A Passion in Shambles

Allow me to introduce you to the first short story I wrote this past semester.
It encompasses a feeling I'm sure we've all experienced: self doubt.
Without further ado, I present "A Passion in Shambles."
Enjoy.


            An overcast of clouds began to rule the sky just as the forecaster predicted earlier on the morning news, much to Terrence’s dismay. Natural light provided a better setting for writing as opposed to the hum of the fluorescent lights that flicked sporadically in the office. With his cluttered desk flush perpendicularly to the floor to ceiling window, he had never been more envious of Andy in the corner office before him.

            Andy deserved that office. He’d been with the Urban Crusader two years prior to Terrence’s arrival, possessed great charming skills, and always touched on a hot button issue before anyone else in the greater Baltimore area. But Terrence knew he was a better writer, and better writers deserved corner offices. If only he hadn’t been so off his game, he thought before realizing his was bending the pen in his hand close to the brink of snapping. Wishing to avoid an explosion of ink over himself, he placed the blue stick on the upper right hand corner of his desk – the furthest position from his seat.

            He shook his head to snap out of his internal rant and returned his gaze to his computer screen; a word document with an outline waiting to be filled out stared back at him. It had since before his lunch break, often behind a window holding a game of solitaire or the website Gawker. Terrance often had to remind himself not to steal anything he found on the gossipy news site, no matter how hilarious he found it. Once he caught himself plagiarizing an opinion column on the over usage of bacon in the media while trying to relate it to health problems in America.  Since then he’s recognized his subconscious to be extremely detrimental to his job.

            He fiddled with his keyboard pressing one key hoping a letter would inspire him and immediately hitting backspace for seven minutes before giving up once again out of frustration and logging onto Facebook. He minimized the window to look over his shoulder as the page loaded. The coast was clear. Before he could scroll past five dull status updates, he heard a voice behind him. “Looking for a bit of inspiration, huh?”

            Terrance fumbled over his keyboard before he reached for the button on his monitor to turn it off. He turned around to find Andy smirking down at him. When did he sneak out of his office?

            “Oh don’t worry, I won’t tell. Even I take a bit of downtime every now and then. You know, about 12 minutes a day.” Andy let out a scoff. “I mean, if I can’t be expected to work straight through the day, neither should you right?”

            Terrence’s attempted to calm his flaring nostrils. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

            “Well, I leave you to it then. Gotta get back to my cover story. Oops. I was trying to keep that a secret this time.” Terrence glared at Andy as we walked back to his corner office. He almost seemed to glide over.

            He reactivated his monitor, turning it towards the window now being attacked by a downpour, and opened a new tab to Twitter to let out another passive-aggressive work tweet: When you think you’re hot shit, that’s when you’re really nothing but lukewarm piss. Not his best, but he submitted it anyway. Even his one-liners were off.

            Staring blankly at his failed philosophy, he recalled the last time he wrote a cover story. It was the only time he wrote one. Eight months ago, and it was a good one: a detailed examination of the success rate of minorities at predominately white schools with references and short interviews and statistics and everything. It was a topic he was familiar with having earned a bachelor’s in writing from Joyola. He placed his head in the palm of his hand wondering where that raw talent escaped to.

            Just then Steven walked by carrying a jug of water to the cooler. He was a senior from Joyola earning his internship credits. Terrence had a habit of checking everyone in the office’s Facebook as if he were protecting the integrity of the magazine. It was through this habit that he realized he shared friends in common with Steven, acquaintances really. In the same manner, Terrence read a few of Steven’s poems; his privacy settings were low. The kid was decent, definitely the kind of poet who could make something of himself the same way Terrence had always planned to.

            Terrence shook himself free from his train of thought and returned to his blank outline. Why did he have to get stuck with the opinions column for the fifth time in a row? Granted it was the freedom he had always wanted from his job, but now it performed the role of a burden. Maybe he could ask the boss for another extension. No, that would make it his third time in a row begging for one. It was perplexing that he hadn’t been reassigned to the reader’s questions section yet.

He reopened his browser and typed in his old blog address. He hadn’t posted anything in over a year. Its black background might as well have been covered in cobwebs. For a minute it seemed as if it actually was but it was just the settled desk on his computer screen. All the people this blog had inspired, all those people had done since then: entertainment reporter, local successful rapper, established buyer for a major retail store. And there Terrence sat, feeling unsure of the direction he was going.

            As the small hand hit the five on the clock, Terrence hurriedly logged of his computer and put on his jacket. He didn’t acknowledge his coworkers as we walked out of the office and took the stairs down to avoid any possible small talk that could be found while waiting for the elevator. He was too lost in his doubt.

            When he exited the building he stepped in a puddle as he walked to his car. As he sat in his car waiting for it to warm up, he pulled out his phone and opened a poem he saved to the device. Reading it to himself, he felt water roll down his cheek.

Shall We Catch Up

Hopefully I'm not the only one with this problem,
I really don't think I am,
but I often forget about people.
Not in a "Oh, I forgot you existed" way,
although some people actually fall in that category.

