Oh, Epiphany

Oh, Epiphany

In one solemn moment the realization hits me. I'm walking through the Company parking lot slowly soaking under the rain and gray overcast sky and a bell rings in the back of my head. I get it now.

Not to beat the proverbial “dead horse” but I realize what had went wrong on my end with the “redheaded girl.” I didn't know how to go about things. I was wanting to “connect” and in one moment was with a woman that I didn't feel on even ground with. I was in a situation that I didn't feel I had any control over. In the back of my head I knew what it was all about but I wanted something more. Something substantial. Something concrete. I was intimidated and did everything I felt I could to impress someone and lost sight of what they might have liked in me and in its stead became a figure looking for more than a good time – I wanted to be someone for somebody. Unfortunately that wasn't on the “available options” list. If I had to do it all again... I don't know. Would I trade the experience? No. However I don't believe I would've bothered having anything else to do after the initial night because I would know that nothing would come from it. Junk love. I guess that's how it goes...

I'm sitting at work talking with a co-worker, Randall, and chatting via e-mail with another co-worker, Rachel. Randall appreciates music refs pre-2000s because he stopped listening to music after hearing “she thinks my tractor's sexy.” He's a few years older than me and has a degree in psych. I asked him what his story was and he tells me bits and pieces of how he wound up in Kentucky. We discuss language for a moment and he concedes that after moving down here from Michigan it was pointless to use words with more than three syllables. I make the snarky comment that it's “no country for smart men.”

Rachel is interesting being a seemingly avid reader. I saw her in the cafeteria today and invited her to come sit and talk with me for a little bit. After, we chat back and forth through e-mail (and she's decently verbose) She makes the comment that she finds me interesting and refreshing to talk with someone who doesn't talk down to her. I thank her for the compliment and remember all the times that I've heard someone tell me, “It's nice to talk with someone intelligent for a change.”

So I'm back to walking in the rain and piecing together things and it really is like those moments when you're watching a movie that shows the “important” scene at the beginning and takes another hour-and-a-half to get back to showing you why that scene was important. The redheaded girl and Randal and Rachel all get lumped together into the puzzle that provides the clues to why I get depressed, where my confidence lies, etc. I realize that more than anything I like to be appreciated for being smart and I rarely, if ever, feel that happens to me by ones I'm interested in as if this Christianity-steeped backwater that so fears intelligence as if it's the “bad apple” from the tree in the Garden of Eden wholeheartedly believes that intellect is a bad thing. Sure, you can be smart in a “savvy” way but to exude thought in a way that doesn't showcase me in some ComicCon nerd-way is beyond peoples' understanding. I am not the smartest person in the world and I have no problem with admitting that. Just because I am intelligent it does not make me rich and not every rich person is smart. I grew up middle-class poor with no real direction except for what I thought I might like to do. I worked up from having speech problems, biting a teacher and failing a grade to being in an advanced program in high school. But, that's a story for another time.

And I also realize my disconnect between how other people see me and how I see myself (also reason I had problems with the redheaded girl). I have no clear idea as to how others view me. Inside, I find myself the same schlubby 285-pound nice guy whose head looks like a block of cheese with a nose and set of ears. To others I look confident (at times), know what I want, etc. Inside I still feel like I have to be the “nice guy” and that no one wants me for who I am (again, carryover from being the “big guy”) I lived a lifetime where it was easier to believe that no one was interested in me because I was fat or weird. Now I just don't always know how to relate and I'm not in tune with the “princess complex.”

And my epiphanies are all rolled up into these thoughts; these “facts.” It's difficult for smart people to feel appreciated and the less they are the more we feel lost and have problems communicating and experiencing. Just an observation.

How It Goes I Do Suppose...

“It's been a while...” -Staind

So it has. I've been blogging more and more infrequently because I just haven't wanted to. And God knows I've had a bunch of shit going on.

