Excitement, That’s A Good Word

The following is a pure ramble.

A blank page can either reflect a blank mind or a busy one. Right now, I’m staring at the reflection of a rush hour traffic jam.

I’ve lost all discipline lately, and now I’m in trouble. I’ve got work that I need to do, that needed to be done over a week ago. I could finish up pretty much all of it in a couple hours, and instead, each day I just let my energy dwindle as the time seeps out of the day, while I sequester myself as a hybrid of punishment and forced motivation.

Come on, just do it. This isn’t as bad as it seems. Just do it and you can let yourself live normally again. You stay locked up until then.

Further and further I compress myself, but I can’t find the discipline. I can’t find the motivation. Excitement, it seems, has vanished from my life.

Excitement, that’s a good word.

I’ve relapsed recently. I hadn’t been noticeably depressed for a period longer than a day or two in a long time. You might could count when my parents moved, and I finally got a place to live. There was a week where I was low to the ground, but that’s about it.

Last week was a hall of famer, as far as good weeks go. So why have I been so irritated this week?

I’ve got a problem. When I get in a bad mood, I am too reliant on something good happening to me in order to buoy out of it. It is as situational as my confidence. I have no base line. Right now, I’m stuck. I’m on the cusp of something great happening to me, but it isn’t reality yet, and in the meantime, all the other stuff is more of the same.

The past. It is hard to not live in the past when there hasn’t been enough of the new layered on top of it. Too much of my life is still sitting in the past. I spent a long time deluding myself that I was above any sort of love life, and now I’m not. Now I know I’m as mortal as everyone else, and I just want to transition to watching all these TV shows by myself like some anti-social loser, to doing the same thing, but being able to call it spending time with someone.

Or maybe I just want to not be living in the past with that anymore. It’s a problem now that I know the archetype of who I want, but I can’t have who I want, so now I have to figure out some sort of way to meet someone who hits all those notes the same way the person I want does. I need something to kick up the dust. I’d entertain anything at this point. I need…

Excitement, that’s a good word.

I’m barely scraping by in about all facets of life, but I’m mostly happy. If my head is over water, and a current is keeping me in motion, I’ll be fine. I know scraping by is the norm, but I don’t plan on doing it for forever, or even long. The problem is that just hanging in there really only works when you have things to spruce your life atmosphere here and there. I don’t. I shuffle through the same few friends, and that’s good, I’ve got people I can count on, but the number slowly shrinks. It never grows. If I subtract, I never add. I can’t even breakeven. I just cut more losses.

On a day like today, I get off work, I go home (I was supposed to be at the gym) and I don’t want to do anything I need to do (for instance, call Amazon to get them to send me a replacement for my defective Kindle. I can’t even trouble myself with a 5 minute phone call for my favorite device). I don’t want to do anything at all.

I go to sleep. I’m not even really that tired, but I go to sleep. A text message might wake me up. It is disappointing. Not a disappointing text message, but it isn’t who I want, or if it is, they aren’t saying what I wish they were saying. I go back to sleep, or maybe I lay down and try to think for 20 more minutes, but, in my head, it only comes out as infrasound, and my mind can’t hear the thoughts.

I eventually get up. I don’t cook anymore, because not having a dishwasher is enough to take away my discipline. So I eat some garbage, or, on many days, I’m lucky to have my roommate cook for me. I eat, I stare at radiating rectangles, but my eyes and I both hate it. I’m also cold this entire time. Then, I try to beat myself up again.

Do something useful. If you’re going to be bored and lonely, please, at least do something useful. It’s not that hard, and you’ll feel better.

Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I just like always having to fight off misery. I do nothing.

After more time of nothing, I go to bed. I wake up too late in the morning, and go through the routine again.

Excitement, that’s a good word.

My standards of excitement are intolerably low now. If a girl asked me to come over (or vice versa) and eat dinner, that’d be like my 4th of July. Maybe the last actual exciting thing I did was go see Ben Folds Five. I went alone. I’m not complaining, but that should be noted, right?

I’ve got a lot of great things that I can see brewing, and I know there is more that hasn’t yet made itself aware to my senses, but I still have these old shackles that I can’t really shake. And lately, it has me threatening to slip from just being down, lethargic, to mildly depressed again. I don’t like that.

I’m not going to accept that, but sometimes I just want to be helped.