I'd like to explain myself as an "out of sight, out of mind" kind of guy.
If I don't see you on the regular,
chances are you won't hear from me often.
If I do think of you, it's most likely as a memory.
"And then she held my hat as I threw up on the side of the road.
Hmm, wonder what she's up to now? ...oh well."

There is definitely a list of people with whom I want to link up with
but I'm often busy with this or that and have no mode of transportation.
Even when I'm not busy, I'm too afraid to contact other people
because I figure they're busy with their own lives.

Then there are those people I don't know how to hang out with alone.
If I were to describe myself again,
I'm better as a group friend than an one-on-one buddy.
Chances are I wouldn't have more than 17 minutes of material
I could talk about with certain people,
that I would be comfortable enough talking about I should say.

I suppose there are few things more awkward
than running into an old friend unexpectedly though.
You're sort of thrust into a conversation
of seemingly meaningless small talk
until one of you has to hurry off
while the other says "We should hang out some time."

But I've been wondering lately,
how sincere are those offers?
Do people really want to catch up with you
or are they fine not giving a care about you?

Speaking from my own experience
it's sort of a combination of the two.
Yeah, I would definitely love to see you again,
but I can keep it moving without you as well.
Sad as it is, there are a lot of people in the world,
enough for me to forget all about you for prolonged periods of time
no matter how undoubtedly awesome you are.

That said, as I prepare for an actual life after college in Baltimore
I'm putting forth more of an effort to connect with my friends local to the area.
I've seen enough of my friends graduate and move back home
to realize I have to spend energy to maintain or rebuild friendships.
Because before you know it, you could be all alone.
And that's not a good look.
Word

59) Go without meat for a month

Vegetarians and vegans have always been something of a curiosity to me.
I suppose as a man, meat plays an integral part to my diet.
However, I wanted to see what would happen
if I took it out completely, without warning.

Now, I asked my vegetarian and vegan friends beforehand
about proteins alternatives besides peanut butter and beans.
They told me a few good things, like kale and such.
One suggested tofu,
but I've tasted tofu and it isn't for this negro.
I planned to stock up on different items,
cook different vegetarian dishes for myself
Neither happened.
Nevertheless, on October 1,
I embarked on my meatless month.
[Yes, many gay jokes ensued
the moment I mentioned it on Twitter.}

I basically continued to eat the same campus food minus the meat option:
pizza with no topping, burritos/quesadillas with black beans as the star, salads with no chicken.
At the time of consumption, I would feel perfectly satisfied. However, within an hour my stomach annoyed me with hunger.
As I figured, peanut butter became my best friend: the perfect anytime snack on a cracker, bread, or spoon.

There were often times when I wanted fast food.
But the thing about fast food is... it's all meat.
Yeah, there are salads, but if you buy salad from a fast food joint
you may want to reevaluate your life.

During my stint refraining from meat,
I may or may not have had slip ups.
When you've been eating meat repeatedly for 15+ years, it's a habit that dies hard.
For instance, October 2nd I ate a friend's dip sparingly for an hour after she said it was buffalo chicken dip before I realized the buffalo taste was coming from chicken.
A week later, at 9 am, I came across an opportunity for free bacon.
You don't pass up free bacon, unless you're (a real) Muslim.
I was chewing up the dead swine before I realized I couldn't eat meat.
That's was the hardest thing I've ever had to do:
spit out that delicious meat that made my mouth water.

However, I trucked on...
until I said f*** it two weeks in.
That's right, I only made it halfway.
I got tired of being hungry and cranky everyday.
Ultimately I asked myself what others had posed to me: why are you doing this?
I wanted to see the effect it would have on my body; I felt sluggish.
I wanted to see how vegetarians did it; by smiling through the tears.
I wanted to show off and be able to say I did it; two weeks is more than most Americans will ever put themselves through by choice.

So how have I felt being back on meat this past 2 weeks and a half?
A bit more content after meals, for sure.
At the same time, I've noticed a sluggishness afterwards
that wasn't there during those two weeks.

Overall, I've determined I don't need meat with every meal
for it to actually be consider a meal in my mind.
...I just need it with most of them.
Word.

And Then a Month Passed

So I inexplicably fell off the face of the blogging world in October.
It was one of those instances of time slipping away from right under me.

I actually have a few posts that are waiting to be finished
...or flushed out into actual posts for that manner.
I would tell you what they're about
but I don't wanna jinx myself.
I'll just say that I'm excited to get around to them.

So what's kept me from writing in my blog.
Well, remember when I talked about writing in public places?
My attempts to continue doing so were utter fails.
Somehow it had become part of my habit
although it was clearly one that produced no results.

Secondly, midterms turned out to slay me.
Between art projects and papers,
I have been grinding for classes.
Luckily, most of those papers consist of short stories
that I may later share on this blog.
Either way, it's definitely going into my portfolio.
I'm proud of those joints.

The last thing that's been taking up my time is acting.
I'm in this play. It's called Rimers of Eldritch.
You've probably never heard of it. [adjusts hipsters glasses]
It's a big cast show that requires everyone on stage at the same time.
So the rehearsals have been intense.
But the show goes up this weekend:
Thursday at 7, Friday & Saturday at 8, Sunday at 2.
You should come watch me be a trucker.