First and foremost is the fact that my savings are gone. Done. Depleted. I shelled out at least $1800 on my teeth in the form of two root canals and a crown. No fun. On top of that I had to go to Urgent Care then Jewish Hospital in order to find out that my next biggest obstacle is whatever the hell is going on with my gall bladder. It seems that I either have gallstones or a bladder infection. At any rate I have to watch how much I eat and what I eat. Big fun.

Next on the order of things: I may have a girlfriend. I'll say that her name is Allison and that she's cool. I like her a lot. In the event that she runs across this blog this'll be all I can say about her for the moment because she seemed to get upset with the idea of me writing/blogging about her so again, that's all that I'll say about her.

A small part of my soul died on Wednesday and I damn near cried. I went to orientation for a shitjob through a temp agency. While the job may be alright and there'll probably be benefits better than others I'm not holding my breath for what all I can do for the company. Been there, done that, got screwed-over.

And so I've been learning a lot during my sojourn in unemployment. The big thing is that I do not handle change which may not bode well in the future. When Jen left and suddenly I had to fill a big emotional void with nothing, that sucked. When I was fired and found myself not knowing how to get another job or what I was going to do with my life again, a void I had to fill. Maybe it's learning and maybe it's growing up but it hurts like hell. I know that I need to figure out a way to work for myself and I believe I can do that through photography but the starting point is eluding me. For the moment I'm reading a book about the business of photography and seeing what I want to do next. I'll keep ya posted.

I don't know what else to write about now. My car is on the fritz again (radiator, I think) so I'll have to pick up “lead balls” to put into the system in order to “fill” any holes that may be leaking (or so my friend suggests). I guess that I'm just tired and down to the end of my “unemployed days.” I get to call Allison tomorrow to schedule for Saturday after which I'll have a better idea as to where I'm heading.

The Summer's (Almost) Out of Reach

Oh, little online diary... How is everyone out there? Anyone still reading this?

A lot of things have been going on in my world. I almost wrote a blog called, “Notes on Not Turning 40” and it still resides somewhere in my laptop. I'm not going to call it back up or cheat ya by doing the copy-and-paste but then how would you know?

Ahem.

Well, I'm not 40 so I guess that's a good thing. I have three friends that I know turned 40 this year: Julia, Jamie, and Tamara. Julia's birthday is a week after mine while Jamie's and Tamara's were within days of each other. I spent some serious bank on hanging out with both of them; no regrets.

I wanted to write a column in which I allude to those things that I've learned but I think I'll save that for my end-of-year wrap-up. I recall turning 25 and blathering about what all I've learned in life up to that point and now it seems I learn, or relearn, things yearly. If there's anything I can say for sure it's that I'm a guy who's 34 but passes for late 20s which causes a little bit of issue when the only available girls are in their twenties and there is a little bit of a “creepy” factor when you're toward your mid-thirties and aside from a bunch of stuff have nothing of status to show for it. I'm more than a man-child but less than the “responsible” single parent 30s male. How it goes I do suppose...

So... I'm talking on the phone with my mom tonight who informs me that my sister is under a lot of stress. Apparently she's lonely as well and lumps all of her brothers and her uncle (ergo, my roomie) into the “helplessly single” category that she doesn't want to be in. Hey, each of our stories are different and for what it's worth my brothers have the “steady” girlfriends. My own story is a bit more complicated.

I've been watching a lot of movies lately; more than at any other point of the summer. In the space of a week I watched “Mirage” (with Gregory Peck), “Rise of the Planet of the Apes,” “Diabolique,” “Ed Wood,” and “Panic Room.” “Mirage” had some interesting ideas but fell into aging itself by its end in delivering a heavy-handed moral message that today's society wouldn't stop for a second to receive. “Rise of the Planet of the Apes,” proved that damn, dirty CGI apes could provide the backdrop for an interesting drama and sign me up for whatever is next in the series. “Diabolique” is a French film that has been called “the movie Hitchcock never made” (trivia: someone beat him to getting the rights to adapt the book for cinema) and has one of the best twist endings I've ever seen. “Ed Wood,” is a beautiful black-and-white jaunt back to the 50s cinema and the touted “worst director of all time,” Edward D. Wood, Jr. (although I think Uwe Boll may have him outdone). “Panic Room” I had watched a decade ago and, having seen director Fincher's previous fare, “Fight Club,” I was not overly impressed. My friends and I wrote it off as being an “apology” to the women of Hollywood and media for the misogyny of “Fight Club.” That may have been so at the time. Removed from that point in time “Panic Room” is an intelligent, well-crafted drama that I appreciate more now than I thought I would. Some movies are just ahead of their time...

