was by himself. Maybe history repeats itself. I thought to myself. Maybe he had done this to the previous group that ditched him. I was his next carrier, like a virus.

However, I must admit. As far as people I encounter in my day-to-day, I would toy with the idea of changing my behavior into being someone that acts impulsively to get what I want. I see a majority of people around me that have the looks, the dream jobs, the acceptance, and the man that I crave. Shouldn't this be an easy adaptation? This occurs every time I see a couple kiss or a friend telling me about his new story that is in the works of possibly being picked up. But having these thoughts in my head constantly in my head began to —and still do—bother me. It haunted me because no matter what resolution that I would conceive, there was another rebuttal just around the corner. Overall, I was mad at the both of them, frustrated in the status quo of my life, and feeling very used and manipulated.

Do nice guys really finish last? Or is it just a beautiful lie that we believe as our parents read us the story of Snow White before bedtime? Is it really necessary to revert to be an asshole in order to receive the life that I want? Is living a life full of rage (because I am on the verge of getting the things that I want worth living my life) in hopes to gain power worth it? No. I explained to him that people that live for themselves end up becoming the cat lady. That's the way of a spoiled brat, an immature child, Joel's life.

But even though I knew these were the resolutions to my own thought process, I was still upset. I felt like my brain needs a reboot. So I slept, then started work at Barnes and Noble. Upon clocking in, did my resolution arrive.

I have grown up surrounded by children. One of my favorite jobs involved working as a camp supervisor, where I was paid to be a mentor. Children are my voice of reason. They are the few individuals left in the world that will say the truth right to your face. Sometimes what they say is painful, but the truth can oftentimes hurt.

A child came in with his two dads and they ordered some lattes. The child was watching me work on his dad's lattes. "Is that how you make coffee?"

My heart practically melted at his curiosity. I began to explain to him the process it takes behind making a latte. It brought me back to Mister Roger's Neighborhood's Picture Picture minus the cheesy 80's music. I promised him the next time he comes in, I will teach him how to slip decaf in a person's drink.

Everything is going to turn out for the best, I am still trying to put myself back together. On an emotional and psychological level, I feel like someone just dumped all the toys out of my box. I obediently pick up each toy and place it back in the box. By doing this, It gives me a chance to reorganize my jumbled mess, and debate whether I should keep my Jeff and Joel toys. Sure, they are nice to look at. We've had some fun adventures. But maybe it's time to send them to a thrift store along with the other second-hand messes. Maybe someone else will enjoy watching them jerk the other off in the back seat of their car. Except hopefully the next time that happens, they will kick Joel to the curb and tell him to "show some leg" to get home. Give Joel a taste of his own medicine "Act Now," and "apologize later."

The Past 13 Days.

I’m sure most of you are wondering what the hell is going on with me. Over the past three days, I have received numerous phone calls and voicemails from so many of my close friends that have done nothing but raise their pom-poms and cheer me on. I cannot thank you all enough for your prayers and your support within these past couple of days. However, I feel that most of you are in the dark as to what is going on with my life.

I feel I must warn you all, because what you are about to read is pretty gross –in my opinion that is—but I am a writer, and my job as a writer is to expose myself and be honest. So please take the discretion before continuing:

February 6 2010. Second day back at work. Everything was going all right. I was back in Escondido working at Barnes and Noble while applying to several jobs around San Diego in hopes to make amends in so many different areas of my life.

Emotionally and mentally I am fine. However physically, I was feeling crampy/sore in one specific area. Like someone kneed me to the groin and the pain is still residing. I figured I might have slept in an awkward position last night and it resulted in my discomfort. So I ignored it. However, it continued all throughout the rest of the day. It was my first date with a guy that I am currently seeing.

The next day, the pain was still there. I felt like I was not getting enough sleep and I needed a full night’s rest as opposed to my four hour sleep I had the night before. So on Sunday, two days later, I had work and was walking around totally normal. I was trying to ignore the pain because I knew that it was going to go away. Unfortunately, by the end of my six hour shift, I could barely walk and every movement felt like I was carrying a cement weight in between my legs.

Monday was my day off and I laid on the couch, beyond pain and taking drugs to dull whatever pain that is still lingering. At this point, I was starting to get very worried. I had figured it was probably a hernia.

I called a medical assistance program and arranged an appointment after yelling at them that my condition was not fit for waiting a month for treatment. They had tried setting me up for an appointment for March 11th, and there was no way I was going to wait in pain that long.

I sat in the CMS appointment and gave them the information that they had requested. Overall, CMS is comprised of women that are post-menopausal and taking it out on everyone that sits behind the double-plated glass. Sure, their job is to qualify you, but no need to take your anger or your bad day on me.

