Screw everything, I’m running away and joining the circus.

.

  First I think I need to put everything in to perspective, I graduated from college with BFA in studio art back in December 2011.  My plan was to get a job for months, work, apply to grad schools and start school fall. I applied to several to graduate programs in my field of printmaking, but things didn't necessarily go to plan.  Every school I applied to rejected me. I wasn't crushed; I flattened by steam roller in to a little pancake. To add insult to injury, I watched a good number of my friends move off after graduation and go on to start successful lives in other part of country.

   I was jealous, depressed, and most I just felt like a big fucking failure. I worked at my office job for over a year and it got the point where Id often consider ramming an ice pick into my orbital lobe rather than going in to work. I applied to smaller schools the following December and promptly went back to my woe-is-me life. 

   In June of this year I received notification that I had been accepted in to Georgia Southern University. It isn't on the top Art schools in the nation, but it is 45 minutes away from the top art school in the nation *cough* SCAD *cough*.  You’d think I’d be more excited than what I was when I found out about it, but the school was not going to offer me any form graduate assistance.  Basically I would have to take out loans to cover the base tuition and out of state tuition and I was already in student loan debt from my undergrad study.  When you get a degree in the liberal arts, just bachelors isn't worth it anything, if you want to stick in the field you need to a Master’s degree and hope you can get a job in academia, but there is not guarantee that you will. It’s a lot like gambling, and I decided to go all in.

   I also began to realize how much fool I was being jealous of my friends who left home. It’s not easy to leave all your friends and family behind and go in to some alien territory.  The hardest part for me was leaving behind the guy I had been seeing. It took a long time to find someone that really meshed well with my personality. All I ever wanted was someone that I could sit around and drink beer while Star Trek and Mystery Science Theater with and that person it was a lot harder to find than I thought it would be.  I am struggling with the thought that maybe I have blown my chances for a successful relationship.

  I had to take this position though. I know couldn't have survived in cubical land much longer and if I had passed up on the opportunity I could never live with myself, so here I am.

   The thing I hate the most about the move is my apartment. Back home I had a nice one bedroom apartment, newly remodeled with nice furniture, and lovely back patio. Here in Georgia the price gauging on apartments is completely insane. For more than I paid a month back home Tennessee I have 300 square foot efficiency that is a total shithole.  The apartment complex performed a bait and switch on me; they showed me a display model and said that my apartment was currently available. The day I moved in my apartment was completely trashed. The complex didn't even bother to clean the unit after the previous tenant moved out.  My new apartment has a giant gap between the door casing, and the door were mosquitoes come in,  the wash cloth bar in the bathroom had ripped off the wall and was just lying on the back the toilet,  there is no freezer door in the mini fridge so everything in fridge freezes, the bathroom floor sags,  stains all over walls, roaches and silverfish, and the thing that simply just kills every time I use it, the kitchen sink handles are reversed so the cold water tap sprays out hot water and the hot water tap sprays out cold water.  This is the closest I have ever been to camping and sometimes I think I would be better off sleeping outdoors.  As of the day I write this, I have only managed to get my apartment complex to spray for bugs, nothing else has been repaired.  My grad program is three years long, but when I lease I can assure you I won’t be living here.

So here‘s to strange new adventure in strange new place.

Adventures In Employment: Fear and Loathing In The Corporate World

From K.L. Hawkins to Z.E.

This morning I was woken up by what sounded like jackbooted Nazi’s stomping around in the overheard apartment. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to prepare one for dealing with the SS before 10 am, otherwise I would have flown up the stairs screaming, “QUIET YOU RAT BASTARDS! I’M A DOCTOR OF JOURNALISM AND IM TRYING TO READ MY TUMBLR FEED IN PEACE!”   

                Sometimes, here at work, I contemplate shoving my fingers into my eye sockets and peeling my face off. Just to have something to do, you know?

Sudoku?  Crunching numbers? Bah! You don’t work in the corporate world long before The Fear starts settling in and then you’ll try everything to wash that stain out of your head. Uppers, downers, grass, mescaline, and a bottle of Patron Silver that’s what you need to get through the day here.