Oh yeah. I almost forgot. The “employment” thing. I've been searching for jobs through sites such as Monster.com, Careerbuilder.com, and Mediabistro. Added to this is figuring out how to market myself (more than ground chuck, less than prime cut) and figuring out the freelancing world. Which brings me to...

Focusing. This has been my problem for the past few months. While May and June were essentially the “freefall” from being fired, and July became my vacation and getting sick from a tooth infection, by August I'm fine and trying to “pull myself up from my bootstraps.” What did I want? A life where I could go to a coffeeshop with my laptop and work for a while then go home and do whatever. Well, I have that minus the cashflow coming in. In the “venture forth” ideology just because you bought the ticket and are standing in the station doesn't mean you're guaranteed to go anywhere – you still have to board the train. Here's to hoping I get a good seat.

I keep thinking back to my life before my trip. The big question then, during, and after is, “What next?” My friends Cheryl and Rob and a few others want to know my next move. At best all I can tell them is that wherever I get an opportunity is where I'm going whether it's Chicago, Seattle, New York, or L.A. (will also consider Denver) That's the best answer that I have.

Other things on my mind tonight: a friend and I were talking the other night and we got into a discussion about personal politics. I can see how other people relate to other people and the implications of such but as for myself I don't/can't play the political game. I spent some offtime mulling this one over and I think back to my foray into the politics of people: SPC-TV. While in college I was part of a student run TV station and witnessed firsthand what happens when people get, lose, take, and receive power. The little bit of “power” that I had came from the fact that I wasn't afraid to call out those who abused it and I had been respected by the advisors and thereby had an “untouchable” status. I was jabbed at other ways and have learned a few things from it such as never conceding when you're down because the wolves are more than eager to rip you apart. Sometimes I question the idea of responsibility in leadership when those who come into power often have no concept of such; no consequence nor conviction I guess. Maybe the answer is to say, “Fuck it,” and beg, borrow, and steal. I don't want to believe it but that's the direction the train is rolling to.

As I tell my friends this is the part where I take the conversation offramp. I got a lot of things churning around in my head tonight and can't articulate any more for the time being.

Adventures with Michael Episode 1: Outside the Back Door

For those of you who are non-locals there's a bar in Louisville called The Back Door. No, it's not a gay reference; it's the most neutral bar in the area. Residing on the east side of the MidCity Mall it's a bar where most of the locals, especially those living in the Highlands, congregate. No matter creed, color, age, or orientation the Back Door serves anyone and everyone in-between. The drinks are fairly cheaper than other bars and their pub menu is pretty good. I recommend the Door Knobs (fried breaded mushrooms).

Saturday night's adventure started around 1am. We had previously came from a friend's birthday party held at a farm in Canmer, KY which found us traveling the first twenty minutes with fog on the windshield that didn't want to go away. Arriving in Hikes Point after midnight we went to McDonald's and “shot the shit” outside before driving over to the bar.

It was packed. I managed to wrangle a booth that apparently sat three people before us. Michael stood in line waiting to order some beer while I sat in the booth. A while later he showed at the table with a pitcher of beer.

“Ever have Falls City?”

“No,” I replied.

“Well, they ran out of Stella. Ever have Oberon?”

“No.”

“Well, I asked what else they had. I asked them if it tasted anything like Stella and they said, 'No.' So I ordered this.”

