Taking it all for Granted

This'll be a short one as I am currently pulling an all-nighter working. And finding every possible distraction to procrastinate with. I take a lot for granted, I know I do. A lot of us take life for granted. Sometimes it takes a near death experience, or even a death sentence itself to start living to our full potential. Maybe someone close to us dies or there's some kind of epiphany that causes it. Sometimes people never get it and it never comes and they live life at 50% or less. Most days I feel like that, but looking at it, at least i KNOW it's there. I at least have the insight into the fact that it IS only 50%, some don't even see it. 

          I take my job for granted. I edit, I have a cool boss and I can work from home and make a lot of money and do 10 other things while I'm at it. I make my own schedule. My occupation is literally making people smile by creating beautiful cinematic wedding films they'll watch for years to come. That is ACTUALLY my job. But I take it for granted, I get bored, tired and can't find the motivation or focus to get any editing done in a timely manner. What the hell?

     I take my days for granted, I spend them sitting here (while I'm supposed to be editing) watching shows, videos online and reading articles when i can be furthering my own life to reach my goals rather than someone else fulfill theirs. What kind of ass-backwards thinking is that? I don't know. Something is wrong in my brain; even when I KNOW I'm doing it, I can't stop. I'll try to edit and 3 minutes later I'm finding myself distracted. It's a serious problem. Even working at the office I can't focus. Constantly not getting enough done and as quickly as it should be done. The only time it's good for anything is when I procrastinate by making music. Most times, especially nowadays I'll shut Premiere off and open Sonar and record some music. Which usually ends up online for a growing number of people to listen to. It makes me happy.

      I take people for granted, I take my family for granted, my time, my money, my goals, my talents, my possessions, my aspirations, my attributes good and bad, my wishes, my vehicle, and this plant next to me. It's literally a living thing that exists next to me on my desk. I am not living my life to it's full potential every single day. I'm not even at 50%. And definitely not 7 days a week. Not even half. Perhaps only a few days of every month are spent performing over 60%. That's not much. That makes me an utterly useless human being. Why aren't I more useful? If you're not being useful in the world, or at least not aspiring to be, then you're no good. What the heck man? Bullshit I tell ya, all bull. 

      Don't take it for granted, we're not here long, and soon your hair will fall out and you'll be dead. So go and do something. Don't. Take. Life. For. Granted.

- Pat

Can you?

So you tell people you're interested in or yourself, that you like to "travel the world," "have adventures," and "have fun!" Wow, thanks for being every person in the world. Although only a few actually get out to travel, everyone says they want to. So you say you do, because it's attractive and sexy to travel the world. It's eye-opening, worldly and takes a certain kind of person to be able to. You become a more tolerant person and you learn about other cultures by completely immersing yourself in them. So you travel the world and are always having road trips and going out on adventures on the weekends and hikes and visiting new places. But can you handle sitting in a room quietly for a while? 

       Can you? Can you sit there in complete silence, while nothing happens, and appreciate it? Can you sit there, with another person, both doing your own thing whether it be work or somebody is sleeping or reading. Can you handle the lack of noise? Can you function and feel comfort in not saying anything to each other for a while? Or would you even last 2 minutes? Do you fidget and need to go do something after a few moments? 

         Anyone has the ability to go out and do things. Most people can function outside in the open and have new experiences and interact with nature and people and objects. It is human nature to want those things and we do them; some at a quicker pace than others. But not everyone can feel total comfort in simply sitting there saying or doing nothing but another's company. It's THAT which people lack these days. 

Life Changes Quickly

            In January I met a new friend. It doesn't happen often, as I've mentioned in a past entry or two I believe. There was a day in late January or early February, i can't recall, and she was sitting in my apartment. It was the second time I attempted Chicken Marsala. Aside from pancakes, moronically  easy shake & bake and various baked goods, it was the first meal I attempted to actually make at that point. Actual ingredients, preparation, as well as sides; I even had wine, the whole nine. 

        I never offered the wine, as it wasn't appropriate, but it was the second time I had made an effort to make anything, thankfully it was the same dish so I had one chance before to work out the mistakes. I still made them and took longer than I wanted, but she seemed to like it. I know for sure after my incessant downplaying of it; she insisted it was in fact good. We watched movie, and talked about the political race that was heating up for the end of 2016. We had a good time. 

        She returned home where she was from across continents and time zones and is currently at an internship at the UN in Geneva. She is literally sitting in the Human Rights Room with the colorful, stalactite ceiling gives a bright and inspiring feeling over a room that I'm sure at times is anything but. But I won't even pretend and begin to act like I know of what really goes on there. What I DO know, is that she is representing her country there. She is SITTING, behind the seat. One of 754. Most of which are purposed for our world's diplomats, leaders and representatives, as well as chair members and press and guests I could only guess without doing a terrible amount of research. But you get the idea. 

            She is in arguably one of the most important rooms in the entire world. Not Geneva, not Switzerland,not Europe, the World. Perhaps that is up to opinion. I could say my bedroom is the most important room in the entire world. Everyone's world is different I suppose. But in terms of the world, and the decisions we make as a race, that room I would say, is the most important.

        My friend spoke publicly for the first time to read a speech on rights for the disabled. Her mascara sometimes hurts her eyes and she actually began tearing up through the speech. Imagine talking in front of the world, for the very first time, and you begin to tear up as if you were crying? It takes a certain kind of person to take it in stride. She did so with elegance and humor. It was streamed later, where I could see. Thankfully as politics go, they're better at focusing on matters of importance rather than the spotlight sometimes, (not all the time) but the feed was not uploaded in a very high resolution, so I could not see actual tears, but I noticed her wiping her eye once or twice because I knew what to look for. What a story to have.

         Selfishly, I have a better story. Because that story is contained within mine. The day she made that speech, I was on the road, living out of the back of a minivan, my own. Sleeping, eating, bathing (to some extent) and existing out of it. It was a mere 20° F (-7° C) most nights and we froze. In the back Walmart parking lots, there was one night the wind kept us up and the rain came down so hard we thought for sure a tree would fall on us, or a leak would start near our heads, or there was an emergency in place. I was living like a bum, literally. I WAS a bum, I guess I am one in many ways. But on this trip, as we migrated from city to city, state upon state upon state, I was driving along and burst out laughing. It was a genuine laugh, not forced, through cause of my own thoughts which does not happen often. Usually a laugh is only caused by something external, an event or someone telling a joke. But this was simply through thought. Very rare.

