At War

This may come as a surprise to most people, considering how boorish I act in front of an appreciative audience, but I am always on problem-solving mode. It’s not because I consider myself on some very important mission in life, it’s just that somehow, the shit does not stop coming. In ordr to sta sane and relatively happy, I have to be on this mindset of always anticipating and preparing for problems so that when they eventually rear their collectively ugly heads, they wont affect a second of the life I chose to design.

Being able to live a life of my own creation was one of the few things I was always proud of, but changes, both good and bad, took that away from me. During the past few days, I’ve been placed in a position wherein I have to alter my design decisively. A true warrior needs to trike a balance, and whether I like it or not, I am at war. The odds are overwhelming.

Scenes from a college movie. It was the kind of Sunday I used to live for. It was the straight out of the Todd Philips movies I love so much. There were drunken guys, there was inane laughter, a guy with a guitar, a reluctant driver, an atttention deprived man child, a burnout with a single catchphrase, and me. Each of them was looking for something that night, and what they got was basically a busted clutch lining and burnt out brake pads, plus an angry and.or worried wife to boot.

I stayed sober, despite my overwhelming desire to lose control to fit the night’s festivities. I notice I have fit into the voice of reason role very comfortably. I couldn’t help but worry and try to locate the self-professed drunk addict when he vanished while enduring being in the depths of his alcohol intoxication. The man-child I tried to coddle into going for a more positive direction in his life by facing whatever demons he had in his rather fucked up affairs, instead of dealing with it in his own usual way (a method that centered around sleeping with random women and boozing with teenagers, who he may or may not share the same mental age with).

I do understand I tend to sound holier than thou, particularly on that night, but what’s a guy to do? I see things like this, and I can’t help but react. I also can’t help but fear. The man child and I, despite many glaring differences, share parrallels in a way that makes me believe that if I’ve kept up doing what I was doing last year, well… things would be far worse for me now.

That night, in the middle of driving with the massive hollering of the fuckwits we’ve decided to spend the Sunday night with, the BIg Man asked me if this was a typical night for me. Indeed it was. Every night I set foot out of the house that wasn’t for a job or some romantic pursuit back then, screams of self destruction that inspires the silliest of college boy comedies. That was my life. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’ve totally outgrown it, or that I’m too good for that sort of shit these days.

It’s just that I’ve left the party. Whether or not I’ve done so far too early or far too late is a matter of perspective. It’s not my scene anymore. I already have enough to scars to show for the supposed good life I had.

Walking the storm once more. When it rains, it usually does pour. And pour it did. Monday night found me braving the storm again, and the end result of the night was a Tuesday morning in a Starbucks a world away from anything that can rmeotely be considered as familiar or friendly territory, thinkng about how the world can insanely change in the course of one stormy night.

Everything seems to be on the edge, like one false move and it’s all over for me. Whatever it is I’ve worked hard for all year has teetered on the balance, and now I am in a state of mind that pretty much makes me see a void in the hope department. People keep telling me to slow down, to just stop and smell the flowers or some other similarly saccharine advice.

I don’t think so. I never cared much for flowers anyway.

On that Tuesday morning I sat there watching the raindrops fall and I couldn’t help but think of the events that led up to the now, the current state of things. The seemingly doomed projects. The seemingly futile personal pursuits. The same scenarios that have made me, in my youth, decide to live the way i have. Like that line from that song from The Killers, “his life is under the gun, he’s got to hold every day”.

I’m feeling like I’m pursuing things that only seem to matter to me and me alone, and while I’m surrounded by people who are most verbal about their desire to participate, somehow the follow through does not convey that message.

It’s like charging the battlefield, and none of your troops bothered to show up. So the ge old question returns to haunt me, why bother fighting? Why not just take the logical bullet to the skull and be done with it? With all of it?

Inspiration from the back room. The answer to the above question came in the least likely of places. I have mentioned before that during my supposed restart in life I decided to do what the Big Man does and work a gig that centers around making money and carries with it a huge chance of personal corruption. Those who’ve known me long enough know that I don’t bend certain principles. I’ve taken the risk of bending those principles for something I truly see as worth it, but over the past few weeks, and even the stormy Monday night, has made me fear that all that has been for nothing.

On a slow Thursday night though, my (I guess boss would be the right term) boss discussed a few things about her putting up her own operation despite the possible financial and personal pitfalls. The way I understand it, this is an operation that no one believes would work, and my boss is fully aware of that. In the industry, she leads a bunch of underdogs that, even though she’s lent a hand by some old friends, carry the lowest success rate. It’s another thing that she’s fully aware of.

The sensible thing to do is to just fold and set up shop somewhere else, or join up with someone else. But in her own words, she didn’t want any “what ifs” ruling her life. She knows the odds, and she knows that people miht be belittling her attempt of running something all of her own. She also knows that her loyalty towards certain colleagues may lead to her downfall. But she ignores allof that, becuase this is something she knows would give her inner peace. Her principles. Her beliefs. Her way. Her deisre to prove people wrong.

All of that sounds familiar to me. More than familiar.

See, during that small talk in that smoky back room, she unintentionally reminded me not of who I want to be, or who I’m supposed to be, but of who I truly am, and who I need to be.  I don’t know if she was just selling an image to me or what not, but it’s not important. From day one, I’ve been out to prove people wrong. I’ve had more people telling me that I can’t do this, or I can’t do that, or that I’m wrong about this or that, but I never faltered, because I know I can, and I know I’m right. And even if I was wrong, or even if I indeed can’t, I can still take ocmfort in the fact that it’ll burn people’s asses that someone like me had the audacity to try.

So I’m not going to let the fact that the producer of the project has been too busy with his own personal turmoil. I can udnerstand that. I can do both of our jobs. After all, the project is all that matters. I have a handful of people willing to throw in their time and limited resources to make it happen, so I will. My reason for coming home to the relatives stays true, and I’m going to work doubly hard to get that done, in my own way, without bending my established principles. I’ve been accustomed to being doubted, accused, belittled, underestimated and urt. The moajjority of the time I go through that shit alone. I’m still standing.

I’m the guy who gets whatever he wants, come hell or high water, even at a great personal cost. I will not eat, sleep or rest, plow through the worst of storms and get wounded or hurt, been through the most and the least, and I’m still here.

My smile isn’t back on my face, and I’m guessing it’ll take a lot fo doing to get it back there, but if I have to do it alone, it’s not really a new thing.

I am at war, and I am unarmed and alone, but I’m willing to tap into the crazy vault in order to see this through. During the conversation with the boss, I felt a sort of kinship I haven’t felt with people since Purgatory. We are ugly, we are underdogs, and everyone loves a fucking good underdog story.

~ by sunriseshotgun on October 22, 2010.