I wasn't a fan of it. However, I wanted to get drunk. I had spent most of the rest of the day in the sun at the farm going through 5/6^th of the bottled Schlafly that I picked up and still didn't feel drunk. I'm diabetic. What was up with that?

We're sitting in the booth people-watching. He cracks a joke every now and then but my mind is elsewhere. I don't know the location. Michael points out a blond woman standing next to a group of guys who are taller and more muscular. The blond is flirting between two guys. She's older and is wearing a ring on her ring finger.

“Y'see her? She still thinks she has it. Back in the day I bet she was something. She still thinks she is but her chest dropped years ago. She's still trying to hold onto the idea.”

The sound in the room is from the volume of people talking and the amount of people inside. Michael is surprised by the fact that back in the day he could go there and it was a quiet bar – not anymore. I nod and agree still off in my mind somewhere.

Now I'll point out two women who'll come into play later. The first is a young girl – 5'2” at best, white shirt, red mini-skirt, with high heels to match her short, jet black hair. The second woman is a little older with brunette hair, leopard blouse hugging her curves, white skirt, and tan high heels who moves like she has the money to or is in search of it.

Nothing important really happens for a while. I put in an order for the Door Knobs (fried breaded mushrooms) and we sit and eat them. After Michael is dying for a cigarette so I point him to the outside smoking section. He asks if I'm going to follow and I just want to sit there and finish the drink I have in front of me. I do so and walk into the smoking area and speak with him. We then decide it's time to go.

The next, friends, is a lesson in watching the human condition.

Our cars being parked next to each other we stood beside them talking. Michael goes through a few cigarettes while I relate the fact that I don't know what the hell is up with me – part of me just wants to be alone and I don't know why. Maybe my natural defense for being alone. Again, I'm relaying this while standing next to the two cars that came in together: a four-door sedan and a sport-utility one. Three girls had poured out of them earlier when we were walking from the lot toward the bar. Suddenly, one of the girls walks to her car. She's short in a straight black dress with pinned-up brunette hair and glasses. Michael starts talking to her:

“Wow, that was quick. Are you good to go home?”

“Yes,” she said as she opened her car door.

“Not even drunk. In this town that's a rare flower.”

She stops. “Yes. A rare flower.” She shuts the door, cranks the engine, and takes off.

Michael turns to me. “Remember how she came with two other girls? She's not getting laid tonight and she's pissed about that.”

Some time later one of the other girls comes out and gets into her sports-utility vehicle. Michael says something and she smiles. He turns to me and says something about her being upset and not getting laid either when a guy pulls up in a small, white car and rolls down the window, talking with her. They drive off together.

“I'm thinking that the other girl got to go home with someone else. That girl is pissed upset about her choice.”

A couple walk toward us: a black man and a blond-haired woman. The woman banks left while the guy approaches us. He asks us if we like the Nappy Roots and proceeds to sing us a song. After completing we tell him that we don't have any change. He proceeds to sing us another song when a white van pulls up and calls for him. He runs toward it and it leaves.

Minutes later a blond wearing a thin, gray shirt and black “skorts” walks up to us. She's cute but pretty drunk. She tells us her name but we get it incorrect. I ask her questions that she avoids directly answering. She leaves us to go inside the Back Door.

The girl with the jet black hair and red miniskirt walks outside the bar with a group of friends. She walks over to a four-door sedan and gets inside while a few others pile in the car. A tall, lanky guy in a white t-shirt and shorts almost gets in the car when a group of friends shouts, “Hey Drew! Don't fuck her!” He runs from the car over to the group of guys who shouted at him. Michael says that the guy looks like a marionette. A girl in a black-and-white striped minidress runs to the car and crowds in from the right side. The guy runs back and gets into the left hand side and the car takes off.

A group of guys gets into a large, red Ford F-150 and begins to leave the parking lot when the brunette I mentioned earlier, along with a blond friend, approach the truck and make it stop. The blond starts bartering with the guys inside and the brunette says, “Because I have never been to a White Castle before.” They're let in and the truck takes off.