              My friend who was with me asked what it was I was laughing at and I told him. A person who was sitting in my apartment, giving me their time only a few weeks before, was now sitting among the world's leaders at the U.N. in Geneva. How insane is that?! I was hanging out with them!

          That was the initial story. Now it has grown. Not only was she spending some of her time with me, and was actually in my apartment, but I realize after with hindsight, how humorously and completely opposite we were at that moment. At the exact time she was speaking on camera in front of important representatives of countries about a very important topic, an absolute pinnacle, clearly an achievement for her in life and career. At the time she was doing something so diplomatic and  influential for the world, literally in some history book (albeit not a common one, but still somewhere in some document forevermore) now, I was living in a fucking van being homeless. I was wearing a hat to cover up my greasy head from lack of showering and making mac & cheese on a camp stove under a bunch of pine trees in a parking lot. When she was furthering the human race for good, I was eating a few donuts that I bought for $2 because they were expiring that day followed by brushing my teeth in a public bathroom in the store while people looked at us. Still dressed my best though by the way.

            How insane is that? I am living out a van, and she is talking before the U.N. and the world. So with that story, I can also tell how we hung out weeks earlier, and that her mascara made her tear up during her speech. If you had asked me at the entrance of 2016 if I knew any of that would happen, well at this point in life I would actually believe you. So many things have changed so quickly in my life that I never thought would happen that I'd believe anything.

But no one can deny that is one hell of a story. 

Unrealistic Expectations

People have unusual and unrealistic expectations of others sometimes. I'm talking in terms of relationships. Sometimes  person has a vision of what their future spouse-to-be will look like. Rather than allowing themselves to fall in love with someone who adores them and is head over heels for them, they don't let them in and continue there search. As if something other than the willingness to do anything for the other isn't enough. They will realize in time, whether years, decades or months or days that THAT is the only thing that matters. Pure, unadulterated genuine love for another human is all that matters.

           Contrary to popular belief, it does not come often, not the kind of love I'm talking about. I'm talking about the kind of feeling so powerful it hurts you just to think about the other person. Even after things have been settled for a while. Or not, a feeling so strong that they're the first thing you think about in the morning and the last thing in the evening even after you find they don't love you back. That is when you know you truly love someone. The kind of love you feel, and know is there, and even if it doesn't work out, you know you'll have to settle with being friends if only for the excuse to talk with them. When you don't entirely know them but still, you know you'd do anything for them because you feel it in your heart, you feel it in your bones, physically in your stomach. You just know. There are lovers who work, and those who don't. But then there are the couples where one person works so hard to get the other, who doesn't know it yet, but you're the best person out there for them. 

              But more times than not, those hopeless lovers get rejected, and it's not all a happy ending. They work in vein for a person who doesn't see it, who themselves are seeking something better, or so they think. They don't see the answer right in front of them. They like you and enjoy your company, laugh at your jokes, connect on a deeper level, share the same ideals and values and morals and opinions and everything seems to fit. Everything connects and fits even though you think deep down you're not good enough and this is too good to be true. But still here we are, it seems you both like each other and it could work out. You both fit. So you finally muster up the courage, risk the friendship for something more. Because most times it would ruin the relationship by simply asking, so it's a tough decision, but you finally do it. But they say no, and you don't know why. They see something in their future you don't have. But they don't see the potential, they don't know the kind of intimate feelings they'll never experience with you. What they'll be missing. What they'll never have, you either. 

         I don't know what she thinks. What the heck don't I have? 

Money and Security

      It ticks me off, no it pisses me off when people treat you differently when you don't have any money. To no end it makes me furious. People feel the need to pity you, and treat you like a child. I am not saying I didn't put myself into this situation, there are many things and decisions I could have made in the past to ensure I had one more dollar in my bank account than I do now. 

         What else though? What makes me so different? When people, especially in terms of relationships, find out about this fact that you're not totally, 100% forevermore well off in terms of finances, they shy away. As if I'm different than anyone else. I am different. Not because I'm struggling, but because I do not want to be here. See, that's what most people who pity me thinks. That somehow I chose to be here. It is true that my decisions lead me here. But those decisions are drilled into our brains from early childhood. It is my belief that I am here because at some point during college, I decided I was not like everyone else. I chose to leave. According to social norms, you can't do that. So I am left with near insurmountable debt. A system meant for everyone to follow the rules and play along and do as your told. Go to school for 16-17 years or more. From kindergarten to college. You are supposed to find yourself and educate yourself and find a career path (as long as it's in school) and find a job and do that until you die.

               Sounds a bit morbid when I put it like that, but it's true. Hopefully it fulfills you. Most people don't actually end up doing what they wanted or thought they would. Hopefully whatever it is that fulfills them, they find. Because some people never find it at all. Sometimes they find it late in life. Sometimes they know from the start and die before they can. Life is a bitch. It is hard some days to not blame someone else for why I am struggling. I went through some tough situations where I wanted to die after I left. Not quite literally die but realize on more than one occasion I had nothing left. I had my minivan, and I had my debt, and I had nothing else. I could get into it late at night, start it, and drive in one direction until I ran out of gas, and put more in it if I could afford it, and keep going and no one would figure it out until a few weeks later.

        I left school for two reasons. One is more accurate than the other. The first and real reason is because I could not afford it, how fucking ironic, and moronic. After 4 loans and 3 years, my co-singer was not willing to do it any longer. I will keep then anonymous. But as I was not living at home, I was assured I'd have an easier chance to get loans on my own. Which was not the case. I applied to different loan companies, banks, and in the very end, I confided in my school who always preached "There are ALWAYS options". Yes there were. Option 1: A $900/mo payment plan for 15 months. Option 2: A $1200/mo payment plan for 12 months. Something to that effect.  Don't quote me, but the numbers were similar and of equal or more ridiculous terms. Those were my options. My credit was not good enough (because of my loans) to get another loan. So I was forced out. My job was through the school so I lost my job. It snowballed. I lost my apartment, because I lost my job, because I couldn't get back into school. And by default, I lost my life as I knew it. 

              The second reason, is I was becoming disenchanted with school. I did not get into the schools I wanted, one was too prestigious for me I suppose, and the other I was accepted, but given a letter stating I could go but I was not accepted into the major I wanted. How silly. So I was given my 3rd option. Where a video production concentration had not even been fully developed, and forever remained half-baked. The courses were not even held on campus but a local access TV station where the instructor was the manager of the studio. This was all good, but I quickly realized I was not learning anything. Making matters worse, I found we were learning what any resident could learn with a $20 membership fee. I know this because I took the same FREE classes at my hometown TV station when I was in early high school. I realized we were paying hundreds upon thousands for information any resident of the city could learn with pocket change in theory. How backwards. 

