I’ve had this really odd feeling these past few months. Like I’m being hit square in the face with a shoe. And when I bend over to pick it up, another one hits me right on my backside. And then when I finally pick both of them up, they say: “SHIT TOGETHER” and “GET YOUR” on the bottoms, respectively. And when I think, “This doesn’t make any sense,” I realize I’m holding them in the wrong order and think, “Oh, okay.” And then I’m confused again.
I feel like I’m not in the driver’s seat of my own life – that I’m waiting for something to happen. Is it something big? Something small? I’m not quite sure. But what I do know is that I’ll take just about anything at this point because I’m tired of waiting.
I feel like I’ve asked the world a question that doesn’t have an answer, like I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist. Either that, or I’m looking for something that does exist, and I just have no idea where to find it.
I feel like I’ve lost the one thing I’ve always had going for me: my confidence. It’s like when Austin Powers loses his mojo in The Spy Who Shagged Me. He feels inadequate for a long stretch only to realize in crunch time that he had his mojo all along. But when is “crunch time” for me? Will it really take a trip to the moon to save the woman I love and prevent a giant laser from destroying Earth for me to reach this realization?
I had an extremely vivid dream the other night about the zombie apocalypse. I’m 99% sure that this was because I watched The Walking Dead a few hours before I went to sleep, but it could also be because I might want this sort of thing to happen. I say this because I woke up the next morning in a stupor, not realizing that my dream was merely that, and I was totally fine with the thought of our world being overrun by zombies.
Think about it – we live in a world where people walk into movie theaters, grocery stores, and elementary schools and open fire. We live in a time when a seven-time-Tour-de-France-winning, cancer-surviving miracle man has become America’s biggest dope, and every time we put our faith in something, it seems to unravel right before our eyes. We live in a world where the Pope can quit, and in a time when people are fighting to prevent other people from getting married.
But I don’t think that was my rationale for being okay with the zombie apocalypse.
Since I’m my own therapist, the most logical reason I can surmise for this is that I would gladly take any easy way out. Easy way out of what? Responsibility, adulthood, failure, the real world, life. I don’t know.
They say: “If you don’t use it, you lose it.” Well, the only thing I’ve been using up recently is my patience. I feel like my mind is rotting, and when I try to focus, everything gets ujbmdle. I worry that I’m not as intelligent as I used to be, and that living in an environment with limited obstacles will cause me to regress. I basically fear that I’m becoming – well, uh – a zombie.
And that makes me wonder… Is that trip to California a way to challenge myself and call my own bluff, or is it just another easy way out? Would I be running towards something or away? Am I trying to escape to my future or escape from it? (How many different ways can I say the same thing?)
Whatever the answers may be to the questions above, there remains one certainty. I need to get back into the driver’s seat of the car that is my life. In doing so, I will hopefully retrieve my mojo and resume my task of saving the world – saving the world from becoming infested with the roaming, rotting corpses of people who embrace mediocrity. People who strive for average. People who sacrifice their imagination and forfeit their right to be extraordinary for a chance to ride in the carpool lane.
Some of these references and analogies may not make sense, but like I said: I’m losing it. I’ve posed numerous questions here, some of which don’t have answers, and some of which don’t need them. But through it all, the one thing that actually bothers me is that I was unable to pepper in a How Stella Got Her Groove Back reference (because I don’t think anybody has actually seen that movie).
Oh, and who throws a metaphorical shoe? Honestly.