AA: Albatross' Antics

I have a problem with anger.

I tend to observe the world around me and quickly become unamused with their pitiful antics and dramatic trifles. I developed this problem at a young age and have carried it like a disease for years. I don't think my close relationship with the sarcastic life lessons of Samuel Clemens aids either.

Opening scene, my first grade class, consisting of a small collection of fairy tail and Dr. Seuss books on a red shelf in the corner and roughly fifteen snot-nosed, raggedy children on stools with crayons. We were about to take a test on biology and some of the children misrepresented an albatross during class time. I being the little wealth of knowledge I had taught myself to become, was quick to offer my help and quickly give my friends the answer before the teacher, Ms. Agulair a lovely stout lady who always smelt of cinnamon with loose dark curls, called upon them. Instead of listening to me, a child obsessed with discovery channel and books who wanted to help my friends, I lost my lunch group and had to sit alone for the remainder of the year, reading books and talking to myself.

It seemed this moment would forever curse me. I never was able to stop learning and had a bad habit of thrusting in pockets of educated conversation in to deliberations among friends. I do admit, there are times when I come off as a 'smart-ass' to people who don't want to take the time to know me. Crash the gavel down and judge me, I'm human.

But was that really all that bad?

Apparently so.

For this lack of sympathy for the individuals of this world who choose to neglect their conscious mind/right thought and instead take up the passions of ridicule and infliction of pain upon others, has made me, for lack of a better phrase, over the bull-shit.

You may wonder how I got through dredging years of school? so do I.

However, I do have, in a way, learned to cope with this fault of mine. I work daily on trying diminish it with pleasant thoughts and CNN, but when it seems to be all but gone, it flares back up on me like a case of herpes.

So here I sit, with my angerpes and a voice that sounds faintly of yoda telling me to not go to the dark side.

May I ask why is it the dark side is so good? It is much easier to hate and cut people down with my light saber of words then search my feelings and repair the galaxy with the force of compliments and understanding.

The dark side: hate+frustration= bigger base and cooler weapons.

How will I ever defeat it?

There is no local Mount Doom where I can dump this ring of an error into and simply be; a free little person who gallivants among rolling hills smoking pipe weed and eating delicious meats.

Another thing I hate, meat.

Hate.

I've tossed the thought of moving to a distant land, maybe a change of scenery would do me good. But, I have done this all before and wind up back in the sand pit I started in. Of course there is the possibility it would look as if I was running from something. I don't run, and I am not wrong. There goes that option for now.

Back to reality.

The color black, although slimming, is not one of my favorite colors so therefore there is no way I could really be part of the dark side. I like to make a statement with clothing and frankly, Sidious would have no apprentice with coral TOMS and flowered shorts serving him.

It looks like I'll have to suck air and deal with the ignorant fools of the world.

Write a book.

Become famous.

Poof.

There it is, a solution.

On to the issue of organizing characters and a plot line.

Becoming famous; staying average.

The world is a stage.

How many times have we heard that and just allowed it to pass by? Just another repeated saying, added to the countless familiar lines that collect like dust in our cerebral cortex. But, has any one actually sat down to think about that phrase?

It is a cold and wet Wednesday evening in Covina California. I sit in a wobbly wooden chair across from my brother, who is buried in an engineering manual, in an over cramped Starbucks. Nestled next to the pick up window at the bar, constant yelling and conversation has about given me a migraine. Not to mention, I just had the absolute "privilege" of applying for jobs online; my attempt at getting ahead of the college graduate game. My wallet is near empty, the bills relentlessly continue to poor into my life, my return to work status hangs in limbo and schoolwork exceeds the hours available in the day. Sounds about right for senior year.

Now, if I was famous this all would be just part of some social comedy I am portraying a character in. If only that were true.

I'd say, for the average human being, my life is pretty UN-average. My family ceases to surprise me with their antics and harsh relation to psychotic television series. Compared to most, I would say everyday relates back to some movie or show I have seen, but it is reality. Reality that I endure everyday and am not being paid for. It is as if "please vent to me" is illuminated on my forehead and because of this "gift" many strangers incorporate my opinion into their 'oh so special' lives. These and many more pride reverting incidents happen to me regularly, those who know my life can account for this. If the world is a stage and I am an actor within it where is my glory?

Now, I have considered blogging about my encounters, going to casting calls or contacting some form of media for screen writing opportunities. But if I am having a hard time getting media to get back to me for a job, I don't think a new t.v. show in which I am the star would be accepted too easily.

Therefore hello world, I am playing in your net of uncertainty and constant hilarity. I accept your adventures whether joyous or painstaking; let the games begin.