But what can one do? It’s either work this job and maintain a crippling drug addiction or quit and move in to your addict. In the attic I will adapt to the darkness and confined space like one of the fish in the deepest regions of the ocean. I will develop wide luminous eyes and claws for skittering across the floor.  I will find ways to sliver in to crawlspaces and fold in on myself.

                Actually that doesn't sound half bad, compared to huddling in these cubical walls in my tequila stooper , making paper dolls of myself and listening to Russian disco in attempt to look busy should the powers that be choose to stride by.

This is why I found you asking me if I was on any medication “for my head” so amusing. You see, medically speaking  I am mentally sound. No  “-paths”  or “disorders” to added to my diagnosis. That is the frightening part.  It means that I have no excuse for my behavior.

I am a creative mind stuck in an environment with very little stimulation. It is in these moments that I wish that I was insane, because at least hearing voices that aren’t there would break the monotony.  Instead, I feel like my brain is cannibalizing itself due to the lack of any substance.  There is no money in art. No money in the written word, but surely there is something better than this.

I am working on an escape plan. So far I have gotten "escape plan" written down on a white piece of paper, but the rest shall follow soon!    

Dodging Bullets

The advent of social media has turned us in to a bunch of schadenfreude obessed stalkers.  We can now look up anyone who has ever wronged us and laugh at their failures.  If you don’t have a friend on  Facebook who is solely there to make you feel better about yourself, then I will be the first to admit that you are a better person than I.

I was scrolling through my Facebook news feed last week, instead of doing something far more productive which is pretty much the norm when I came across some current photos of the guy who brushed me off last January. My reaction was, "I’m Glad I didn't end up going out with that guy. He is not attractive without the beard.”

                That is the funny thing about rejection.  Sometimes, having a possibility removed leads to the best possible outcome. I think an easier way of explaining it is that idea is the, “Man, I just dodged a bullet there”, feeling.  When it comes to dodging bullets I think back to the last guy I went out with and thank fate, the gods, or the butterfly flapping its wings in Argentina, whatever made sure that relationship never went anywhere.  

                The last time I went out on a date was nearly two years ago. (Yeah I know.) I had gone on one successful casual outing before with this guy, and for our second outing I hitchhiked down to Knoxville to spend time with him. What followed was an awkward encounter in which we sat on opposite ends of his couch, not speaking, drinking individual bottles of schnapps out of paper bags while watching Phantasm. (Not that I have anything against the Phantasm movies. I got lucky once after watching Phantasm II. ) When the movie was over the guy told me he was just not interested in having any kind of relationship because his life was just too uncertain at the moment.

                Apparently, a few weeks later happened to a better time for him because that’s when he started dating this size zero brunette.  I wrote the guy off as a douche bag, went through a stage of “forever alone”-ing and life went on. 

                As time passed, this guy began to remove himself further and further from his friends, turning down invitations for outings and parties in order to spend more time with his girlfriend. It happens, we all know it does, but eventually after that new-girlfriend/boyfriend smell fades away they come back. Only this guy didn’t. He had close friends wondering if they had said or done something to piss him off, but basically he abandoned everyone from his former life in favor of spending more time with his girlfriend. He switched his major to her major in order to be constantly close to her.  His life is a constant orbit around her.  When she is not present, he falls apart. A mutual acquaintance told me that he was incredibly torn up when his girlfriend went to see Lady Gaga without him. He said that he was jealous of Lady Gaga because she with his girl that night and he wasn’t.

                I wonder if Mark David Chapman ever said that about John Lennon.

The more I hear about this guy, the more I feel bad for the girl he’s dating. Now maybe everything is just happy puppy dogs and glittery unicorn farts for them, but to me it doesn’t seem to be healthy to have someone constantly fluttering around you like a moth to a flame.  There are a lot of people I care about, but I also know that the more time I spend with them the more likely they are to piss me off. No two people get along all the time.

                If I had continued to date this guy and he started acting that clingy around me. It wouldn’t have been long before I would have clocked him in the face. So everything worked out in the end, right?

                There is one thing, however, that disturbs me to the point where I shudder and again thank the heavens that all I ended up with was an awkward experience. This guy is so creepily obsessive with current girlfriend, should anything ever happen and she has to break up with him he will be devastated.  He changed his entire life plan to sync up with hers. He alienated his former support group. If she goes, she takes part of his identity with him. This guy will be broken.