I don’t want to be helped either. I don’t want to be bothered. I don’t want attention, or maybe it is just that I don’t want just anyone’s attention, I only want someone’s attention.

I’m not a nice guy, and I’ve fooled a lot of people. I won’t say that I don’t care about you, I just don’t care about you like you might get the impression I do.

Give me room to care about what I want. Give me the opportunity.

See, even in the life cycle of my negative thought process, my positive attempts are sour.

That’s all this has been. The negative thought process I am suffering from put into words. Hopefully I’m printing off all this fowl ink, and fresh fluid can pump through my mind again when I wake up (I’d prefer it to the morning anxiety I’ve been suffering from lately).

I know I’m circumstantial, and I’m doing what I can to not be, but I need something– maybe it doesn’t exactly have to be something good– to give me a boost and put my back on the saddle. I think I just need some excitement.

Excitement, that’s a good word.

There is nothing more unattractive than a girl getting really into country music

A statement I made recently needed slightly more exposition, so I am posting right now to re-state and then further state.

Original Statement:

There is nothing more unattractive than a girl getting really into country music

And I will clarify I am talking about these girls who just seem to get seized up by the spirit of faux southern living and get all their hands up and flailing about as they close their eyes and start reciting the words to these (usually awful) songs as if they are fulfilling their earthly destiny with each word that leaves their mouths, while they hop up and down in their cowboy boots as they wait for the first man in a John Deere hat to approach them so that she may birth his children.

That’s what I mean when I say ‘getting really into country music’ — enjoying it, dancing, and what not, to me it is unfortunate, but there ain’t nothin wrong with it, but those types.. well.. I don’t know if I should be praying for myself or them.

I’m Tired..

I haven’t written a single thing in the vicinity of a month. Most of what I’ve wanted to write has been excessively positive. I feel more like myself than I have in years, seriously, years. Plural. My confidence in all things is starting to beam, and I enjoy everyday.

But then I have a today. Today is that day where something in my body is just kind of off, and whatever it is that makes my brain tick and allows me to feel normal, just isn’t fully there.  This is the first, maybe second time that I’ve had this kind of day in that same time frame (~month). That’s very positive.

But now I’m faced with the choice. Go to sleep right now. Chug about 30 pages of this book I read and go to sleep. Or churn out something as fast as I can and go to sleep– each one of those garnering about 7 hours, which I haven’t had in a while. I like odd number hours of sleep, and 7 is a lot better than 6 (my average). So I am churning.

I am tired. I am just, tired, all the time now. It is like last year around this time, being out in the world again, waking up at around 6, long days of driving 45 minutes here and there, always in traffic, leaving the house at 7, getting home at 11. Naturally, I am tired, but in many other ways I am tired.

I had a few strands of thought fall at my feet today. I’m tired of playing away games– socially. For the past year, maybe two at this point, I’m always in what I’d call a road game with friends. For a lot of them, it is almost always on their turf, or in their comfort zone, or with their primary inner circle of friends, or so on. I don’t have a problem with it, and I often enjoy it, but as a staunch introvert, bejeezles, it sure takes it’s toll on me. After all this time accumulating, I just realized how much it is contributing to my fatigue.

I can think of numerous friends of whom I have only, exclusively seen on their turf, and not but maybe once seen them outside of that. I like balance. I like neutrality a lot. I think neutrality is fair, at least sometimes. I don’t ask people to come onto my turf too much, unless they are used to suiting up in home jerseys in that instance, too. It is taxing, it is kind of alienating, and you can’t really (re)connect with the friend like you’d like to before getting into these other situations.

Now, I realize I don’t consciously think through these things, but under that conscious layer, I am. And even more subtext is that it has led to me being pretty fickle with a lot of people. I realize how many people I’ve chosen to become disinterested with because I never really got to see that person, the best they always seemed to offer me was seeing who they are when they are with the people they want to be with. In that case, I am basically one of those synthetic sweeteners for them; lost in the rest of the mix. Splendid Splenda.

The thing is, I try not to be so fickle, and I try to take what I can get, but maybe I am not being selfish enough, or maybe I am still being too selfish. I know I do plenty of similarly petty things to friends, and I try really hard to be self-aware of it, but…

I’m just so tired.

I’m tired, and I want people to make things easier on me, just for a little while, or at least just occasionally.

Then I can feel tired about other things.