February 10th
It was when the pain went away that the real fear started to envelop me. While showering, I did my routine check on my “bits and pieces,” it was very sensitive to the touch and felt like it was swelling. When the pain was almost completely gone, I did it again and noticed something odd. There was a growth behind one of my testicles and it was not attached to the actual testicle itself.

I had arranged for a doctors appointment. He signed me up for an ultrasound so that he could find out if the growth I had developed was a cyst or if it was solid. If it was a cyst, they would give me antibiotics and it would go away; however, if it had turned out to be a solid. It could become cancerous.

Having someone tell you that your condition could be cancer is something that stays in the back your head. I had work after my doctor’s appointment, and it took me a while to recover from that hard blow. Some of the regulars that come into the store were starting to become very concerned with my well-being, but I told them I was going to be fine.

Ultrasound. Awkward, but having the warm jelly on me was enough to put me to sleep.
While I was laying there, with my legs hovering over the cold table, I felt a sudden form of peace. Now I know some of my friends are agnostic, or deist, or an atheist (and I am totally okay with that); but the only way I can describe this peace was a form was spiritual, like God himself whispered in my ear saying that everything was going to be okay and everything involving my insurance and needs were going to be taken care of. The only thing I had to do was have faith. I know that sounds very cheesy and sounding like something I may have stolen from 7th Heaven, but sometimes it’s in times of extreme crisis do I get a solution to my problem.

The one thing that is keeping me through this is by admiring characters from my shows/movies. When I was first diagnosed, I became Evita dying of ovarian cancer. Right now, I feel like God is preparing me for something big, almost like Olivia Dunham in Fringe is preparing for a battle between two alternate universes. It seems that the amount of stress I am experiencing me now is preparing me something involving the entertainment industry. Keeping them in mind helps me know that if Olivia Dunham can solve the mystery with being tested for cortexiphran, then I can for sure handle this. If I can handle the stress that is currently in my life, then the rest is going to be cake. So keeping that in mind makes enduring this task worth it, in a sense.

The doctor gave me a call yesterday, telling me that my condition is not a cyst, but something solid that needs to be removed immediately or it could become cancerous. But they need to do a biopsy to remove it or I could die. I told them that I have no means of paying for this and I am currently qualifying for medical assistance. In reply, he told me that he could talk to a doctor at the neighborhood clinic that could see me and he could help me out.

I felt fine. I was able to go to work and joke around with my regulars, put decaf coffee in those that mess with “the help,” and help cook dinner for my family while grading my sister’s math homework and work on the budget for a film I'm producing. I was able to feel like it was just another setback.

So now, you see how confident I feel that everything is going to be all right. I hope this helps put you at ease. But, I am a force to be reckoned with. I will only prove you wrong. If I could do it when I was a baby, when the doctors told me I would never be able to run, then I can definitely do this now. Shit, I am the Captain after all…

Breaking Tradition

Valentine’s Day, in its earlier years, has been all about breaking tradition and deception. One of the initial instances of this holiday began during the reign of Roman emperor Claudius II. He believed that soldiers that were married made poor soldiers and mandated that anyone serving their country be single. However, one of Claudius’ priests, Valentine, disagreed and would conduct secret marriages for the young men—sometimes the men would be as early as twelve! When the emperor found out about these marriages, he ordered Valentine to be beheaded. While he was awaiting his execution in jail, he befriended the jailer’s daughter and would send her notes inscribed: “from your Valentine.” Thus begins the tradition of the worst holiday created in history.

I don’t know why St. Valentine gets sainthood for creating the worst holiday in world history. Although his intentions were not aiming to create the biggest Hallmark holiday, they were instead used for helping people achieve the happiness that they deserve in spite of what authority may say. But I still think the holiday is one of the worst creations ever created by man, because it only proves that the emperor was somewhat right: on a day like February 14th, everyone becomes a sap for one day.

Now I feel I must backtrack, because my intentions of blogging are not to bring down the holiday. Normally, people buy gifts for their lovers on a day like today; however, I am going to break tradition. There have been three important people in my life that I feel I do not give enough credit to, because I have spent a majority of my life ignoring the things that they have done to make me into the person that I am today. Since my resolution was to repair some of the relationships that I have damaged, I felt it was appropriate to use Valentine’s day to herald these individuals in the only way I know how to show my appreciation: by writing.

Her name is Miranda, my youngest sister. She is 15 and she is taller than me. I don’t know if that makes me feel older or smaller, but in any case, she’s got the legs and figure of a model. Out of all of my siblings, I feel like she has had the hardest time growing up within our house. The reason why I say this is because me and my two other siblings, constantly picked on her. Looking back on those days, I feel ashamed that I could never take the things that I have done/said to her. Recently, I have started making a change in my behavior and interactions with my sister.