 Then it either goes one of two ways, he becomes really depressed, or she’s come home to find her pet rabbit boiling on stove.

So the next time you get rejected, don’t be sad. Just tell remind yourself it could have ended up with that person holding a gun to your head screaming, “If I can’t have you, no one can.” 

Just once, I’d like to be hit on by someone who isn’t a Lovecraftain horror.

There is a local Roller girl whose rules of engagement are as follows:

1.       Don’t hit on me.

2.       Don’t hit on me, especially if you have facial tattoos.

It was one of those pieces of wit so good; I had to steal it and make it my own.

When you are single it never seems like you are approached by the people you to be approached by. If that ever happened,then you probably wouldn’t be single. 

I have the uncanny ability to attract Lovecraftain monsters. I am not referring to that fact that these people are unfathomably hideous, they are, it’s just it seems hardly fair to hold against people in East Tennessee, where everyone is an inbred fish monster.  I’m referring to the fact these people I encounter have to be from some dank unearthly dimension where there are no women because otherwise I would have no explanation for the inherent lack of social skills.

     So don’t hit on me if:

1.       You are in a moving vehicle -   I’ve never understood the whole yelling at someone out of a car window thing. Has this ever worked for anyone?  Did anyone’s parents meet this way? When someone in a vehicle going about 45 miles an hour and I am traveling at leisurely pace of 6 miles an hour listening to my slow jams on the iPod, the most I hear as they pass by is, “HEEEEYYYYYY ARRRRRrirorrororgggggggooooooooooooooooo.” Is this a distance and velocity problem?   As far as I know the guy could be yelling at me because his breaks are failing. How would I ever know. Let’s say that I understood whatever the hell you were saying and was flattered by it. What am I supposed to do? Run after the car? Write down a license plate number?

2.         I am with  another man -  When I go out when with my friend Big Daddy, I want to spend my evening with Bid Daddy.  He isn’t my date, but is that something you really want to gamble on when the guy I’m with is over six feet tall, and while I was never good at the “Guess the chicken’s weight” game at the fair, I’d say someone you don’t want to fuck with.

The thing is, he isn’t the one you should be worried about. If you ruin my evening out , all 5’1 of me is going to fuck you up. It’s akin being eaten alive by cute cartoon squirrel.

3.        I am clearly not interested - Here is a pro-tip, If it’s finals week and I am in the college library frantically typing a way on a computer, I don’t want to talk to you. If you strike up a conversation and I don’t make eye contact with you, I don’t want to talk to you. If I pull out my phone and start texting someone, while continuing to not looking your general direction, and making gritting noises with my teeth, just stop.

4.       If you like rape and torture movies - You can look at me and tell I like horror movies. It’s like guessing that my favorite holiday is Halloween, you don’t necessarily have to be Horatio Clark to figure that one out.  It’s great that you think The Human Centipede and Paranormal Activity are highlights of modern cinema. Even if I did 10 Whip-it’s every day for a year, I don’t think I would ever reach that conclusion , but please don’t feel the need to tell me how much you loved Salo’/ A Serbian Film/Cannibal Holocaust/Irreversible, etc. I have seen those movies; I wouldn’t recommend them to anyone.  Telling me that you’ve seen them 17 times doesn’t convince me that you are cool; it convinces me that you probably have a vagina in a box.

5.       If you make animal noises:  It saddens me that this has happened to me so frequently I had put on a numbered list. My name is Kat. K-a-t. The domesticated feline is spelled C-a-t. Hooked on Phonics/The Internet has screwed over a whole generation of people when it comes grammar and spelling, I know, I’m one of them. Still, it doesn’t explain why you would meow at me. It’s about as effective as meowing at an actual cat. I’ll give you a look of boredom and disgust and then go vomit on your shoes.

So to conclude: Don’t hit on me, ever.

The Best Advice I Could Ever Give You

      Over the years I’ve tried keeping track of all the really good decisions I've made and all the really bad ones. I like  to think of it as my own method of Quality control. I’ve done so pretty stupid things my life, but I’m the kind of person who doesn’t learn things unless it’s by finding out exactly what I shouldn’t do by experience.  So I’ve bought these bad experiences wholesale and I’m passing the savings on to you.