               I was very disenchanted with the joke of the education I was getting increasingly so starting from Sophomore year into my third year. But I stuck with it, because I had acquired two jobs there, getting raises, and all my friends were there, and my girlfriend at the time. Things were good otherwise. I had a life there. I enjoyed my life. School was a joke but my life was good. I only wanted to finish what i started. I realized I could have found a job without going to school. My knowledge had been learned... GASP!... on my own.

     But life had other plans. I suppose it has a way of forcing me onto the next leg of the journey whether I want to or not. Complacency has no place in my heart I suppose. It finds me though. Every cell in me likes it. But my surroundings, or fate, or destiny or circumstances say otherwise. 

          So here I am 3 years later. I got a job less than two months after leaving and I've made and lost money, lost more of course and lost a lot more than money. But I survive. I want nothing more than to be treated like everyone else, and not some black sheep of the family or foster child screw up or insignificant or a pity case of a man. Some people treat you fairly and with respect and dignity and with a sense of equality; until they realize you are living paycheck to paycheck. Then they subconsciously jump on you. Suddenly they've found your weakness. They now know they are better than you. All this time feeling each other out figuring out who is more socially adept and who is out of who's league. Who should be striving for who. It is then that all your qualities (and theirs might I add) get thrown out the window and everything comes down to how well they THINK you can provide based on your financial well-being. Your adoration, unconditional love and sheer respect and willingness to fight for the other goes out the window. Even worse is the other person's negative traits are all negate because YOU are the one who is not adequate. Feelings and emotions and acceptance of them matters little now. It's about where you are socially in life and how they see themselves with you. 

          Nobody wants to struggle. So they see you and see struggle. Who wants that? No one wants that, not even I want it. The only difference between me and the other schmucks out there though are that I'll have fought tooth and nail for every penny and earned it. It will only be then those same people will regret what they thought. I don't fault anyone for taking advantage of their situation. I wasn't able to go to the greatest schools on earth, or have the same opportunities, and if I could be born into it, I can't blame myself or anyone else for taking advantage of their situation. We all get by in our own way. But if you treat me like I am lesser, than some day when it's too late, I hope you realize what you did.

       I chose to follow where my dreams take me and not to where I am expected to go. I am expected to settle down and find a decent job behind a desk and meet a woman and marry her and buy a house and cars and swimming pools and take vacations twice a year if I'm lucky enough. Year in year out until someone dies or I die or I get to retire. That is what is expected in the society I live in. Sometimes people don't care if you enjoy it or not. "You're in your mid-20's now, you need to get your act together. Isn't it time huh?" They think your dreams die at 24 and if you haven't made it then you must give up and live a mediocre fucking life. 

          I want all those things. The good things. I want a place to live, I want the cars, the things, the security, the wonderful woman, the kids, the dog and cat and pets. I want trips, I want adventure, I want all the grown up toys and things that I want and always have wanted. I want the money to not have to worry. I want all those things. But must I give up my dreams for them? Or do I have to give those up for my dreams? Perhaps they're on hold.

Although which one is up to me.

Music Choices

      I get flogged by anyone not in my close knit group of friends for my choices in music. Actually there are more people I know who don't understand it than do. So in many cases I can only confide in and talk with one or maybe two people in the world about the artists and how wonderful we think they are. 

      Some shrug it off as a niche thing and accept I've gone off some metaphorical cliff. They have no interest in listening. Some despise it. They can't get over the contemporary music that of the current day. They listen to what is of the now and move with the times, forgetting the past. They cannot digest the production styles of older generations of music. Although no can much explain why they don't like it. The analogue sound doesn't appeal to people these days. But they focus on comparing production rather than the actual music. "It sounds old, is it old?" Does it matter? Listen to the song. 

         Literally every artist worth their salt today, yesterday and before can name an influence that came before, and if you trace it back, they all stole from the same places. The one before them, and in some cases they skip some. Some newer artists listen to that of the 50's and 60's and sometimes even prior. Music in terms of a band was progressing at an incredible rate as at that time, rock was forming and the four piece band that is commonplace now was only starting to take shape. Electronics were only starting to be used in music. The electric guitar was invented, amplifiers, mixing consoles, left and right stereo imaging, guitar pedals, distortion, and overdubbing among a slew of other giant leaps in this time of music. Music was progressing at such an alarming rate it was standard to go to the record store after school and listen and spend your allowance on all the records coming out. There was always someone doing something new.

        Artists of today are usually influenced by this generation of artists. You can clearly hear it in their music if you know what to listen to. It's the natural progression of the art. It's always changing; albeit slowly at times and quickly at others, but progressing nonetheless. As an artist and musician on some level, I'm always searching and looking for new things. Everyone likes their own kind of music. I do not criticize on another's music genre choices. But I begin having problems when people don't like my own choices. I can't choose what I like. When I began finding my way and developing musical interests, I leaned heavily on the popular music of the 60's and 70's. What was huge then. It's what the rock stations play nowadays. But I got tired of it, so eventually I began digging deeper into those artists' catalogs and this kept me busy for a while and still does.  

            But then something happened and I'm not sure where or when precisely. I began hearing about lesser known artists. Artists with a lot of success, but not what we'd all call stars of fame of the internationally known rollers of music. Instead of the Beatles, I was listening to Wings, Paul McCartney's band post-Beatle. They have some huge hits, but their catalog is so vast and full of unheard music it's incredible. I then discovered Joe Jackson's "Is She Really Going Out with Him" while driving around in my early college days. I found him and his incredibly eclectic albums. I was hooked. One thing led to another and my tastes haven't entirely changed so much as broadened. 

         I was not on some quest to become "less mainstream" or different or cool. I wanted to dig and delve deeper into music itself. Past the surface of radio hits and the go-to artists of what I liked. You do not realize there are so many bands and artists out there that simply didn't make it or who didn't have the opportunities to get their music to the masses and disappeared or died off. I then discovered Badfinger, Nilsson and Big Star this way. Through my interests and friends and simply googling, I stumbled up a song and began realizing these guys were gold. I fell in love with them. Guided By Voices, the Knack, and more recently and to my surprise, Dawes. Not many people know the likes of GBV or Big Star or Badfinger. Then, you can delve into these artists influences and bands similar to them. The music is incredible. 