But yeah, I should be much more active in November.
Until then, have a jolly Halloween.
Don't do anything that you haven't already done this weekend.
Word.

One More Year

So I picked up my school's 2011 yearbook this afternoon.
I actually just finished looking through it.
A lot of the senior portraits made me laugh.
Not because they were bad,
although some people looked real rough,
but because some just people were just so quirky,
you could kinda feel their personality radiating of the page.
It kinda made me regret not taking my portrait.
[I scheduled to take it twice but never made it because I would have been
one of those kids looking a hot mess in need of airbrushing.]

I bring up the yearbook as an introduction to discussing my fifth year in college.
For me, it's always been something pretty taboo,
something I wanted to avoid at all cost.
I say cost because my scholarship was originally only for 4 years.
[I guess since I took a semester off,
I qualified for that special extra year. Claver, my savior.]
But besides cost, I saw it as a sign of...
not stupidity, but of neglect and irresponsibility, I suppose.
It just seemed very unfavorable to me.

This isn't to slam any of the 5th year seniors who have come before me.
In a way, I was glad to have them around.
Not only were they some of the coolest people I knew,
but it was kinda nice to still have someone older to look up to.
That almost sounds vain, but I mean it sincerely.

There is only one way to describe being a 5th year senior,
a saying I've adopted in response to whomever asks me what's it like:
It's like going to Disneyland and finding all the characters you grew up with are gone.
It's funny and sad, yet very true.
Going through my senior yearbook made me realize that even more.
I was pretty damn tight with a good amount of people in my class,
so tight I could go to their place and stay their even when no one was there.
I would be sitting their on my laptop and welcome them as they came through the door.
Some even let me sleep on their couch multiple times
as if my parents weren't paying $10,000+ for me to live on campus.

But I noticed an interesting statistic while reading the yearbook.
Yes, reading. We don't all just look at the pretty pictures, as pretty as they might be.
And I quote, "818: students graduated as part of the Loyola University Maryland undergraduate class of 2011, 79% of students who attend Loyola graduate in 4 years."
I've slowly been realizing that last part for the past month.

St Peter Claver, patron saint for slaves 

Not to blow up anyone's spot,
but there's a fellow minority student finishing up their last couple of classes that I chill with most anytime I go to the CMC (Claver Multicultural Center). [Refer back to "Claver, my savior."]
In two of my classes,
there's at least one other 5th year student.
And during my travels this weekend, I discovered kids who I was very tight with my freshman year still in the area finishing up their degree as well.

It's like, even though I feel alone in this, I'm clearly not. Obviously there's 21% of us still out here trying to do work. Suddenly, I don't feel so stressed about being here for one more year.
Besides, that's another year I have to actually find a job.
Word.

Writing in Public Places

Recently I have taken to writing around people.
I don't understand how others do it.

Perhaps it's because I'm too easily distracted.
An interesting conversation will draw me in without fail.
One would think I would wisen up and take notes,
but I feel like that's an invasion of privacy in a sense.
[And no smart writer writes about his friends in front of them.
He does it behind their back in the comfort of his own home
while changing their names like a professional.]

Usually, people who write
in public places are seen as egotistical.
Setting up shop in a small coffee or sandwich joint, they type away feverously in hopes of someone asking what they're writing.
When someone finally becomes bored or eager enough to ask the writer responds, "It's a suspenseful drama about the trials and tribulations of a Mexican boy as he paddles across the Indian Ocean to reach Scotland."
Before you can point out their mistake,
back they go to pretending
they're too busy to notice you.
This is most likely because they realized they sound like an asshat aloud too.

My intention for bringing my laptop around people to blog isn't as vain.
I actually hate when people look over my shoulder as I type.
In fact, I just swatted a kid's eyes away from my screen 5 minutes ago.
Multitasking was more so my goal.
I figured I'd come hang around friends, eat some food, write.
The first two are accomplished with ease.
The last ends up being a bastardization of the post I intended.

If you're wondering how this post turned out so well
it's because I took advantage of the 15 minutes
the change in between classes allotted me.

So, will I continue to write in public places?
Knowing my stubborn ass, yeah.
Do I advise it?
If you have a strong self-will, by all means go right ahead.
Just make sure you buy one of those privacy screen for your laptop.
Word.

Picky Over Forever

It's real easy to become desperate when you're single.
You see couples walking around and get jealous.
You think, "Why can't I have that? I'm good enough,
I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me."
[shout out to whoever gets that reference]

But I must advise all the single people out there:
don't get in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship.
There are few things worse
than being attached to a person whom you don't care for.

Take it from me.
I have been known to pursue people who don't want me.
It's sort if a bad habit of mines.
But ever so often, I'll get someone who's interested in me.
Oddly enough, 4 times outta 5, I don't want them.
However, it's not like I pull all of stuff in myself
so I give them a shot.

That shot is almost always a straight miss.
So I'll just leave it
and alone I am again.
But being forever alone isn't that bad when you know the alternative.
Word.