 1. Never mix Uppers and Downers:  I used to drink a lot. I do mean a lot.  During that time I discovered that many things do not always mix well with each other, like eating Chipotle before a night of binge drinking.  The worst combination for me was taking speed on top of binge drinking. The guy I got the speed from told me that I should keep well hydrated while taking it, and my reaction was, “I don’t need worry about that I have all this beer, Hurf Durf!”                 

Now imagine a night of being incredibly drunk tired but too keyed up to pass out, and when I did finally managed to pass out, the hangover that followed was the worst I ever had. Period.

2.  Don’t be afraid of being alone:  I wasted a year and a half of my life hanging around a group of assholes and dating a guy I didn’t have any feelings for. As absurd as it seems to me now, there was a time in my life that the Idea of being alone on a Friday night absolutely horrified me. It was preferable to spend time with any person that could spare a moment than to deal with perpetual screaming going on in my head.   I was utterly miserable.  I had to gradually acclimate myself back in to spending time alone.  Eventually I began to realize that I was much happier being able to do things on my own terms. I used to put up with a lot of shit from people that I thought were my friends, but in reality they were just people who took advantage of my kindness.  I was willing to drop everything for them, but they were never there for me. The sad thing was that I also had many wonderful people in my life that did care about me, but I didn’t get be around them because those poisonous individuals leeched up all my time. It wasn’t until I was able to pull away from everyone that I began to realize who my real friends were.  Learning to stand on my own and be comfortable with myself is one of the most important things I’ve learned.

3. Always trust your instincts:   Never ignore that feeling down in the pit of your stomach. If someone or something doesn’t feel right it is probably because it isn’t, even if it doesn’t seem logical. Human behavior isn’t always logical. Only you can determine what is necessary and right.  There were times when I went along with someone else’s advice and urgings because I thought that they seemed to be the reasonable things to do, even though my heart wasn’t in it.  Most of my biggest regrets spawned from this and numerous bad decision subcategories could be filled under this this one.   Now, if something doesn’t jive with me with me, it doesn’t happen.  If someone starts acting funny or gives me a bad vibe, I drop them like it’s hot. If I really want something I go for it.  I wasn’t able to start living that old ‘Live without regrets’ cheese until I started trusting my intuition.

4.       Don’t try dating people that are friends with your Ex: Just because your circle of friends has a hard time adhering to the “Bro’s before hoes” rule doesn’t mean that the exception is universal.

5.       Stay far away from K-2:   If a drug addict tells you, “It’s perfectly legal”, run or punch them in the face.  Worst. Trip. Ever.  Technically this stuff isn’t even fit for human consumption; there is no way to regulate what kind of chemicals they put in to “potpourri” and everyone’s chemistry reacts differently to it. So basically, it’s like ingesting a small dose of poison just   to see what happens.  In my case, it affected the memory center of my brain.  I smoked my little fake weed joint in the bathroom of crappy hotel outside of New Orleans and within a few minutes I no longer knew where I was. I could not recognize my surroundings at all, I knew that it was familiar to me, but I couldn’t tell you where I was, how I got there, or where I came from.  It was like being completely and utterly lost in some new territory and simultaneously having déjà vu.  Then about 9 minutes in everything began to flatten out and lose its three-dimensionality, and then the colors started to warp. I remember looking down at my phone and seeing that only 10 minutes had passed and with the last shred of lucidity I had I noted that I still had 30 minutes before the effects wore off. That was when I started freaking out.  To make matters worse, there was a domestic assault going down in the hotel room beside of the one we were staying in and the cops were called in. On top of my already panicked state I became convinced that the cops were going to knock down our door and arrest us.  At some point I was distracted by my druggie companion who was completely oblivious to all this and watching Bob’s Burgers.   The TV screen lulled me into a sense of security and I curled up into a ball and fell asleep. The next morning I woke up with second to worst hang over in my life.   The thing that terrifies me more than the actual experience is the idea that people could be out and about, possibly even driving under the influence of this stuff.    I’d rather smoke sherm than try that stuff again. Yet, this stuff legal and Marijuana is not, this does not compute.

