The committee is loud at the moment. “You’re boring. no skills. nothing interesting.”
I feel like vanilla ice cream. “Where’s the excitement? The adrenaline? You’re bland.”
At least when I put on that chef’s coat I felt like a bad ass.
When i rode my skateboard I felt like a daredevil. When I was an anarchist I felt like Iwent against the grain.
Come to think of it though, all three of those personas led me back to drugs. Perhaps because I wasn’t being true to myself.
Now don’t get me wrong, I sincerely believed that was who I was at the time. Except for the ever so slight gnawing feeling that maybe I didn’t belong.
Maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe they’ll see through my performance.
An utter inability to realize who I truly am–that I think is my problem.
Who am I? What am I good at? What sets me apart? What makes me special?
I want to be the best.
I want to start a revolution.
I want to jump out of airplanes and perform in front of large crowds.
I want to write a bestseller.
I want to create street art.
I want to build bicycles or hell I’d even be happy to be an expert in anything interesting.
I feel like Napolean Dynamite. “I need skills!” I’d even be down for some nunchuk skills. The fact of the matter is I don’t even know how to spell nunchuk.
What I do know is that if I continue to mess my life up with drugs and alcohol, I will NEVER know how to spell nunchuk.
Because let’s face it, I’m an expert in getting high. Why would I be skilled in anything else.
So it’s time to make a choice.
Would I rather be able to roll a joint single-handedly or learn to play an instrument?
Debate whether coke or meth produces the best euphoria or work towards a skydiving license?
Explain the most efficient way to get residue from a crack stem or write a book about the meaning of life?
Whither away or grow?
Isolate or explore?
Dream or do?
Live or die?
The decision is solely mine.
Oh by the way…nunchuck is spelled N-U-N-C-H-A-K-U