Archive for June, 2010

forever young.

15 June 2010

the recent return of true blood and the baffling popularity1 of the twilight series have everyone talking about vampires. throughout the cafes and boardrooms of america, diners and colleagues are overheard saying things like, i wish i were a vampire, that would be so sweet. alone in our bedrooms, wearing a team edward or team jacob t-shirt, we yearn for the romantic, albeit cold, touch2 of the undead and fall asleep to dream of our lives continuing with them alongside us.

in all of this wishing we were someone else — or something else — we never thought to interview a vampire. now i’m not about to say that i am a vampire, but lets look at the facts before we completely rule this one out:

i’m very pale. save for a yearlong period when i was regularly visiting a tanning bed, the veins in my chest have been easily visible.

i don’t sleep much, which may be because someone close to me is in trouble and i need to save them.

those are the two big ones, but there are additional things, for instance, my otherworldly ability to heal from injuries and infrequently contract illness, and my distrust of silver. also, i really like glitter.

yeah, so, i may not be a vampire, but i can tell you, mortals, that you do not want to be one, because it really sucks (no pun intended) to outlive everyone you love. and you can’t make them all vampires with you due to the risk of inbreeding.

1 i realize i shouldn’t criticize something that i’ve never seen, but viewing is never going to happen unless it is showing on my flight to hell or someone conducts one of those experiments to cure me of this ultra-violence.

2 if in bon tempe, louisiana, vampires cry tears of blood, what do you think their semen looks like? something to think about for you potential fang bangers.


unbiased self appraisal.

1 June 2010

i had a dream where you cut off my arms, starting with the hands and working toward the shoulders, slicing me into sections a couple of inches at a time. then you moved to the legs. i woke up and instantly called you at seven am, and you told me you would be right over. i didn’t expect you, knowing you would fall back to sleep as soon as you put down the phone. i showered and ran some errands, returning home before you called again to say you had just woken up.

i’ve realized that you’re not to blame. i’ve been cutting myself, keeping myself from succeeding. every time something is within arm’s reach, i pull back and make excuses for why i cannot continue. you’ve made me realize that i should hold myself accountable and that the struggle can be worth it. you’ve taught me that i’m better than what i’ve allowed myself to become and that i’ve underestimated myself. i’ve been oblivious to this and the ways it’s hurt you, and i greatly regret that.

when i was younger i subscribed to mensa magazine for a short time before deciding that it was pompous to display one’s genius in such a way. i’ll remember two things from its pages though. one, that puns are the highest form of humor. this declaration was accompanied by photographs from a halloween party where everyone dressed as their favorite pun (yes, reader, i’m also glad i didn’t attend). one couple was chicken catch a tory, the woman in a chicken suit and her husband in long-flowing wig and cavalier garb. two, an article about low-end jobs and reasons why some people of such advanced intellect would undertake such demeaning labor. those highlighted answered that they were just looking for something that paid the bills so they could use their ample free time to work on philanthropic and creative projects about which they were passionate.

in my own life i forgot the second part. sure, i’ve gone through things that required my full attention, but my complacency and lack of dedication is a mind-numbingly egregious offense at best. i put myself on a pedestal, pretending i had a reason to be there. to use the vernacular of dream analysis, i cut off my legs, piece by piece, but still told everyone i was running. i wore this starving artist tag like it was a badge of accomplishment, as if jotting down a few words every now and again is a form of artistry. i clung to the city of charlotte, as if failure in a large city is better than potential in a smaller one.

i bet you knew i was eventually going to address you again, and i am now. you couldn’t comprehend why i was comfortable treading water. at this point, it baffles me also. you stood by me though offering encouragement, and i will forever appreciate that. i’m trying not to make promises because, without action, they’re just a bunch of nonsense words, but i know a few are going to creep in. you know, something along the lines of first acknowledging that i’m a deeply-flawed individual, then adding that i will make sure that you are always happy, every single day, even if i have to do something outrageous like descend niagara falls in a barrel or bring back a fer-de-lance from costa rica (by the way, please consider other options).

i’m remembering that each day is a new day to make oneself better. and one day builds onto the next.

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