         So what makes me so different than anyone else? I'm searching. I'm always looking for that next fix after I've exhausted an artist's repertoire and spent days, weeks, months or even years listening to their albums as I go through that phase and onto the next, adding to my collection of music that connects with me and makes me feel a certain way. But in reality, it's no different than today's music. The word and notes are the same. It may sound different to the human ear, but not many tend to look any deeper into that. They hear the artist's voice and don't like it or don't because it sounds like it was produced in the 70's rather than last night fresh off Spotify. In a lot of ways, what I'm into is no different. So when people don't like what I listen to, or more so they don't even try or want to listen in the first place, it says a lot about a person. 

Dreams

Dreams do come true. But sometimes we only get to choose one.  That's right, not all dreams come true. Maybe you get sick, or hit by a bus, or experience some traumatic experience that renders you quite useless. But for most of us it's not that dramatic and abrupt. Sometimes it's as simple as life gets you down. When you're young, you are full of life and wonder, it's all ahead of you. You don't have bills, or a car or a job or a house or a dog or cat. Well, maybe the family dog, but you don't get up at six every morning to feed her. 

          When you're young, all you can do is dream. Some go so far as to plan it all out, they know exactly how they will get there. Some kids exceed their age and can realistically achieve these goals in time as they plan it all out. Nothing like becoming a cowboy or astronaut, but a car designer or web designer or a painter and sculptor. But then you start high school, and you start caring what others think, and since you're different than a lot of the kids, you get picked on, so stop being picked on, you worry how not to, and do things they do to stop the pain. You have awkward encounters with girls, you get shut down. You begin caring about how you look and act in front of them because you like one who will inevitably break your teenage heart. Your teachers are scolding you for drawing in the back of your notebook and explaining how you'll be staying back if you get another D+ on your test. You get sent to the office for staring out the window too much in class. You get to the bus last and have nowhere to sit because you have glasses and you don't say much; they all ask what the answers were on the test because you obviously have all the answers, because you wear glasses. 

         You are lucky to make a friend or two that ends up lasting outside the school year. If you are lucky, you get to hang out with one during the summer, if only for an afternoon once a month. You can walk, but you can never nail them down to a day. You begin riding your bike, then you are 16, friends are now competing whose to get their licence first and what cars they have and who will get a parking spot at school. So you beg your parents for the second car they hopefully have. Then you compete who can drive your friends around on Fridays and where you go and what you do and what music you get to listen to. Senior year you're told by guidance counselors you'll be forever miserable and worthless and a nobody if you don't go to college. You want to go, but for the right reasons. You don't get into the schools you want, you go for your last backup and thrown into an atmosphere worse than high school. Everyone is partying, the professors never show up, and spend 3 courses going over what the class is about, snow days, holidays and weekends add up and you've spent 5 courses learning actual material. You meet more girls, surrounded by more drinking and excess and awkward social situations. Your only saving grace are the few courses that actually pertain to your dream and they are a joke. You can't even get in most semesters as there's no vetting process and they fill up with people who want the easy A-. 

           You go home for Christmas and begin getting attached to the only benefit of dorm life which is freedom, but you still don't belong there. But now you feel you don't belong at home either. Summer comes around and you're back in your room needing to be home before 12 and quiet and all the other rules you find insane for a 19 year old. You go back to school a second year, and a third, finding the parties don't last and nobody socializes anymore because those who took advantage of the situation were removed by their own volition or from another's. All that is left is you, your roommate and maybe that girl your chasing. She hates you, stop it, you're going to look back and realize you were a creep but her last 20 boyfriends didn't work out because they were all the same and you are different. But somehow you'll fuck it up and end up right back here so cut the shit and the trouble and forget her. 

           Your third year you realize college here is a joke, or at least the one you attend. No one cares, it's administration is filled with and run by bureaucratic, red-taped, grandfathered in, has-been, uppity, sad excused, brown nosed, twits who care for nothing more than going home after their 90 minute day, and long for their sabbatical and summer breaks during their classes. Most of which are spent sitting watching a film, answering softball questions and administering exams, three times a week for 45 minutes if we are all so lucky, as sometimes they decide to have the secretary leave a note on the door exclaiming class is cancelled and we all could have slept in. But instead we awoke at 7 a.m. to wait for one of the three shower stalls on the floor to open up. Only to find nobody has cleaned the vomit or beer cans and hair from 4 days ago and there's no hot water anyway. To then boot-up and venture out in the cold across campus, get sprayed by the late shuttle bus and soaked by the slush that has yet to be shoveled by maintenance. Only to find class is cancelled. 

            You decide that summer prior, you won't be bullied into the exorbitant amount on room and board and mandatory meal-plan this year as a big middle-finger to the yearly email you get from the board of trustees saying how "It was a difficult decision but the board of trustees has no other choice but to raise tuition another $752.54 this year." Being a half-intelligent human being, you find the top 30 salaries of the cities employees get posted in the paper once a year, and who else would be in the top five positions but college administrators, the number one slot going to the president who makes over 200k a year, and gets a "well-deserved" raise every year. So you move out.

             At this point you are going through the motions to finish and graduate. You have two jobs through the school, your degree will be in your interest, but it is half baked. They never fully finished developing the courses or curriculum, and instead of being taught by a professional in the industry, they outsource the courses to the local access television studio downtown, forcing you to walk there and pay hundreds upon thousands for classes and inevitably a degree based on things you learned in middle school, at your hometown's own local access station, where you pay a membership fee of $15 and learn, volunteer and become part of a crew for absolutely free. Despite all this, finishing seems relatively easy and you decide to finish it off despite learning nothing but how to get rejected, how to lose friends, how to cheat the vending machine and that my degree is a joke.

      You're in your apartment now with your own room, you feel independent finally. But you begin struggling, you realize apartment living is more taxing then anticipated. You eat ramen, you can't go out, nor would you anyway as that girl finally told you she's not into you. You're 21 and you still don't drink. You lose the two jobs you had through the school as budgets are tight, someone upstairs can't do math correctly and student employees are the first to get cut as people upstairs surely can't be held accountable because they have real jobs and families to take care of, REAL responsibilities. You struggle harder. You get the jobs back in time for summer which is all you do. You and your apartment mate begin fighting and not getting along so well. You can no longer get a cosigner on your loans so you can't get back into school as the new year approaches. You try everything to get back in even though you have been long disenchanted with the concept of higher education as you've experienced it, but you try like hell to find a way back in as your whole existence surrounds it at this point. They tell you there's always options, but there aren't. If they really want me to get an education, why is it so hard to attend? You can't get back in. You lose your job again on the cusp of a raise because in order to be employed, you need to be a student. You lose your apartment because you lost your job because you couldn't get back into school, because you can't afford it. You move back to your parents, who weren't prepared for this and had other uses for your room where you don't belong anymore.