Michael and I try getting the drunk blond girl's name right. I think it's “Stasha.” Michael says that she may be Russian or Eastern Bloc. She passes by us another time, waving as she leaves the parking lot.

A guy walks out to his car parked two spaces up from us. He's tall, thin, with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Michael says something about the guy going home alone. He shrugs as if luck is against him for the night.

“Man, are you a model or something? You should be a model,” Michael tells him.

A friend walks up to the guy standing next to his car and gets into his jeep. They take off for somewhere.

I mention the fact that it's been a weird night because none of the chicks in the bar seemed to notice me. His reply was that it seemed that most of them were after the taller and more muscular guys who were in there. I see the point of truth in that and realize that is one of the only times when I've been to that bar and watched that happen.

The drunk blond girl returns and we wave her over to us. Michael asks if she's looking for a boy and she shrugs. Held in her hand is an empty pack of American Spirit cigarettes. Stasha stands next to me for a moment before leaving for the Back Door again. Michael comments that she's a “lost soul.” We call it a night and leave.

Hey Look! A New Blog Post!

It's a beautiful, lazy Sunday here in Chaslandia (I'm petitioning Google to put it on a map). I look at my personal blog and it's been over a month since I've posted anything. In fact the last posting found me burnt out and tired of damn near everything around me. So let's catch up, shall we?

July 1 – July 15 I went on a two-week long trip. I spent a few days with my friend Rob and his wife Vicky and kid Elijah in Warrenville, IL (about an hour outside Chicago). Being so wrapped-up in my own life it was nice to be out with friends and not have to worry about the rest of the bullshit surrounding me. July 4^th I finally went to the top of the Sears/Willis Tower for the first time. It's amazing.

July 5 – 7 I took a series of buses out to Seattle, WA. My trip in which initially had the veneer of being a business trip became personal and I practiced the art of “just being.” Just being me. It made all the difference in the world. I blew through money, did a few things I didn't think I would (spent $110 at a Deja Vu), and walked around Seattle. A lot. I enjoyed myself and didn't mind the rest of the world.

July 15^th I returned to my life in the ebb of the West Coast vibe. At the very least the world had changed temperature and it was friggin' hot. For the first week back I felt like a stranger in my native land as if my happiness was now looked down upon. It was odd.

It's been a month solid that I've been back and the world has settled down. In the interim I met John Carpenter (“The Fog,” “Halloween,” “In the Mouth of Madness”) and walked by Henry Winkler a few times. I gained a new FB friend named Syntheia. I returned to the film group that I formed and have been seeing what I can do/be with them. To cap everything off I had a tooth infection which led me to be “down” for a few days and to a $1200 combo root canal/crown.

But the world isn't completely horrible. Yes, it's been 3 months since I was let go. Yes, I'm out a little bit of money. Yes, I've been applying and haven't had any callbacks or interviews. No, all is not lost.

Broken Funkin’ Record

Say that three times fast.

It’s 1am EST as I begin writing this and the funk/depression of unemployment, and a few other factors, is hitting me pretty bad. I talked with a friend, my ex Rebecca, who asked what my status was.

“Tired. Burnt out. Flailing. Lost.”

“Well, you’ve always been at least two of those.”

“Which two?”

“’Flailing’ and ‘lost.’”

And she might just be right. Every day that passes seems to stretch on with no end in sight. The roomie came home today and mentioned a Yahoo! article about finding a job and that it was best to find a position to submitting your resume to places that you would like to work at. Problem is that I have NO place in this town where I really want to work. Don’t let this be confused with refusing to work; that’s another matter. But some Corporate entity where I feel my skills would best be put to use? I honestly don’t know of any here.

The other stinger for all of this is that my skills – typing, data entry, computer bullshit – can be used damn near anywhere. A lot of entry-level positions require the skills that I have but when applying online most of the companies that are hiring for these are going through temp services which means that I’ll be back in the temp racket soon enough. Bully for me.