I put on one of my various roles and walk out the door of "opportunity."

The things I accomplish in Starbucks.

Muling over Secrets

It is quiet for now. The classes upstairs have not yet been dismissed from their morning lectures and early arrived athletes scurry in for a quick meal before the rush.

The mediocre cup of coffee tastes burnt with neglect. There is no warmth from the condensed and formed paper that can take the chill out of this room. Perhaps it is the four set of doors in the small space, opening and closing every five minutes that makes her shiver. But, deeper she fears it is more than a wind chill.

She sits alone.

Images of tiny feet flash through her mind. Clenching her stomach, unsettling nerves bring back the nauseous feelings. He would not understand if he knew the pain. Brushing it aside and blaming it on stress and over thinking the final year of college.

Someone yells.

A stampede of footsteps echo throughout the cramped cafe. Her mind struggles, jumping from loud, overbearing conversations centered around nonsense, and the small worry eating away at her soul.

Why is it the older some people get, the more they resort to immaturity and dramatic affairs of youth?

Deep breathes, don't stop.

A psychology book to ease away from the focused thought of "her problem." But, what if? Would he leave her without even looking back? Then again, secrets always saved the relationships of her past.

But to lie?

The clinic should be open this afternoon. A crashing tray of eggs snaps her back. He'll never have to know. "I am the only one who can take care of me," she whispers. Throwing the book and other belongings into her bag she rushes to class.

The cafe is teaming with hungry college students. The door fly's open and she is gone.

reversing time

The walkway was long and overgrown with the ferns and new sprouts of the past summer. Chestnuts were starting to pop up on the cluster of trees by the broken fence which divides the corn field from papas yard. Papa would give us 10 cents a nut if we could pick them up, in the end he always paid more than he should. I can remember the smell of burning wood in the evening as my father disposed of the recent trimmings from the oaks. The sky would fade from its vibrant day blue into hues of purple and gold. An autumn wind blew a slight chill through the air as I walked up the steep steps of the backdoor, and rushing into the kitchen, felt my skin prickle with the combination of night air and heat from the oven. The smells were always enticing; of pies, polish dishes, and anything nana could get her hands onto. And there she was, stirring the potatoes as they boiled for supper, gliding between the oven and table where she whistled and prepared the evenings meal. The house always smelt faintly of pie, I never could put my finger on it. Everyone would always cheerfully congregate around the table to tell stories and feast, there never seemed to be a care in the world.

What happened in the elven years between blissfulness and chaotic depression? How did the world start to feel as if were slipping through clenched fists and the social norm became the depravity of existence? Independence replaced imagination and life began to attack an unarmed child who lacked the basic training of worldly politics. To once again run without worrying if it is the right way, or care not of the thoughts and feelings of others. That would be life. Instead, it feels as if each day takes a bit of the child who once ruled the kingdom of my mind and replaces it with a bitter king, too old and tired to rekindle the past. Breathing without feeling like an anvil is on my chest. The adventurer in me wants to say the answer is just around the bend, to hold it out for a few more moments and there, the promise land will be nestled in the future.

Just around the bend. To be young again. To close my eyes and just be.

I was walking back from the meadow at the bottom of the grassy lane. Back to the pink and white house on township line. Leaves in my hair and a slingshot in hand. It is about supper time. I open the back door and I'm home.

Settling in the dark

It was a long and drawn out day at work. When I arrived home it was bustling with my loud family and their usual antics. My youngest brother was getting ready for his afternoon run, stretching by the living room couch. Dad was listening to some motivational speaker, one of about three dozen that he rotates through, on his ancient laptop in the kitchen. My mother and other brother sat on the couches in the family room. They were watching the Laker game in spite while arguing and yelling randomly at the figures on the enlarged screen. I proceeded to walk upstairs and watch something on t.v. that didn't involve any yelling or confrontation. I had been surrounded by such an environment for a nine hour shift this morning and would rather not take the beating of harsh voices at the moment. Being worn and just about ready to fall over from the demanding spring semester of school and work, my emotions lay spread thin. I had just returned from counseling an old friend, a thing I should retract from my services, but nonetheless, I see a need and attempt to meet. My whole week actually had been sprinkled with the aiding of certain, let's call them needy for lack of a better word, friends. No, needy sounds like I dislike them, I love them, just not their lack to rationally think through their problems before throwing them up on the first available ear that will listen. Usually, that's me. And I digress. But this blog isn't about my emotional and tormented friend. It is about a moment I came to many hours later. In my room I sat, regurgitating the information processed for today, and my interwoven mind began to bring up the moments throughout the week, the past, the pushed away and hidden past. The kind one tries to dispose of deep within the cerebral but for some reason, can never fully get rid of. One of my favorite artists came on my ihome, the song was one I had heard countless times, a favorite actually. But, a line in it began to make me think. "And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide....Lying awake at night." My mind began to spin around this phrase, the words disappointment and regret standing out like bright lights on a darkened highway. I began to realize that it was I who sat, in the night, allowing these thoughts to keep my mind from moving on in the 24-hours of the day. I was so focused on the present issues in my family, my friends, and even my own life, I wasn't enjoying anything to the fullest anymore. It is like my brain is a running machine without an off switch, nothing to just stop the wheels from creating product of thought and reasoning. It keeps me in a state of unease more than I'd like to admit. But, how can I stop allowing the lives of others to influence my own? Trust me, this isn't the first time the light bulb has been turned on. Do you sacrifice a part of yourself to aid another? Or do you be selfish and remain a vessel which only sifts through the practices, frustrations, and intelligence of your own? I will probably never stop helping people. Only time will tell if this gift of aid will ruin my happy ending as I attempt to construct anothers.