                 Tax season, finding a job, being yelled at, car troubles, bill troubles, debt collectors, women trouble, sleeping on an air mattress, dogs and cats dying, selling your stuff to survive, moving out in spite into a worse situation and struggling to keep your life on track.  Almost three years later you get back out on your own into an apartment. And there you are, feeling independent and accomplished, you finally sleep in a bed that you own, and get a cat. But you feel it again, that god awful feeling. You begin struggling again.  Apartment living is tougher to maintain than it seems. You lose hours at your job and struggling to find ways to pay the rent and not piss off everyone you've borrowed money from. 

               One day you wake up and have one of those mornings where it's sunny out, and you've got absolutely no plans or things to do.You sit with your breakfast and stare out the window, and it hits you. You remember way back, before you got here, before the years of struggle, before college, before high school, and before cars and apartments and girls and grocery shopping and laundry and car troubles, friends dying and family crying and furniture and appearances and smartphones. Before taxes and heating bills and shaving and getting the mail and the trash and going out to eat and computer trouble and driving through snow storms to get to work, getting sick and buying clothes and the doctors and dentist and slipping and breaking a leg and finding that old bill, movie, notebook. Accumulating too much and having too little and toilet paper and weight and haircuts, holes in the wall, healthy eating, not being able to afford healthy food, dead light bulbs, broken closets, keeping up with friends, alarm clocks and holes in socks and hate, love and friendship and ball of stress that wakes you up in the morning you are so fucking immune to now you don't realize it's what gets you up every morning and keeps you up at night and don't recall why it's even there. Staring out at the cars and people walking by you remember before life got you down, that magical time when you were 14 where you sat down and knew exactly how your life would go, and how you would so easily accomplish all your dreams.

         This simple thought lasts peacefully in your mind for a fleeting moment, floating around like a feather in the cool summer breeze. You close your eyes subconsciously and get lost in the thought, you feel the happiness and smile slightly. But only for a moment. It begins raining tremendously and brings the feather crashing down. As even this thought brings stress and anxiety as you realize you've done, or felt you have done nothing for that boy and his dreams. You find that you might not be able to accomplish everything he wanted. And if you had a time machine you wish you could go back and talk to him, and hope that because he was beyond his years, he'd understand this is real and that you are telling him some important information. And he's sitting there on the couch alone in the living room all alone as everyone has gone away to camp or out to eat as they always did leaving him to his own imagination. And he's fine there, he leans in, listening intently because he knows this is extremely important to his future. You see the wonder in his eyes and an almost excitement in his body, still full of joy and ignorance and innocence. You shrug your mouth to one side as you know what you're about to do and bend your legs and kneel down to his level , leaning your hand on the arm of the couch as the boy leans in closer. He's so interested. And with bated breath and high hopes you tell him slowly and earnestly,

        "Dreams do come true. But not all of them. So chose wisely, because you might not get the chance."

The boy stares off into space without a blink, processing this, his demeanor now a bit sad I get up, put my hand on his shoulder, and also tell him not to talk to that girl in college one floor down, and walk away before he looks up.

Wine and loans

     No, not Whine, wine, to make that clear. As I sit here writing I am sipping a giant cup filled with half a bottle of Barefoot, Moscato. I sometimes wish I never discovered that blend. I'm not sure what the proper term is, type? Mix? I googled it now, type is the proper term. At least until I'm corrected. Moscato is sweet, it is a "desert wine" as they say. For me, it's a wine that you can drink like water or ice tea or whatever your favorite beverage is. It's not hard to put down, you don't have to sip it; at least I don't. It's chug-able. No, I do not chug wine. But I am no wine connoisseur, nor do I have the financial ability to buy or try brands and types to find my favorite. Moscato is by far the most likable type of grape and Barefoot my favorite brand. For a poor boy like me it is a middle of the road brand. It's not the cheapest you can buy, but not the fanciest. I also think it's relatively new compared to the other brands. But as I stated, not a connoisseur. 

            Wine drunks are the best drunks in my opinion. Wine is tasty, enjoyable, social, and you don't have to cut it with anything or do shots of it to have fun. It's not the most efficient drunk by any means, but splitting a bottle with someone will render much pleasure. For myself I'd need 2 bottles, one for me, the other for company, but nonetheless wine is an absolute ball. Forgive my seemingly uppity stance and writing on this. I am but wine drunk. 

                An email arose today. It does every month, about this time. From Navient, a subsidiary  of Sallie Mae, a horrible private student loan company, they're basically the same entity. It states my monthly payment is due. This is typical and I don't mind the email as a year ago this month of February I began a "rate reduction program." It lowered all four of my loan interest rates to 4%, and lowered my monthly payment to $260. Which is excellent. During the summer when I was making a lot of money, I would pay my $260, and then send them an extra few hundred dollar, taking advantage of my lowered interest rate. My plan was to pay off as much as possible before time ran out. Yes, this reduced rate was to only last a year, and next month, that year is up. March 1rst will be my last payment of $260 at 4%. What a deal for us mere mortals in the free country of America. Where you're brainwashed into thinking college is the only key to success from the age of 6 until death. It is for some. 

        At any rate, (no pun intended) I got another email today, about how my payment is returning to its original state. Where the four loans range from 7% to nearly 10% each in interest. That will kill me. Literally no I hope not, but I'll be in a much worse place. I've had a year of paying a standard,sub-$300 monthly payment with little consequence in the way of interest. Now my payment will go up to nearly $500; a majority being interest. Interest meaning I won't be gaining any progress in those payments. My plan is to try to consolidate them with another lender next month in order to get out from under the monopoly that is Sallie Mae/ Navient. over the last 8 months I've worked on my credit score, although in the last 2 i've hurt it because things at work are very tight. I've had my hours cut and I recently moved out which was inconveniently right before this cut.