I’ve been meaning to update on everything going on with me but even writing has felt antithetic to an extent. In the midst of figuring out who I am and what I’m good at I walk away from it a lot because sometimes this shit just feels painful to do. And I’m getting lazier at it which is of no use to those who may enjoy reading whatever I throw up on here if they enjoy any of this at all. In the stead I’ve been journaling while trying to figure out some new mystery story. I handwrote three pages about the toll that fear of reprisal has on being a writer.

Which brings me to yet another point to grouse upon: placating. My friend Diane called me a few days back and wanted my opinion/editorial expertise on a poem she wrote for Stephen Hawking. While talking on the phone with her Facebook was brought up and I talked about blogging, journaling, and what-have-you and a point came across that maybe some shit should just be kept to myself instead of publishing it to the masses (who would have to actually LOOK for this blog, mind you). “If some girl is interested in you and she looks you up on Facebook then reads something bad you wrote about somebody or something else…” Well, fuck. I learned my lesson from obliterating the bridge I had with Mojo so… yeah. I know about this. I made a mistake. I’m never going to get that one back.

Speaking of soundbites as of late I was hanging out at Sully’s down on 4^th Street late Friday night and ran into a woman I haven’t seen in nearly nine months. She was drunk alright but could handle more than I ever could. My friend Michael was hanging out with me, hitting on her, and both were joking back and forth about me. At one point she said, “Charles is too smart to have any fun.” That hurt. A bit. A lotta fuckin’ times it feels that way…

Saturday night and I began falling in love with someone… again. Gawd she looked beautiful – cherry red lipstick, black-and-white striped shirt that hugged her body, black Capri pants. I’ve been turned down by her before but everything got really person again. The best lines I could come up with were “You make me stupid,” and “I like you a helluva lot.” Romantic, right? I pursue love like a tragedy. Her response: “You’d probably be good for me but I would just wind up burning down a house or something,” which equates to, “No, I’m not interested in you because it would be serious and I am crazy. Literally crazy.” Damn me…

Speaking of love I’m pretty much done. Finito. Take me off the list. Remove my ad. I have done that, actually – I am no longer on Plenty of Fish nor OKCupid. A fellow LSC member as well as traveler named Jerry was pointing me toward the singles hiking group that meets Thursday night but with it raining and whatnot, I might not end up going. Then again I’m supposed to go watch my friend Amanda perform outside the coffeeshop where she works.

Anyway I’m just done with the whole mess of it. I’m unemployed, tired, burnt out, blah, etc. and if the only ones I can find I am not even remotely attracted to then it’s over. So many respond “Don’t give up,” etc. My only other option is to “play along” like I can date and have relations when I’m SO late into the game. I swear that I’m the last person in a long line and whenever I try meeting someone it’s like I have to go through this game where sex is the proverbial “pot o’ gold” at the end of it all. Sorry. This dog is fucking tired. Whatever you might have to offer is probably not worth my time anyway.

I just want out, people. That’s all. Cash in my chips. Let me go on down the road. Pray for the sweet blackness to envelop me as I close my eyes. Is that too much to ask?

I swear that I’m only here as some being’s cruel attempt to humor themselves. “Well, I feel so broke up I wanna go home…”

The Heartest Part...

And we're back.

For those not keeping tally I've been unemployed for at least a month. April 28^th; that's the day everything went to change. I'm not sure if it'll be back...

Since then I've been doing numerous things including gaging my life. Unemployment does that to ya; it's like I was dating a chick who not only threw me out of her place but told me that my “going away” present was to the tune of $3,900. Aside from that there's the door. Please shut it on the way out.

And apparently this chick called “employment” is important. She makes you look good when you're with her. Gives you a sense of purpose. Once you lose her “single leprosy” kicks in and your fairweather friends scatter to the four winds. If you're able to pick up another within two weeks you're good; otherwise it's the whole “crossing endless desert to find an oasis”-thing trying to find another. If you know anything about me and relationships then you know I'm not in a good spot right now. Not at all. Once the love is gone it's just a matter of both sides playing their cards until one calls the other's bluff.

