My Life According to Me

Disclaimer: I strongly advise you allot yourself a good 15-20 minutes if you want to read this one. Kick your shoes off, pour a glass of wine, and if you have a laptop draw yourself a bath. This one’s just a bit long. It wasn’t supposed to be; I feel like Michael Douglas in Wonder Boys who, writing his second novel, simply can’t stop. His novel reaches 2,314 pages, single spaced, and he’s not anywhere near completion. This is what happens when you write about the character’s dental records and genealogies of the horses. (Luckily, I did neither, but it did run a bit long... which is funny because it still only scrapes the surface and there are huge, and I mean huge, omissions.)

They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever known...
-Summer Highland Falls, Billy Joel

It turns out that isolation is not the answer to problems of the world. It’s day three of life as a hermit, and I swear the four walls of my room are curling in on me. My shell is growing smaller.

But it has presented me with seventy two hours of what I hate the most: stasis. While my condition has brought physical paralysis, matters of the mind are a different story. Yep, it’s just me and an endless, cyclic series of thoughts that race and swell, only to ricochet off the shell and come back with more fury. Think Martin Sheen in the opening scenes of Apocalypse Now.

Despite a few of the valid, well founded criticisms of blogging (i.e. publishing at least part of your life online), the catharsis offered by the crunch of the keyboard and drab glow of my computer screen is much appreciated in times like these. Martin Sheen wasn’t so lucky.

One look at my collegiate career, or at least life after high-school, and my distaste for stasis becomes evident. Essentially, I’ve been wandering and wondering for the last five years. Here is a semi-thorough recap of my life according to me, beginning with high school graduating.

1) Overland Park, KS. The dubious thrills and sense of achievement afforded to a high-school graduate are short lived, as I’m under the ominous summer shadow of boot camp, which begins days after graduation. I’d barely had time to misplace my class ring before being on a plane to Missouri, where lots of camouflage awaited.

2) Ft. Leonardwood, MO. Ah the bane of my existence. Something about being torn away from a rather privileged life and being thrown into a world which paradoxically operates under organized chaos. Think purgatory with drill sergeants. But I did achieve the highest physical fitness score out of the 300+ soldiers there, and throwing live grenades made me sick to my stomach in a way I can’t describe. Oh, and one morning, making breakfast, I got to crack over a thousand eggs. Post boot camp graduation, on a south bound plane to Louisiana, I realized I had reached nirvana. And cracked a lot of eggs.

3) After a brief visit to New Orleans, where my parents had relocated over the summer (yes, in addition to saying goodbye to my friends and family upon my departure for boot camp I got to say goodbye to my house). This is kind of strange (as opposed to everything else I’ve written I know) but I simply could not stay awake after boot camp. Unless physically and mentally engaged, I was out like a light. Then a plane flight to Kansas with my dad.

4) Lawrence, KS. So it was time to set up house (or dorm) at the University of Kansas. This period is what I euphemistically refer to as the “Great Experiment”, but have more recently come to realistically refer to as the “Dark Ages.” Dark because there was a general lack of production or growth in any area whatsoever and I created a cave in my dorm room (into which no light shall pass!) and “experimental” because that’s what it was. And viewed under the sunset of nostalgia, it was “great.” Only fragmented memories remain... Here’s one: Seconds from hurling myself from a third story balcony, the police arrived. Scrambling to get into the dorms I got stuck trying to climb through a bathroom window. Some might claim it to be not one of my finest hours. They’d be right.

5) Slidell, LA. After two semesters of such antics, which I have neither the time, energy, nor dignity to disclose at the moment, I packed myself along with everything I owned into a Jeep and was south bound once again. A summer of odd jobs followed, including lawn care (read: breakfasting at Denny’s), being a waiter at a pseudo-Cajun country club, and a job in which I worked with a group of geriatrics driving cars through a barn like structure. The cars had been repossessed and car dealers would bid on them. The first thing I said upon arriving and seeing my elderly co-workers was, “Someone is going to die while I’m working here.” And wouldn’t you know it!? Midway through the summer (2001) a guy died while the car he was driving was being auctioned. I’m in line, sitting in my car waiting to go through the showroom, and upon hearing the news, I swear, my eyebrows didn’t raise a centimeter.

6) Houston. In the late summer I went to that black abyss to catch a plane to San Antonio, where I would engage in the second part of my Army training. This is known by military types as AIT (advance individual training) and my job was to be an Operating Room Specialist (assist in surgeries). But alas, I had failed to attend any drills in Kansas after returning from boot camp. The military thought I had fallen off the face of the earth, and in some regards I had. (Though I did write a letter to the commanding officer of my alleged unit in Kansas, the 325th Field Hospital, saying I’d be “moving on to greener pastures” and that “everyone at the unit was generally bearable.”--in short they should have missed me) But after about a month of utter turmoil in which I debated my future affiliation with the United States Military, I decided to make a fresh start of it and strings were pulled, new orders drawn up, a taxi voucher and plane ticket issued, and there I was in San Antonio.

7) San Antonio, TX. So began my 6 month training during which I learned all about the body and how much it bleeds. Around week three we got to play with cadavers and see how people look after being dead for 20 years. This was when the notion of life changed drastically. Somehow, someway, I made it through the first phase (3 months) of book work, graduated, and went on to phase 2 of the training. Some people went to Hawaii, others California. Take one guess where I was assigned for the next three months? Back to Ft. Leonardwood, still the bane of my existence.