Here’s to the next morning, folks.

a promise

I’ll refertilize the Earth with fresh minds like a new green cut of lettuce picked from the garden on a dewey spring day.

Attention Whore

The following is something I’ve complained about before, but it is always good to revisit these things. Women, girls, whatever you consider yourself to be, or however you are classified based on how you act: I think half of your take for granted how easy you get attention, and the other half who don’t take it for granted certainly take advantage of it. So, you’re cute– at least cute enough for a multitude of men to be driven enough to want to throw attention your way just because you pass a primal sort of threshold of attraction to try to reel you in by shallowly make you feel good about yourself. Congratulations, you’ve accomplished a lot.

For those of you who take it for granted, wake up and take some, not a lot, but just enough attention to perhaps let yourself look in the mirror and realize you aren’t fat or overweight, and that just because your frame isn’t the photoshopped tree branch wearing a wig that you see in media, a terrifying percentage of men will find whatever your frame is attractive. And that doesn’t include all the other variables that will put you into that attention garnering part of the diagram.

Now, before people start to complain and say, “Oh look at this guy, he’s just jealous, or frustrated because..,” SHUT UP! Hell yes I’m envious! Why? Because I work hard for my attention. I work damn hard. I ain’t no Pretty Bolgeo, but I at least am my best looking I’ve been in my life. I’m also in great shape. More importantly, I am interesting, often funny, intelligent, and like the ocean floor with a good mix of varying levels deep and shallow. I’m caring, I’m not a pig, but I also don’t act like an asexual eunuch. I am respectful, but not androgynously passive. I offer plenty of insight, or perspective. I could write my way out of a public desecration and sacrifice as a prisoner to an ancient tribal civilization. I can treat people, but also know how to receive hospitality. Heck, I can even cook these days. I could continue listing, but the point is, I have to use

every

single

one

of these qualities, and furthermore try to use them in a positive fashion just to receive enough attention to register on a scale of time perceivable by humans. And we are talking about attention from anyone, even my momma. So yeah, I’m a bit jealous, and sometimes a touch bitter, but with in very good reason, because you have it too easy. I have no problem being honest about this. I am not holding any grudges. If I weren’t working so hard, then there would be no contrast for you to realize how easy you have it. I’m not here to tell you what to do beyond that. I just want you to know. Next time you feel down on yourself, all you have to do is put on a tight skirt, some make-up, get your hair did a little bit and walk into a crowd. If I had been the one to paint the Mona Lisa, I probably wouldn’t get admiration for it until after I’ve been long resting in the Earth.

And this falls into what I really had on my mind to write about. I don’t like giving attention, or rather, playing the usual game for it that everyone else does. Now of course, people are going to say that if you don’t play the game by the rules (by societies constructs, or whatever), then of course you’re going to always be watching from the bench. I don’t try to play my own game entirely, I just hate having to play the same game everyone else does. It is faulty.

I misspoke a second ago. I do like giving attention, I don’t like the ways I have to. Here is an example of one of my biggest problems:

Say I like a girl, well wait, let’s say I’m just attracted to this lovely lady– I can’t express that so overtly. I’ve been watching fools walk up to women my entire life and so overtly flying their banner that shouts, “ooh mama, I like what you have to offer so I’m going to do as much as I can to look like a hopeless idiot to you and anyone with eyeballs in the vicinity.”

Screw that.

This works in public. In a bar. Amongst groups of friends. In knitting class. Even on the Internet, and so on.

Maybe it is purely pride, but I just can’t lower myself to that position. If I can get into a more shielded setting, then it’s on, but otherwise, well, I think it is clear that shuts me out of almost everything. I have a better handle on attraction (from basic instinctual concepts, to person specific things, all the way to body language) then I probably let on, or let myself take advantage of, and I’d say one of the principles is that in most cases, if you don’t properly display or convey attraction from yourself, there is no chance for another person to be attracted to you. Caveats to this are if you are just an aesthetically beautiful person, famous, sometimes if you’re charismatic, or if you’re just lucky and that person already is in to you. But even with the last one, if you don’t cultivate what you could consider an ember of attraction, it can end up into nothing but a lump of coal, or even worse.

Granted, I’ve been playing with this handicap my entire life, so I am kind of used to it. But as a young adult, it is a weird place to be in life, and it is kind of like growing up a baseball prospect– you finally get to the majors and find that everyone else is using steroids, and your integrity isn’t only useless; it’s detrimental.