So I've been wracking my brain and trying to find a job doing what I really want to do. My problem is that I no longer want to do customer service work (thankless and soul-crushing as it is) and... I don't want to live in Louisville any longer.

There. I said it. Are you happy now?

I've not been wanting to stay in this town since 2008 but I have because of medical issues, car issues, etc. I've spent the last year+ trying to “live life” and got banged around a lot. I guess that's what happens when you spend years avoiding it because of depression and anxiety, not to mention not really having a “friend” base. As I've pointed out in previous blog postings – everything has pointed toward me going out and pursuing what would really make me happy because it just hasn't happened yet.

Happiness. I try to understand the concept. My dad is Presbyterian to the core which makes for no “warm fuzzies” that everyone else in life gets. I don't ever remember my parents saying anything to me about doing well at spelling or really paying any attention to the minutiae of my existence. Maybe I carry that with me and pass it on to others without them understanding. Maybe life is a matter of feeling “appreciated.”

Sunday my friend Michael and I were sitting at Highland Liquors having a few beers and watching the traffic on Bardstown Rd. Michael called me on my proverbial “bullshit” and challenged me to go back into my writing. I find myself not knowing entirely what's wrong with me but acknowledging the hint of truth to what I say: that I can write whereas not a lot of others can. My movie blog gained some notoriety, my writing at Mojo was top-notch, etc. Why? I know film like a mofo. In my lifetime I had one poem published by a campus book, helped form a newspaper, helped a friend of mine start her magazine, became a movie critic, etc. I just wished I had been paid more.

But I enjoyed doing it for the most part (exception: reviewing horrible movies). And there's a truth in the fact that if I'm not vomiting what's inside me on a page or blogging it I don't feel good. There's a release of sorts that comes from this creativity and I'd be stupid not to follow it.

And folks: have I been dumb.

I've also noted that I'm a firm believer in the Calvinistic principle that everything happens for a reason. I think that I was “terminated” not just because I was burnt out (although I think that was the official “unofficial reason”) but that it needed to happen. Life's lessons aren't the five-minute wrap-up morals of a thirty-minute show. Sometimes they hurt in order to help. I take the fact that my friends Andy and Michael are pushing me to get back into filmmaking, me getting “released,” and all the subsequent depression and long-looking and combing-over of my life as a huge sign pointing to “it's now or never.” And yes, Elvis is singing.

I stand wandering between the button that says “RESET” and the highway “EXIT” sign. I have the opportunity to “make a go” in a city of my choosing (currently: Chicago or Seattle). I've been weighing the pros and cons not only of the two cities themselves but also of leaving the 'Ville. I don't know why I'm hesitant – that trepidation that comes with making some decision. I've been here before but it's been nearly a decade. Last time I threw my life into the wind and tried making a go in California. I lost but not without some lessons gained. This time around I don't want to lose again.

I weigh the “worst” that can happen. I imagine either a plane ride or a bus ticket back to Louisville. And what would I be doing once I got back? Same damn thing I'm doing now: looking for work, going to trivia Meetups, having coffee, etc. There would be no change. Maybe a few things lessened due to lack of funds but honestly I would fall back into this routine again if it exists and I'm pretty sure it would.

So, I have nothing to really lose except the $3,000 or so that will be in my bank account by the end of the month. Hopefully $4,000 by the time I want to leave in July. The most difficult part of all of this isn't so much trying to “cash in” any sort of favors it's really... following my heart. I'm not wrapped into whether or not I have kids, or the mortgage, or even something to impress everyone else (though it would be nice). I think I'm just going to try following what makes me happy as difficult as that may be.

First step in all of this is that I'm taking a sabbatical of sorts. I've spent too much time on Facebook and it seems that most of my “friends” are incommunicado or just don't want to talk with me. Maybe they're busy. Maybe it's unemployment “leprosy.” Either way all I can say is that the loneliness of it all is still here and just like those times when I called ten friends and not one would answer, I'm completely there again. Here's to staying off the grid for a few...

Derezzed,

-C