8) Ft. Leonardwood (yes, again). It was a bit different on the dreadful base this time around. It snowed a lot, I redefined my definition of boredom. On my first day being in the operating room I got to assist on a C-Section, during which we fished out two baby girls from the gaping stomach of some woman. There was a lot of stretching, fluid, and once again, my notion of life changed drastically. January came, and having graduated, I was released. Jeep packed up, I was again, Kansas bound.

9) Lawrence. Arriving to the land of the Jayhawk rather late, I struggled to enroll in a single class I wanted. It was a three week uphill battle trying to figure out if staying there would be the end of me. I ultimately decided it would be. In an effort to escape from the winter of discontent, I headed south after only 4 weeks of living off campus in Lawrence.

10) Houston. A late February enrollment at HCC and series of problems involving shopping carts and keeping the shower clean. I found that working on weekends at a night club is dreadful in a way I can’t describe and that living with a SWAT team officer on the second floor of my grandmothers house is weird in a way I can’t describe. Summer (2002) culminated in a trip to Cancun where I found dolphins look like sharks when you’re in the water and joy of joys, an acceptance letter into the University of Houston. It seemed that, like my dad, I was to become a Cougar.

11) Moody Towers, University of Houston. The look on my grandmother’s face as she helped me move into the dorms in unforgettable. An elderly woman who despises rap music, she was understandably upset. I suddenly was the minority and found out I kind of like Outkast. The black girls thought I was cute, but the sentiment alas was not reciprocated. Moving in though, on a sweltering August day, I shared an elevator with this girl who was almost as tall as me. We pretended not to look at each other. Thus began my relationship with Sarah, a story in itself. An absurdly romantic couple of months followed, including a few run ins with the law, a fraternity mishap, and an ill-fated road trip to Kansas. The proverbial straw that broke the camels back came when a guy woke my friend Andy up by urinating on him at 5am in the morning. This is all on film if you’re interested. Relocating was essential, and the Spring found Andy, Sarah, and myself in a one bedroom apartment.

12) Cambridge Oaks. Arguably one of the more dramatic semesters; Andy was almost killed, Sarah had a break down, my friend John and I had a falling out over destroying a fraternity houses wood, I discovered my love for musicals. The nights ended with dance parties to the soundtrack of Chicago. As we all fluttered about in our underwear, we assured everyone within ear shot that, indeed, “oh yes, oh yes, oh yes... they both reached for the gun!” The apartment, upon our departure, charred from the firecrackers I ignited inside (I dove into the dishwasher for protection, the guys began to run after literally pushing Sarah down in a frenzied attempt to get to the door; the cop was not impressed) and infested with maggots was officially condemned. I’m not making this up. I wish I were.

13) I spent the summer of 2003 living with a friend of a friend in the Eastside of downtown Houston. This was when I began carrying a baseball bat in my car and realized there is nothing sadder than homeless people fighting. I developed a love for building bookshelves and worked at Barnes and Noble. Sarah in Spring, Andy in Katy, and me in Houston, reading a bunch of books eating at the Cheesecake Factory constantly. At some point I decided to rent out an enormous house that was literally falling apart.

14) 4418 Pease Street. A new semester, a new house. Lots of painting and decorating. Luckily the premier of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy coincided with my need to decorate a monstrous abode. Thus began my affinity for good lighting and color schemes. If the walls of that house could talk... well, it’s best they don’t. It was good though... Roommate troubles forced me out, and I relocated in the late spring of 2004 to... We also hid a guys SUV in a tree.

15) The Backhouse. Just a few doors down. Not much happened here, except Sarah’s car got stolen and there were some gunshots one night. It was my first time living alone, and I started bringing the baseball bat in with me at night.

16) Over the summer, a meltdown occurred. There were school problems, family problems, girl problems... Everything short of a drinking problem (it’s remarkable this has never happened). Sarah mentioned this “school that has a river” called Texas State and on a whim I sent an application. Assuming I’d get in, I spent the second half of the summer in New Orleans and finally once again piled my Jeep full of stuff, and headed off in mid August for this “school that has a river.”

17) San Marcos. Admittedly, a rough start. Luckily Matt Luna likes to play frisbee and took me under his wing for a night at least. I met Erin O’Brien that night and a girl thought I “was solid.” Little did she know! Then a volleyball game, some girl in a morbid one piece kept talking to me about Nalgene bottles, and my affiliation with CRU began. It was different to say the least, but they are honestly the most amazing group of people I’ve ever met, and it should be obvious by now I’ve met my fair share of people. I never realized how much fun clean wholesome activities can be. Playing tag, board games, baking cookies... it’s good stuff. And Kari Kennedy rocks. Had to throw that in there (cause it’s true!).

So that’s where I am now, and these tiems hold their own set of problems and challenges, just like the other ones. There is a lot of truth in the saying “Whereever you go, there you are.” Life does not appear to be slowing down as this coming December promises to once again thrust me into a new lifestyle, but more on that later. My fingers are about to fall off and my keyboard is melting from the furious typing it’s endured over the past hour. But it’s all true.