Wretched Colonies

Two days before I hit my birthday, I’m staring down the safeties yet again. Do I want to throw a long ball? What about that pleasant play-action tight end fade to the corner of the endzone that I’ve grown to love. When did I stop playing Madden or other video games, anyway?

I interviewed yesterday for my assignment in the Communication Studies department. I could be wrong, but I have a feeling that they will be slotting me with the performance troupes. It’s unsurprising, since my years of being a wrestling fan leaves me with ample time to cut my own promos. I was asked if I had any communication apprehension as far as teaching in front of a classroom. Of course, my answer was something along the lines of “I could teach naked and have the kids sweating.” The professors that interviewed me were all that I held in high regard, but the room itself was intimidating. Overall, I feel that I’ll be put in a position to succeed, which is all I can ask for at this juncture.

As a director of the salsa program, I was in attendance for the 2010 College Salsa Congress and Championships. It was a fun night time, as the Sleazy Sovereign led his troops to battle and victory. For my own personal performance, I again made sure my double hammerlock was flawless; on a side note, I believe I roared when I stood up, and the crowd roared back. Personality always makes things special. Following the first night, an all-nighter occurred where I basically showed my hand about Victoria, saying that I’d marry her and any girl I’d pursue would have to possess her warmth. That’s something unquantifiable; how do you measure warmth? You can measure hair color, wit, determination, surprise, et al, but you can’t measure warmth. Are my two years here to get my Master of Arts (and can I be called “Master Guy”?), or is it to right a criminal wrong? Anyhoo, on the second night, our competition team withstood a furious attack from CSU Northridge to claim the first College Salsa Championship. I was like a proud father, living and dying with every success and failure. I yelled words of inspiration at my children so they would know that their daddy cared. We took the title, the check, home floor advantage, and…it was a raucous crowd. I told them that all the schools were playing for second place; I didn’t lie, did I?

Sleeping has become few and far between due to the pace I’ve been working, and weighing things on my mind. When I do sleep, it’s nice and peaceful, except for when I wake up in a cold sweat to see that I’m not done yet. Court took a lot out of me, and as much as I try to accept the consequences of what happened, I’m reminded of the fail that was the situation. When being interviewed by the department, I had the sneaking suspicion she’d take one of my classes and then call the cops. When discussing my feelings about Victoria, I thought of how I chose the other path because she said she needed me and time. When running salsa, oh hell, that was just fabulous in the sense that “restraining order” happens to be the new joke. It’s amazing to see how everyone has rallied around me; it’s even more amazing to see that people are constantly feeding me status updates about her despite my wish to be left alone. I can’t deny that I laughed when one friend cut off ties with her. I also couldn’t laugh when my roommate found out that he’s taking a class with her and she needs help with the quizzes since she’s shunned lecture. Note, the class she’s taking was a former specialty of mine, and if we were dating, the answers would be in the palm of her hands. Justice is a dish served…over grades, I suppose.

Two days before my birthday, and I haven’t any plans. Friends are clamoring to get me out the house, but I feel safe here. At least on Thursday, contact will be minimal; hell, I plan on following my routine of going to work for eight hours. Birthdays are special to people who have something to cherish, something they’ve earned. Granted, in the last week, I’ve had a restraining order, an acceptance letter, and $2,000 check with trophy. That is one hell of a week, a very odd week. For me, though, it rings hollow. The one birthday wish I’ve prayed for most of my conscious life is to have someone to share it with, as in a girl. Don’t get me wrong: Iron Man 2 with the gang will be fucking spectacular to say the least. I’m not sure what’s going to be involved, but I have a feeling alcohol and as Brandon would say, “Bible Burger”, will be in near proximity. I’ve consistently put up numbers to high acclaim, and for the most part, the future is bright. Then again, that’s been the story for 22 years. When will the story read “…started to work on his project, but his girlfriend invited him away from his desk. After all, there’s a party waiting for him with a bottle of cider.” That’s what I wanted for my birthday; perhaps next year. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Trey Songz feat. Fabolous “Say Aah”


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