There aren’t things that I think about too often, or bother me a lot, but from time to time, such as tonight (or lately this week), they have annoyed me. I just wanted to speak my piece once again.

I think you’re all scumbags either way.

<3

AMENDMENT –  I had to come back and add this, because I realized I missed my entire point. The point is less about doing things for attention, or having to show attention to get it. Those list of qualities that I put up against being a woman and looking good which should get attention are not things I do to get attention. In fact, I try to make sure I don’t derive attention from them directly (to a fault, probably). For instance, I’ve tried hard to get better at receiving compliments. Even in some lousy pick-up basketball game, I don’t like it when I go off and am hitting shots in peoples faces and the other guys on the other team are telling me, “quit making everything!” I don’t know how to react to that. What am I supposed to say? “Yeah, what can I say, I’m awesome. I’ve also worked my tail off to be able to do this. I used to have a tail, by the way,” I don’t like how that conveys myself. Likewise, if it looks like I do specific things for attention, it looks desperate in a way.

Here’s what it boils down to: I believe in recognition more than attention. Once again, it is probably a flawed perception, but I think that, for instance, if I write and keep writing, people should eventually see it and gradually take interest because it is good and it strikes a chord with some people. How it actually works is: if I write, even if it is good, and strikes a chord with someone, I still have to get in an old airplane and write about my writing in the sky so everyone can know about it, or basically, market it and jump around screaming, “look at me! Look at me! Attention! Attention!”

If you have to be so aggressive and up front about it, it is attention. If you can find a way to receive notice naturally, it is recognition. I don’t like playing into the usual system because I would rather recognize someone for something beyond just the fact that I think they’re pretty. And so on.

That was the whole point of what I wrote. Sorry for forgetting it, haha.

brain trust

I am going to talk about trust today. Before I get ahead of myself, let me say that it felt good to write something a bit more uplifting than usual last time. Unfortunately, I don’t have much of that in the tank right now, just an assortment of junk. I’m just going to reach into this pack and sort through more. I just wanted to apologize for anyone who got to see a glimmering, hopeful perspective of life last time, and is ‘rewarded’ with the colder reality of blues, grays, and dreariness that is my life.

Trust. I’ve lost faith in the concept. Maybe it is because I’ve been ever so slightly off my emotional axis today, but when I just think about trust, trusting people, and having my trust blown out of the water like fishing with dynamite, I just feel very weak. The overarching problem is that while I have lost faith in trust(ing people), I still give away my trust like suckers at the dentist. I still have copious amounts of trust vested in close vessels (people) of my personal life. Heck, I flip-flop from internally removing all trust from people who have stripped themselves their right to my trust, to feeling comfortable with the idea of fully giving it away again. That’s the overarching problem, though. There is another, smaller one that really bugs me.

Maybe it is my elitist nature, but I look at other people, other friends, and see who they are trusting, contrast it to my own life and just get upset. I am me, for Pete and Repeat’s sake!– out of what I have around me, I choose the best, brightest, and most loyal to put my trust in! And when I see other people I have in my trust bubble, and some of the straight up bimbos they have in theirs, often at a greater level than they trust me, I just get–  upset.

Or that is my reasoning, at least, in all it’s fallacious, narcissistic glory. I can’t help it! After letting myself get burned so often and so easily, I sometimes only really trust myself, and the way I see it is: why wouldn’t you want to trust me over anyone else? It is me! Me, me, me. You’ll have to excuse me, I just can’t help it sometimes. I mean, I am pretty rad, afterall. Oh, and considerate!

What exactly is trust, though? I am not pondering that cognizantly, but rather the pure emotional sense. What is the feeling of trust?

The way I see it, it is the complete lack of feeling. Distrust itself is the feeling. It is an anxiety, a worm that rests in your gut; slithering and pilfering around; consuming everything within until it swells and expands the lining of your intestines to the point that any movement causes your stomach to place the rest of your body on red alert. When I am with someone I trust, I feel nothing at all. I feel comfortable saying whatever I might say. I feel comfortable being affiliated with their individual actions. I have a total lack of concern for how they will consider my emotional or physical well-being.

It is just a feeling, or lack thereof. That’s my simplified, flawed view of it, but it seems to fit.