6.       If you don’t know what is, don’t eat it:  I believe that all Chinese buffets should come with labels. Some things seem pretty obvious, dimsung , egg drop soup, should look one way, but then there are those mystery items to reside in a kind of gray area. I picked up this doughy round thing covered in sesame seeds from a buffet once because it kind of looked like a cross between a sugar doughnut and baby hedgehog. I was expecting some kind of delicious dessert pastry. I was not expecting it to be filled with this custardy type material that had the consistency of mucus and tasted like nothing.     
The same goes with items on a menu that you have no idea what they are. Sometimes you get something amazing and exotic that expands your pallet, other times, you a hot dog that soaked in Canola oil over night and thrown on to a bun.  This is actually the one thing I haven’t learned not to do, sticking strange things into my mouth. I’m curious by nature; therefore I have to know things that I don’t know.
     The best thing to do is to let me eat the mucus filled baby hedgehog, so you don’t have to. 

Neverland: Population 1?

　
    The Universe and I are 2 for 2 right now. I finally managed to get my grad school letters of recommendation sent out and I’m moving in to my new place next week. Unfortunately, I am still unemployed and still single even though I’ve filled out applications until my eyes don’t focus on print anymore and tried so hard to get my foot in the door with that talented, cute, funny writer I met two months ago. I managed to get my foot in the door , only to have the door slammed shut on it. The Guy has a girlfriend, and I am trying to resist the urge not drink all the Vodka and watch City of The Living Dead 57 times.
      Sometimes, I seriously wonder how I’m still alive. I am 23 years old and I’ve lived out on my own since I was 19, but honestly, I really don’t know how I’ve managed other than sheer luck. To illustrate: Today while packing up the contents of the kitchen cabinets I found a block of mozzarella cheese, you know the kind you buy out of the refrigerated section of the grocery store to put in your refrigerator at home? I found it in the cabinet where I keep the trash bags. It had been there well over a month. I know, because I was making jokes about loosing my cheese back in late November.
    It looked like the skin of radiation burn victim.
  
  There is also something to be said about having very little food to pack up and having a more than adequate supply of liquor, pain killers, and coffee. There was a time when I would make a joke about having different priorities. Now I just worry about myself. When am I going to get my life on track? When do I get to be a card carrying member of the adult world?

    I always thought it would happen when I was in a serious relationship with someone. I’m selfish and impulsive, but I’m all there is. I will buy an ice cream cake and eat for it breakfast for an entire week because no one can tell me not to. I will justify buying a two hundred dollar pair of shoes by telling myself that I’ll live off of ramen and cigarettes for the next month. I like to think I’d act differently if I had someone else to care about.
   I also thought it might happen after I get my graduate degree and land a steady job teaching. Then I would have nice cushion of security to fall back on and wouldn’t have wonder about how I would to make it day to day.
I am becoming aware that those things may never happen and I might end up like the guy I saw Kyle Kinane perform a stand-up bit about, living alone in a tiny apartment trying to write a song for a guitar and wrecking his bicycle because he had to call someone about the greatest hash browns he had ever eaten.
  If I must become that guy, I want to be the best weird, irresponsible loser I can be, but I know I probably won’t succeed because I have a habit of paying bills on time, showing up to places early, and being there when people need me. I don’t do any interesting drugs, so it’s not like I have anything better to do than those things.
    I feel like I exist in some kind of liminal area in-between child and adult and the more that I have to deal with the real world, the more I want to crawl back into the safe little rat’s nest that is Art School.

    
   Over the holiday, I spent sometime with some friends all of which happy couples who have pretty good jobs. I feel left behind most of the time. The majority of my friends have moved on to bigger better things and I find myself still languishing in Limbo. Imagine my surprise to hear them talking about how there needs to be some kind of class that teaches you how to function as an adult. Here they are trying to figure out how to buy houses and start up pension plans, when all they want to do is mod the Nerf guns they got for Christmas into Steam-punk ray guns.

   Albert Einstein once said, “The distinction between past, present, and future is only an illusion, however persistent”, and in the case of the individual I don’t think there is an exact moment where we metamorphosize into something else. I never stopped being the little girl who wants to be Agent Scully when she grows up. That's the primary reason I dyed my hair red.