          It hurts deep down. Feeling helpless. I'm not of course. Perhaps only lazy as some would say, others would say screwed, some would say unlucky. Even still, others would say "you're still ok, and you'll come out on top." I'm not entirely sure where "on top" is, but it is a relative blanket term I am not taking part in, at least in terms of my finances. None of that matters, It doesn't matter that people believe in me or that they seem to know me enough that I'll pull through it. None of that matters. What does matter to me is how I feel about it. And I feel like shit. I feel like no matter what I do I will be beholden to these guys forever until I die. Like there's no end. I don't mind having a monthly payment for the next 10 years, that doesn't bother me, what does is the ridiculous rules and laws or lack thereof to stop companies like this from taking advantage of students wanting a higher education. Their interest rates are incredibly high, more than most home mortgages, and their terms for repayment are impossible. They ensure you are an indebted slave for years longer than necessary.

          I feel helpless. But I know somehow I will get through it, contrary to what it seems to my previous paragraph.  What bothers me most is that sure, I could pay them off in a timely manner, but I am not willing to sacrifice my sanity for it. I could sell my belongings, stop renting out a practice space, stop paying rent, stop driving a car, stop paying for my phone and all the other bills i have to pay off my student debt. Even then it'd take a few years. I am not willing to sacrifice my well-being for a company who is already trying to take me. Some days I'm ok with paying the minimum until I die so I can continue going out and doing the things I please and piss them off for the rest of my life. The other part says no, pay them off immediately as possible and piss them off by not paying them the interest they expected in the years you beat early.

        The later makes sense I know. But at what cost? Not literally of course. I value my time and energy more than money.

Going pt. 2

         It's been an interesting week as I stated in the last post. A year for that matter. Yesterday, as I attempted to help a friend with a project, I got word another beloved family animal had been put down. We all saw it coming, but a day after going to a wake adds to the death toll. I'm numb to it now. Life goes on. Move on or get stuck in the past. I have to learn this more than I know.

     Today has been odd. Last night was odd. I had one of those very surreal nights where I had what I thought was a life-changing night in some aspects. But then looking back, I regret a lot of what I did or said. I'm not sure if it was yesterday's events, or today's, but recently, I have many ups and downs. Last night was a mix, ending on an up note. Today, it's the complete opposite. More and more I feel like I cannot focus which in turn renders me useless. I'm not living up to my full potential, and I find excuses to justify it all. Although now I realize this and I'm trying my best to stop it. When you meet someone new, or see a friend or acquaintance or even a stranger, striving and excelling far beyond your wildest dreams, jealousy kicks in to an extent. Of course I'm happy for them. Perhaps not jealousy, but something else. I look at myself and say what am I doing? 

       I'm horrible at everything I do. Well, no. But the few things in this life I want to excel at, I feel I am average at, even lacking. Film and music. That's it. Those two things have encompassed my existence since I can remember the very first moment I realized I wanted to own a camera and direct. Yesterday I shot a music video for a friend's song he's currently finishing up in the studio. A really good song. I had all these ideas, and in my head, it was half-hashed out, but would turn out somewhat decent nonetheless. But during shooting and afterwards, I didn't feel good about it. I was lost. I had no direction, I was going with the flow. My mind was nowhere. I felt like it came out horribly. It was the first project I've even started in months, years! Aside from simply uploading documenting of events. Where had I gone wrong?

       So today, as I sit at work, I wonder if I'm even doing the right thing. Am I in the right place? Where am i going? I feel like I'm wasting away. I look at others my age and younger and they still have their agility and excitement and go-get'em attitude like they can take on the world. I lost that a long time ago. I'm not sure when. College I think. Or perhaps in the early stages after leaving prematurely and the years to follow. Life has gotten me down. Sometimes you see those people where you know that they are good. But life has a way of beating you into the ground if you're not careful. I feel like I'm on that path and I don't like it. I get down, but then at the same time I get antsy at feelings like this, and usually do something crazy. Crazy like sell all my crap and go somewhere. Be free. Not get tied down. Although it's in my genes. Every part of my being tells me to stay put. "Pat! You like your space, you need it! Have your big desk and your computer and things on the walls and cozy couch and instruments and movies and stay here! You need not go anywhere else!" It tells me. This little voice I subconsciously hear. My parents are the same way, my dad especially. 

        It's moments like this that define a person and I'm not sure where i'm going now or what the heck I'm doing. I would say tomorrow is a different day, but I know pretty well how I'll feel. So today, after work, instead of heading home, I will go in the opposite direction. I will drive to my jam space, of which I can barely afford but it keeps me from feeling totally worthless, and I will play. I will record if I don't feel completely pessimistic by the time I get there, (which happens a lot) I will play guitar and try to write something half decent. I'll listen to the other bands in the other rooms, and try not to look around asking myself if all of this is really necessary. 

          But more importantly, I will sit behind my drum kit, and play to my favorite music. Because at the end of the day, no matter what five or six other things I want to be the best at, I know deep down the drums are the only thing I can say with complete confidence, "I am Pat Lynch, and I can play the drums better than you." The sad part is, I won't be able to play them forever. 

Going

          2016 has been a year filled with death thus far. Celebrities, friends, friends of friends. It seems  everyone I know knows someone else whose died in the last 3 weeks. Aside from some musician idols, two weeks ago a friend I went to middle school and high school with passed away. Her and I hadn't talked in the last few years, but she went out with one of my good friends, and we hung out and talked on more than one occasion. It was the first time someone that was more than an acquaintance had died. She found hard drugs the past few years. Apparently she had gotten off them, but perhaps she decided to use again, and overdosed. She might have thought she could take what she used to, or perhaps it was a bad cut of something. Either way, she's dead and gone.

       Two Mondays ago I had to go to the wake. I prepared for the worst. I drank a bit, and went with some friends. We also met our good friend who she'd dated for a long long time. They were meant for each other.  The only other wake I had been to any time recently was my friend's dad 2 years before and that was brutal, so i had no idea what was in store even still. We talked for a while on the way over as we picked up a friend we hadn't talked to in a while and chatted about this and that. He had gotten a vape machine and the other two were chatting about them. I felt good, like I was dressed to go out, or to a show, and not to a wake. 