There are several things that I find in my sister that makes me really appreciate her. She is a fragile flower. She is very beautiful; but at the same time, Miranda does not show it off the way other girls do. Another trait that she possesses is the girl can talk, almost as much as me. Last Sunday, we went out for frozen yogurt, and she told me some stories. Finally, I know that she is going to become a very talented and beautiful woman when she grows up.

Next person is my other sister Kera. Growing up, we hardly got along—unless our mother bribed us. It was your typical sibling rivalry. But like all siblings that grow up together, eventually we set aside our differences and began to enjoy each other’s company. Now when I see her, I notice just how much talent she has as a both a musician as well as a person. She exposes her talent as well as her personality to the people that are involved in her life. I know one day she is going to succeed and make it big in the music industry, and she is not too far from that day either! It seems that whenever I have a problem, she is always there to listen.

Finally, we have my mother. Mothers are sacred beings. They are responsible for holding the key to a better future as well as generation. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that one of the best decisions she ever made was becoming a mother, and everyday that I am interacting with my mom, I see that she is a woman of her word. Growing up, my mom was my best friend. There was never a person that would devote themselves to finding the best decisions for their children than she.

When I was a kid, I would always write letters to my mom, because I felt that this gift was my only way of best conveying my thoughts. In return, my mother would write back, in the most beautiful penmanship. So to an extent, I want to thank my mom for encouraging me to write. Had it not been for her, I would probably be an engineer.

Valentine’s day is a day where people become sappy and emotional as they hand See’s Candy to their lovers along with some bear that will only end up at the nearest Salvation Army in six months. On a day like today, we feel obligated that we need to give gifts or express our affection to those that we care about. I am too poor as of this point to give gifts, so I would rather use the gift that my own mother gave me to let her, as well as my sisters, know how much she/they mean to me in my life. I don’t like buying cards, because they never say what is on my mind, so I would rather write in boring black and white because that’s what Valentine did the same thing.

Prodigal

Religion is a drug that can be used to better the health of an individual; however, it can be abused and drive a person to have a sense of total dependency on the belief system. In my life, Christianity has allowed me to realize that even though I may experience hard times right now, I can be certain that there is something better for me in the distant future.

In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.

However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.

Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.

Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.

It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.

Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.

I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.

In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.

Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.

I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….

How Bad Do You Want the Cheese?

I am a mouse in the middle of the gigantic labyrinth. I smell the cheese—I think it’s cheddar—but the stronger the aroma, the more dead ends I encounter. I am getting really frustrated with all the obstacles I need to cross in order to win my prize. I have been in this labyrinth for far too long damnit! I think to myself as I turn around the dead end and try another undiscovered path. I wonder if my other fellow mice feel the same way as I do.

Honestly, at this point, I am starting to enter into panic mode. The fibers that are barely holding me together are becoming unhinged one thread by one. Does God hate me? What did I do wrong?

I know I have the strength to keep on plugging through this maze. But losing sleep, getting sick, and constantly stressing about every minute of my day is not going to help me reach my goal. I cannot fail now. Not when I have come this far and endured so much.

I hate to always sound overly dramatic in always writing about my situations I encounter, but this is how I decompress the pressure I seem to be under. Like I have mentioned in the previous blogs: The pen(or in this case, the laptop) is the writer's scalpel. The only problem with this situation, a mouse in a maze, is I have another added variable to make the obstacle that much harder: I have a companion following me in this cheddar quest. I have a roommate.

I have known her since our first week at Biola University. She has helped me through a lot of once-difficult trials while attending the school. She, and our other mutual friends we met while attending the school, has grown very near and dear to me. However, upon my moving in, things seem to be falling apart at a more frequent rate; and the hardest part to my breakdown is that I am bringing someone down with me. And I am doing everything I can to keep her afloat, even if I have to submerge myself underwater to keep my dear friend from drowning.

Yesterday, I failed my Life and Health Exam. I studied my tail off for this exam, and when it came time for Judgement Day…I missed the mark. I did not shed any tears, but it put me in a weird contemplative state to where I am now contemplating almost every move I have made in my life within this past year. Is this what encountering a breakdown is like? If so, why isn’t God here to deliver me, or at least show me direction in my next step?

I thought I did good enough for the test, but obviously it’s going to take a more fervent effort to pass this major obstacle. With this job, I am promised an amount that will assist in making things in my life right again. It will be a path that will reward me a small sample of what success tastes like when I eventually make my way into the TV industry.

The one thing that rests in the back of my head in midst of all this: How bad do you want the cheese? It tempts me like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert. I can smell it’s pungent aroma, it has the strong scent that has enough power to make even my whiskers salivate with an indescribable longing. I thought I wanted this, but one of the new lessons I am learning in this City of Angels: I am going to have to want this more than anyone else if I am going to get by and survive while doing everything I can to make my life, as well as my living situation, right again. Maybe that will be the key to solving this labyrinth.