Because when you have that protective barrier of trust ripped out, like a skinless body, you feel every single sensation, and it hurts like the dickens.

Like I said, just baggage I have to sort through. Nothing eloquent this time, nothing poignant, probably a waste of reading; maybe even a waste of me writing it, but I am just trying to put things in light and hopefully get something out of it, internally.

As much as I continue to hurt, and continue to hide myself from reality, I am not distrusting enough.

Man up, James! – Issue 131

source: http://www.conceptart.org/forums/showthread.php?t=56786&page=76

Man up, James!

It is 50 minutes into the last day of my least favorite month. This January was no exception to the rule; pretty bad January. A lot to be thankful for? Sure. A lot to look forward to? Somewhat. A lot of emptiness and uncertainty? Of course.

The past two days were the weakest I’ve felt since before I started my final semester in August. I hate how I can hardly remember most of those days. I compare it to something like Mario Kart, you know, like those boost arrows on the track that warp you up real fast? That is what those first few weeks of August were. I was mad depressed, still, though had been scaling upward and out of the crevice I had violently tumbled so deeply down; slow progress, and many days where I slipped and ended up back down days, weeks back.

Then it was like the movie trope you see, where my foot somehow got tied around some rope attached to a pulley, such as the one you see in a bucket, and this massive counterweight yanked me up, upside down, toward the surface. Of course this wasn’t entirely beneficial, as I was dragged across the crag like a match being lit on a coarse, flint-like rock. Either way, it started up again. Life. It took me a month or two to get out of the shell shock of being back in school after my massive breakdown and fleeing. Desperate prayers were answered as I recall showing up at a fairly well-sized baptist church one afternoon in the first half-week of school. My friend said I had the job if I wanted it. I walked around the facility and heard my responsibilities and was basically said the job was mine if I wanted it. Not that I didn’t listen, but I didn’t really listen so much, because I could have been told that I was going to be wrestling lions and I would have said yes. A couple days later I was both working and attending school every weekday.

I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to hack it anymore. Atrophy is an incredible thing. Social atrophy is even worse when you have dealt with varying degrees of social anxiety and fluctuating self-image your entire life. Those first few weeks were entirely distorted, blurry, rushed. For any of you who ever played sports, it was like getting out in your first high school varsity game, somehow mistakenly sent in by your coach, or perhaps as part of a message being delivered to older, leather skinned and composed upperclassman teammates. And the sweat, the pressure, the accelerating heart beat, the shortened breathing patterns and the motion– game back on. If you know those moments, you know what those weeks felt like. I merely just kept my body moving. I made sure I was in each place I needed to be when I was supposed to be there, then like that moment the roller coaster drifts into momentum, I went along for the ride, terrified and helpless.

Over time, I finally earned back fragments of confidence, normalcy, and the sure-footed feeling that I can do this living stuff again. By the time that period ended, I had my best, closest friend in the world living 2 minutes away, I had earned back the respect of instructors I look up to who were there when I fell the first time, I felt like I belonged on campus, I felt good about my ability to contribute with my job, and so on. I was not only back on the surface, but I had healed up quite a but, stiffened up my body a bit and was feeling the best I had felt in a couple years.

Maybe I got a big head, maybe I forgot that it isn’t me who is in control of these things, maybe I just was near-sighted, or maybe I am just overdramatic, but I never knew it’d only take a month to uncoil most of that.

December 16th was the night I graduated. I was hyped up. I even saw some old faces who had been through journeys as long, and I am sure as arduous as mine. I was totally inspired, and I felt fulfilled. I was surrounded by so many of my best friends and family that night. Heck, I even let one of my closest girl friends come, you know, that one who I had been saying was dead to me for the past year– not the on that I had been dead to the past year. In fact, it was nice to have that dichotomy between oldest closest girl friend and newest closest girl friend both there, with the one in the middle obviously gone. It showed that I could find that type of connection still, in places I never looked.

The very next day, the coils had already started revolving the other direction. It was likely from coming from such a sky searing high from the night before and having to plummet down to the ground the next day. Oh, and waking up too early. I never got weaker, even as the immediate future dwindled into an outlook that was not as clear cut and optimistic as the one I endured between August and December. I knew, or so I thought, what was coming, and I was ready to take that transition head on; much like we take on waves, running straight at them and diving under to avoid the blows and their opposing force. I am clumsy, and I got hit by a few.