             We pulled up the side street and into the parking lot, I had to drive around a second time as the place was packed. I was now expecting a blood bath. Not only was I loathing people sobbing at a wake, which would in turn, make me sob. But selfishly, and even more so, I would be seeing a lot of people I went to High School with I had not seen in over 5 years, that I did NOT want to see. We got out, and the other two lit up smokes to kill time before going in. It was cold out, we weren't even in a proper parking spot but it was dark and it was obvious why we were there. We walked in greeted by our friend. He thanked us for coming and we eventually headed in. Through the lobby we found the bathroom, I needed to go. I can't remember now if it was to stall the inevitable or if it was for real. We signed the book. I've made it a humorous, and possibly rude and disrespectful ritual at wakes, to add a false name to the book. Everyone is leaving their names and addresses. I won't mention what name I leave. In my defense I've only twice now and to people I know could handle the joke and the deceased would think it funny. 

      She was cremated. Days before the wake. That made it easier. The three of us stood in line and shook hands with strangers we've never known or will ever know. We heard through the grape vine some not-so-great things about her parents. Her mother was a basket case acting as the family martyr. She apologized profusely to all standing in line as she desperately needed to go out and have a smoke. That's the kind of person she was I suppose. She somehow took hold of her deceased daughter's Facebook and has since posted essays of incomprehensible posts that would rival a college thesis but did so without using a single period or paragraph break. It perfectly described her scrambled mind. I felt no pain for her. As we left she insisted on giving everyone hugs heading out the door as she stopped a large group leaving. She announced everyone should sign the book and hoped everyone had left their addresses so she could send us all cards as if she ever cared before. Sad. Capitalizing on her daughter's death to be the center of attention. 

         Aside from that, it wasn't that bad. Nobody was crying, nobody sobbing, no moments of silence, mostly good thoughts and a good get together. Nobody I knew from High School was there when we were there, and the four of us hung out for about half an hour watching a slideshow as her music played before we decided to go. overall it was a less than somber experience and I didn't see one person shed a tear. We were respectful for sure, but I not once felt the need to suppress my sadness or hold back tears. I was with friends and we were in a specific kind of company I suppose. Other people walking around seemed like they were used to going to these things I guess too. That helped. I wasn't even creeped out by her shrine and pictures in the main room. 

           The following Saturday it snowed. The news claimed feet. We got inches. Still, it was hairy driving as we were going into the city as it came down. We were headed to a show we had bought tickets for and were excited to see. As we got off 93 I checked my phone. Another friend had passed away. "Damnit!" I yelled as I tossed my phone to my feet. I knew it could take it. "What?" My buddy in the drivers seat asked, a bit of apprehension and, "I already know something bad is coming" in his voice as he asked. In college, one of my roommates was from Lawrence. I went to school with some of his friends and we were basically from the same stomping ground...almost. Close enough! I was from Methuen. At some point a girl had visited our room. She was also from Lawrence. Her name was Hollie. We all talked for a while and ever since we had this unspoken friendship. When we saw each other in the halls we would always nod or smile and give a silent "hey!" In reality, I think we both desperately wanted to have an hour long conversation with each other. I felt like she could be my best friend but I was always too anxious to randomly start a friendship. In reality, I knew nothing about her, other than where she was from, and her birthday being on Christmas. Brutal. I'm not sure if we ever spoke again in person. But always a nod, and online we'd like each other's snarky or sarcastic posts about life etc. 

            I left school prematurely and she went on to graduate like the model student she most likely was. May of 2014 she walked across the stage, November, she discovered she had cancer. Yea. She had five months of freedom. Five. From pre-school, to kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, to college. Probably from the age of 6 to 23, she was a student, in school. She was out for five damn months. And for over a year, she found out, and eventually began living at the hospital. Over the course of the year, I had told myself I would visit. Especially recently as it was her birthday. Every few days it would pop into my head; that I was going to surprise her as if she'd even be happy to see me. But I figured anyone in the hospital long enough stops getting as many visitors. I always thought about it. But I'm not going to pretend I was remotely close to going. I probably wouldn't have next month or the month after or even a year from now had she still been there. The thought to me was selfish and feel-good enough to keep me complacent I suppose. I really wanted to, but I never did. Hindsight's 20/20, and everyone has their "if only's" after someone is gone, so that's mine. 

            It put a somber note on my Saturday evening, heading to that show afterwards. We barely got there intact sliding all over, a few inches had falled by now, and with traffic, we were very late. We ran through the snow, past the venue, and had to stop and ask. We arrived huffing and puffing sitting down near the stage catching the last 4 songs of the set we came to see. A waitress asked about us and we politely declined in silence, not being able to utter a breath. As much as I was working out, running is a whole different animal. I thought about my friend off and on all night. I was quite removed from it too though. I realized later I never really knew her at all. To act like I did would be a lie and travesty to her memory. I posted some sappy thing like I did with the other friend a week earlier and a song, but after reading how she'd be appalled at anything sappy, I deleted it. Like I said, no idea. It seems she was fighting until the end, although accepting her fate long ago at the same time. Waiting. Imagine? You know what's coming, it's inevitable. A blessing and a curse. Who gets to know when they die? In some ways I would like to know, maybe not, but if I have more to say, I would like a heads up. A curse obviously being self explanatory; a cancer you cannot beat. A death sentence.

       So now today, three days later, I am dressed for another wake. Except this time, there will be no alcohol to dull the pain of others I will inevitably see, no friends to lean on and talk to in awkward silences or create small talk with. No one to loathe seeing, no family members or friends of hers that I despise to distract me, no comedic relief from friends, no false celebrity names in the book registry, no head shaking or talks about drugs. Not one reason to go, or leave or stay. I remembered I bought a burrito last night on an unrelated venture. Writing this, I remember her and I joked a year ago about how she couldn't eat them now. 

                     I always want to be able to eat a burrito. 

Screw It

The other day, I did something I never thought I’d do, a few things actually. I went to the movies one Friday on opening day about the group N.W.A. it was a great film. But that’s not what I’m getting at. Afterwards, we went to his house and hung out on the porch as he smoked his self-rolled cigarettes. He’s crafty like that. I had nothing going on so I hung out some. A group of Dominican guys had bought the house across the street not too long ago. A few weeks ago we met one of them; he had come over to meet his new neighbors. I was only there as a fly on the wall though. Being this was a Friday, my first there in a long time. I noticed they were all out on the corner on the sidewalk outside their house, hanging out. I was told it was their weekly ritual. I didn’t have an issue with it.