Grey Zone

The small coffee shop just off campus was bustling with the afternoons exchange of students eager to buy an adequately made and overpriced latte. I was talking with a friend about his life before college, before this year, what had he done and did he have any regrets? We had been in a heated discussion for hours now, back and forth over the mistakes made and slowly over time forgot. He said one thing that stuck with me, it was in response to the people he had interacted with over the years, many of which the mistakes were made. The statement was more or less along the lines of, "I can't say that I still feel terrible about it all, it was a grey zone in my life, things were hazy and I made mistakes but, now I'm out of it and in the light." My astonishment lies within the question raised after his statement; how do we as individuals find our light? Almost anyone has had a time where they find themselves in this "grey zone" and frequently exit with regrets and instances wished to forget. It is as if life's winding road travels through deep canyons laden with fog and if you miss a turn, you will forever be lost in its thick mess. I have found myself drifting back into memories I wish I could use a neuralizer to rid of as Will Smith so easily does. It is knowing this pain will transform into enlightenment that keeps me from allowing the darkness to engulf my world. Knowledge obtained over time does not come easily nor can it be Googled. The journey to new thought will bring wear, but the outcome is worth every deep bruise and tear-stained face.

Thought bubble

I drove through a blizzard of styrofoam a week back. The freeway danced with the small white balls escaping from a nearby semi and cars yielded to their thick looming cloud. The sun was setting just beyond the hills of Covina as I made my long drive back home from work, the same I make 4-5 times a week. The 57 freeway, as usual, began to bunch up as the menacing drivers from the 10 merged into us with less than 3/4 of a mile to do so. I drove appreciating the sights here and there, trying to refrain from giving into my body's cruise control, which happens when you make the same drive every week. I prepared for school, yes work in the morning and school the rest of the afternoon and evening, congratulations to me being a full time college student with bills. My job is, not the best per say, but allows me to have over 18 units a semester while maintaining enough hours to pay financial aid. But, it was yesterday that I was able to really take a look into my future, not just daydreaming on the freeway, actually connect all I've been thinking with reality. For an advanced news reporting class we are put in "real life" news situations and expected to write a "reporter worthy" story. This weeks assignment was a press conference, sounds boring right? Well I though so too, until I actually got down there and rolled up my sleeves to do some reporting. Union Station was the site and transportation issues was the topic. A rally of unhappy transit and anti-pollution advocates more than kept my attention for two hours. From interviewing them to seeing their decorative signs I had more than enjoyed getting to know the "little people" of the situation. I then proceeded up the stairs of the LA Metro Headquarters and convinced one of the women at the desk to allow me to attend the invite only/closed press conference. Don't ask how, I have my ways. I took notes and left, speaking to a senator, several advocates, a few CEO's and with that my morning was complete. I could not believe the rush I had, not to mention the boost in confidence from the interviewees. But, that small fact is far from the point. The point is I actually enjoyed it, for so many individuals their career or job hardly excites them. While I still feed of the rush from Friday morning, others dread going to work, as I do now with my current job. It is knowing now that I am in the right field that gets me through the complaining customer, failed financial aid, worries of getting a job, etc. In one of my books for class the author talks about every writer needing to find their arrogance for through it they will achieve confidence and overall success in the writing field. Well, I found mine, and it feels refreshing and exciting, I'm just waiting to get out there in the world and begin. Let's just hope people don't start taking me as an arrogant B... it's confidence in disguise guys you should try and acquire some, it might be the deciding factor that lands you your dream job rather than just an outlet to pay bills.