I expected some, and wasn’t prepared for others. I knew my best friend was leaving, but I couldn’t process it until it happened. I didn’t know I would find myself attached to a girl, but almost involuntarily it happened. I knew that I’d be in this weird transition period with my job and finding something more permanent, and hopefully meaningful (to myself), but I didn’t expect it to have such a sapping effect. I knew that my family was going through a lot of things, but I once again underestimated how deeply the stress of it would start to hollow me out again.

And now where am I exactly?

Lost, I guess.

I  am holding myself up with everything I have. I am not refusing help; I am quite active in asking for it, in fact. Yet, I’m still lost and that wanes my strength extensively. My biggest short-term fear is that I run out of strength, give up on finding my direction and fall back into depression, but I will fight with everything I have to avoid that; and I will fight dirty.

I’ve already considered a lot of changes I can try to make, or at least look into to help. I have to sit kicking myself every moment of the day, the only girl that has ever had any meaning to me since my breakup has seemingly gone to a close friend to a non-existent one. I even had to bring to the table that I can’t support a one-sided friendship. I think I forgot to say that I didn’t want it to have to be that way, and I think I came off lacking understanding of that person, but on the other hand that part of me that is still blackened and dead from all my time wants to be bitter from feeling like I haven’t been respected; like I am not trusted, or heck, like I haven’t even been given a chance to be trusted. Within me, I know that I am worthy of those things and more, yet within the other person, they can’t easily resign themselves to that.  I have to remember other people have those blackened, dead parts, and I try to at least take the fact that it is hard to be given someone’s trust as something, because at least that is on the table? Either way, it is a terrible place to be, because it just feels like I keep giving up more and more.

Lost another friend to a similar typhoon in their life, and only recently have they resurfaced. I’ve had a couple more move, or they travel a lot. She, well, her and I probably both finally accept that we ended up on different sides of a bridge that has been completely destroyed, with myself finishing last in that race, of course. The only real female touch I have in my life are from one or two people, depending on how you look at it. I never get to see any of those kind of friends in anything outside of a group setting, and even then it is usually brief. I deeply yearn for that kind of connection again, there is just something about the gentleness of that heart and that different way of looking at things that I can’t get otherwise, heck, that’s why I would sacrifice any deeper feelings I got for any girl at this point just because I need that close connection as a friend I can trust and vice versa. I only get that with people who are in other states right now.

It makes me very sad.

Then there is the fact that nearly all of my active close friends live ~40 minutes away, at least. That might not sound like much in the grand scheme of things, but when you have to drive that much to and fro to go anywhere, it drains you. I either have to plan well ahead and pack for the end of the world to be efficient, or I have to make many drives. I hate it, and I think it has ground me to the point that half the time I can hang out with any of them, I have to fight an equal half that doesn’t feel up to it, because it’d feel better to have to expend less of myself and be down about my situation instead.

That is exactly the kind of danger I fear. Do you see how easy it is for me to systematically break down my current setting and subsequently have endless ammunition to fire at my morale?

It is scaring the crap out of me. I feel 15,19 and 24 all over again. Those were all very low points and very foolish times. I won’t say I thought I grew, because I knew I grew. I have the measurements on the wall, but why am I feeling like I am inflicted by all the things in the past that cut me so far down, plus new ones?

As a whole, I am still far better off right now than I was 1 or 2 years ago. I think I have less intimacy and close contact to lean on, but other than that caveat, I should like these odds.

I honestly just think that I must have thought I fully recovered from injury too quick, tried to run too far, jump too high, and play too hard. I’m playing that patience game again and I just don’t like it.

I guess that is why I am just doing everything I can to keep things moving, changing, and trying to procure advantages in anyway I can. If you can’t try to be self-reliant then how do you expect to rely on anyone else?

I know I just painted a very bleak picture, and I know I am going to come across as very down. Like I said, I’ve just felt especially weak the past two days, but you know what?

Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m manning up. I will out exist this lull, no prob.

 

Skimming through this again, I do realize I forgot to highlight one thing: I have more self-assurance now than ever. I am just not getting a chance to exhibit that self-assurance. That is why I am impatient through my transition, like I am cuffed and these weakly dudes are trying to get their licks in now before they let me loose to unleash on the world like a rapid fire cannon.