My First Day Of Training

10.11.11

I'm only wearing underwear. I'm slightly sweaty. My hands/feet are still wet from washing them. I just got in the door a few minutes ago.

I've emptied my center desk drawer. It's been broken for a while now, and yet right now seems like the time to fix it. This is how I'm attempting to escape reality.

Writing this is an attempt at centering back in on reality.

I am about to super-glue the corner of my busted desk drawer, and then after that, hammer in nails where it makes sense to do so.

I've stopped to begin this though, in order to keep on track. To stay mindful. To watch myself.

My house of cards is swaying in the wind.

Now the drawer is repaired, and refilled. The task is complete. And yet, I still had to tear myself away to type this. Even now I feel a tugging on my solar plexus and I can feel myself standing up and walking back to my desk.

I have to find my social security card. I brought my birth certificate today because I didn't have enough time to find it. So now, that I'm home, I must locate it. Now. This has to be done now, my thoughts say. And so I will stand...

I've laid all my files out in neat little piles. And shortly I will begin searching. You can see what I'm doing, can't you? Let me spell it out. Ruin the romance of the symbolism by directly acknowledging what is going on.

I am desperately searching for things to fix, that I can fix.

I want immediate gratification. I want to fill my drawer back up and slide it back into place. I want to stand back and say, "There! I did it! Me! All by myself! I fixed it!". I want to give myself a big old pat on the back.

I want to locate my elusive social security card so I can say, "Ha! I found it! Nothing eludes me!" Followed, of course, by a big old pat on the back. Good job, self. Great hustle out there today.

Even now, I'm losing myself in the fun of writing. Alas, the pull is too strong, I return to the piles...

Well, got rid of some surplus paperwork, but I've yet to locate the card.

I decided to call the number, that I should've called directly after receiving it, just now. At 4:30. Hours of operation ended directly at 4:30. Some times life speaks so loud and clear it's a wonder anything gets misconstrued.

I'm hungry.

My desk is a little cleaner, but the social security card is still M.I.A.

Now I've decided that it's important to redeem some High Life codes. After that, I'll probably do dishes. And after that, I'll have no recourse but to come back, finish this, publish it, and continue on with damage control whilst staying as mindful as possible.

Dishes are done.

Man, I am so frickin' hungry.

So everything is done. No more distractions.

The day started off with me waking up to my new badass alarm.

Which I specifically searched for and downloaded last night prior to going bed on time like a responsible boy. I wanted to be well-rested for my first day of training. And I wanted an alarm that would get me stoked to begin my new journey.

I got breakfast together (despite breakfast's attempts to foil me) ate it, got dressed and then rifled around for the social security card that I still haven't found. I didn't let it make me late, though. I adapted. I flowed. I got a manila folder and popped my birth certificate inside. Popped that inside a little black zip-up dealy. (Think adult Trapper Keeper. Er wait, no, get yer head out of the gutter, not that kind of adult. Okay, pervert, think Professional Trapper Keeper.)

Anyhoo, I strapped on my Vibrams, popped in my earbuds and hit the road. I enjoyed this unusually nice weather (for October) and made the 2 mile trek to my new job in no time.

I arrived early, good little employee that I am. I filled out ALL the new hire paperwork. And then I sat rapt with attention as Loren told the class more about the position. Well, part way through, the door opens up and Loren excuses herself. I take that opportunity to visit the restroom, and when I'm making my way back, both Melanie and Loren are still standing in the hallway. They ask me to come into their office. I do.

I failed the background check.

My record shows that I have a felony (which I do not) and that I have an open case (which I also do not). The felony charge was dropped, I did my time (220 hours of community service and about $1000 in court costs) and the case was closed. I was told all I'd have on my record would be a summary charge that wouldn't even show up in background checks. Surprise, surprise, I was lied to. The American Justice system, lying? Screwing over one of its citizens? Crazytalk...

I'm gonna try to fight it as best as I can, and I'm going to attempt to work there if I can, but I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that a big part of me sees this as a sign.

Life/The Universe/Fate/God/My Higher Self -- whatever label you wish to attach to it -- simply will not sit idly by and let my exist in mediocrity. It demands my excellence. Requires it. WON'T ALLOW ANYTHING ELSE.

So I have a clean[er] desk, an empty sink and that ever-present blank state.

No debt.
No income.
No car.
Less than a month left in this place.

No where to go but up, right?

So I suppose I'll take the bull by the horns and try to make the most out of my night/time under a roof.

I'll share this on facebook and in addition to that I'll make specific posts, but if you are reading this, right now, and you're in the Pittsburgh area, I want to sell you something.

I have many talents. Take your pick.

I will gladly give you a personalized nutrition and exercise regiment. I can take you through many different kinds of workouts and diet plans to help you achieve your fitness goals.

I can draw.

Ask me for a picture, I will draw it for you and then you can decide whether or not to buy it.

I am teh turbosex.

Take some pictures of me. Leave me currency in return.

I'm a storyteller.

Get me goin' and it's hard to get me to stop. I'll talk your ear off for HOURS about some of the most interesting shit you've ever heard. And then, you pay me. Da cash bux.

I'm funny.

During any of these activities, I will probably make you laugh. Not a measurable service per se, but please feel free to pay me for it.

I can write.

I will write you a story and you can decide whether or not to buy it.

Acting.

Bring over a camera, you will have more footage than you know what to do with. I talk a mile-a-minute and I'm basically a human cartoon character.

Videogames.

I will beat you so bad in Smash Bros., that you'll probably never play again and flinch every time you hear either "Falcon" or "PAAWNCH."

I am a good listener.

I will listen to your problems and then solve them for you. Despite my righteous beard and masculine demeanor, I'm very sensitive and in touch with emotions and the innerworking of the human mind.

These are just a handful of goods/services I'm willing/able to render. I'm a Jack-Of-All-Trades, Master Of Some.

Also, there is always the option of giving me money for free. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

There are LOTS of things I'm good at. Won't you let me help you? It would help me.