Our friendly guy who had introduced himself a few weeks prior had approached us again, and invited us over. I was already intimidated, now extremely. See, by “hanging out” I meant drinking and smoking pot. I’m not a smoker, but I do drink. But that’s not the point. I wasn’t even a neighbor so I was already out of my element. Now we were three white guys hanging out on the corner with 6 or 7 Dominican guys. I am terrible at fitting in when I feel like I don’t first off. So here I am, trying to act cool and calm standing on the corner, making small talk with these guys as they’re messing with a giant moped, and blasting Spanish music from their cars.

Then the joint gets passed around. Now I feel extra awkward. I have to say I don’t smoke and they look at me like I’m an alien. All the guys are also drinking, we’re only standing there, everyone smoking but me. I’m quite nervous, as I realize even though I’m not partaking in the substance intake, if a cop rolls by, I’m kind of incriminating myself. A very white thought I know, but true! I mean, they’re literally out on the sidewalk on the street, cracking beers open. Nobody said a word about it. So I’m mostly listening and nodding along to conversation, trying to not look more out of place than I already am. Then another guy pulls up, he’s been to the store. He pulls out a brand new box of Heinekens and another guy passed it around and offers some. That was my chance. My yolo moment. My time to shine. I didn’t think about it and grabbed one. I cracked it open and acted cool.

NOW, I’m getting nervous. I’m now drinking in public. Ironically I try to swig it down quicker to quell my fear. I don’t feel any cooler or more at ease at fitting in, but I definitely proved to myself I could do such a thing. There were a few times before and after I was given a look by my friend. A “Are you cool with this, or do you want to go?” Look. I decided to stay and see how far it’d go. People drove by, no one called the cops, no one yelled at us to turn the music down. Nothing. I was confused as to what to do with my empty, as I didn’t want to leave it on the stone wall, or more importantly carry it across the street or to my car. I left it there and it was taken care of though. I never really felt like I totally fit in that night, I can tell when others look at me as if I stick out like a flamingo on a snowy lawn. It was only me of course, the others were cooler about it I think. But regardless of how I felt, we watched some very drunk guys ride a moped up a street, dance around, and talk about everything for a few hours. I think I stood there for a good 3 hours or so. I surprised myself.

It was a crazy experience. One of those situations that you don’t even have time to think about putting yourself into or taking yourself out of. You can only decide on the spot, and see what happens. I drank in public. There was a “Holy shit, we’re actually doing this.” Look between my friend and I briefly. We stood out there for quite a while watching others drink and smoke with no punishment. We also hung out with a bunch of guys we thought we had little in common with. But it turns out, that’s not the case.

I don’t advise drinking in public, but I do advise every once in a while, to say “screw it, what do I have to lose?” and do it. 

The Mouse

I’m listening to a mouse die right now, as I write this. I’m living at my dad’s at the moment and he put a trap in my room. Two weeks ago it began stinking like all hell and I thought it was my trash. I tied it up and tossed it and it went away. It wasn’t the trash though. It turns out the trap got a mouse and it had died and fleas were crawling all over it. It had been sitting for days and I had no idea.

            So now, as I sit here figuring out what to do with my orphaned site, I hear the trap go off. It was about 4-5 minutes ago now. But instead of running over, I returned to my laptop and try focusing again. A minute goes by, and I hear a sound. It’s the mouse, still alive, trying to break free. I sit back now as I can no longer focus on my site. I wait, and it goes away, so once again I try to return to working. But there it is again. I sigh. It won’t go away. I wish it would go away already. It’s not frightening, but I’m not doing anything about it. I can’t bring myself to get up, and go over, and poke my head beyond the boxes, and look down in the darkness and see a mouse in a trap. It freaks me out.

            Now, mice don’t scare me. I know, “right” you’re thinking. But no, I was in an apartment, and we had an infestation! I mean a REAL infestation. The building was over 100 years in the world and there were large holes around the radiators and where other things used to be. These guys had free reign. I found one day hordes of mice crap on some shelves I hadn’t been frequenting in a while. It was bad. I would walk into the kitchen, and they’d run right to left on the floor underneath the window. Once or so was bearable, but these suckers got ballsy. Long story short, I caught one as I had held a cup with granola in it up to the shelf it was on. It got to the point where they wouldn’t even RUN when we came in the room. I couldn’t bear to kill it though, or at least witness it die. So as it was in the cup, I taped it shut and tossed it outside in the trash. Who knew if It lived or not. I moved out shortly after. Another time I caught one in a friend’s kitchen in a cup; Didn’t kill that one either. We ran it down the street to terrorize someone else, Or freeze, whichever came first.

            But back to the mouse.

            I’m not scared of mice. But the thought of looking and finding some horrible scene is what gives me the willys. I don’t know what it is. It’s that itchy-jumpy feeling you get when there’s a wasp in the room, or a spider on you. It’s long gone, but you still feel every little touch of your skin makes you twitch and freak out. Not one aspect of what might happen is too bad, but I know I can’t bring myself to look. What if I looked and it’s got it’s head half-cut off and it’s still wriggling around trying to break free? Yea it’s only a mouse, but damn you have to give it credit. It was only doing what mice do. I hate them as much as anyone else, they ruin your stuff and make a mess. But there’s less lethal ways of dealing with them. Even while still killing them. So instead, I sit here in stiff silence, wondering what to do, or not to do. While it clings to life. I feel bad a bit. Not because it’s a life taken, I mean, I’d like to think I’m a bit harder in that aspect, but in the assertion sense. I feel guilty because I know I should be doing something, ANYTHING, but I’m not and I won’t…

It’s done now, most likely dead. Sometime during my writing this, it rattled some more around in the trap, then stopped for a while, then one last rap and that’s been it for about 10 minutes now. It’s dead. I’m still not looking though. Not because it’s dead, but because it’s maimed, gross-looking, I’d feel the need to take care of it. I will wake tomorrow and know my dad will probably do it when I mention it. Immature? Probably. If I was alone, I would take care of it sure. My manliness overrides my fears of whatever might happen and I shut off all emotion and take care of it; Daddy Long Legs, bees, mice, moths, other insects. Alone, I’m a girl and would like nothing more than to avoid it and pretend it’s not there as long as it hasn’t got the ability to touch me, but with another there to impress, I wouldn’t think twice.

            So instead, before bed, I write this. Well before it died I thought of this. I was slaving over what the heck to do with my website that I hastily bought a month ago now, and have done little with, so hearing the trap, I immediately found it inspiring. I used the slow, painful death of this mouse to further my egotistical exploits into writing stories and blog-like posts, to which few may read. Personal gains, an increase in self-esteem, and ego, that’s what I gained from this death.

          What does that say about society?