   Maturity is a strange subject to tackle when we live in an age where college graduates are forced to move back home and teenagers are procreating like rabbits. I think adulthood is about trail and error. I’m still the same miserable fuck-up I have always been, but I know not to make the same fuck-ups again (Except for whole not chasing after men thing, never could learn that one). If I don’t die or set my apartment of fire in process I have successfully made it to another year of life.
  The more experiences we have, the more apt we are at dealing with the world. Sometimes you have to plunge headfirst into the abyss to figure things out, or call that accountant friend of yours that lives in Tampa and ask them.
At the same time we should never lose our childlike sense of wonder. You can be like my best friend’s Dad; work a steady, raise a child, and still have a room devoted to your Star Wars figures. What it all comes is finding that perfect balance. Stay out all night and come in to work the next morning with hang over until you know you physically can’t do it any more and then you give it up. You have to know when to hold them, know when to fold……

   Dammit, I’m quoting Kenny Rogers now. I’m opening that bottle of Vodka.

The Horrible Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Incredibly Boring Housewives

  

I know happiness is the appropriate response when friends start dating, but to me it’s the equivalent of a horror movie franchise doing an installment in space -it’s the kiss of death that sometimes even a gritty reboot won’t save. 

It starts off slow; they want to spend time with the significant other rather than join you down for Karaoke night at Peanut’s Mecca Lounge and you don’t blame them because sex is better than warm Budweiser and the strained delivery of Rhinestone Cowboy as performed by long haul truckers. Then one weekend turns into another, then a month, and before long, it seems like you only get together for Christmas and maybe two other times a year and when you do see them, it’s like they have morphed into a strange facsimile of who they used to be.

Luck is when you find someone who meshes well with your group of friends, but sometimes that isn’t the case. Sometimes it’s a mash up of Invasion of the Body Snatchers meets The Stepford Wives.

My best friend in art school was a girl we’ll call Re-run; Re-run and I were wild.


Have you ever gotten into car and wanted to just keep on driving until the car ran out of gas? We did that all the time, we went to New Orleans, Savannah, DC, we even hopped a Greyhound bus to New York city. When we weren’t on the road, we were breaking in to old buildings, putting graffiti on any available flat surface, smashing bottles on the train tracks. We were always drunk, loud, and obnoxious. 


Re-run dated a lot. Boys, girls, it was a catch of the day sort of thing. I always hated them, a collection of vapid morons ranging from Hipster Jesus to that girl who wasn’t a lesbian at all and just liked the idea of being discriminated against and making a scene in public. They were never around long enough for me to bother remembering their names. Things remained status quo for quite some time until she met a nice and all around decent guy. She was happy. I was happy for her and everything was hunky-dory a-ok, for awhile.


See, the guy that she liked was from DC and was graduating the fall semester of our Junior year and he was planning to move back home. When she found out this information the metamorphosis began. First, she became completely insufferable to be around. Everyone has been there, you have a friend obsessing over the person they’re dating or formerly dated and all they want to do is run a bitch triathlon. You have to sit through all of it muttering reassurances while wondering if you can actually force your thumbs through your eye sockets and peel your face off. They continued dating long distance and I was treated to a constant bombardment of, “Do you think long distances really work out?” and “Do you think he will propose to me? If he doesn’t propose to me by New Year’s, I’m going to break up with him.”


During this time period, I was either very drunk or very stoned in her presence. This is how I discovered the only way to watch Eraserhead is to be so inebriated you can’t move off the couch.


Re-run got her proposal and soon it was wedding magazines and dress shopping. She married early that spring, but in order to do so she dropped out of art school. Up until that Re-run had been a jewelry and metalsmithing major . She was incredibly passionate about her work. She was always coming up with fun, freaky ideas like making rings out of dead bugs cast in resin. There were some other extenuating things going on at the time, but her decision was to switch majors, get married, and move to DC. Somewhere in the process she managed to abandon everything about her former life, including me. 

She changed her full legal name, then her appearance like someone running from a Mafia debt. She traded her art school uniform, cotton-candy colored hair, salvation army tops, and drawn on jeans for a drab chocolate truffle, Kohl’s clothing, and 500 hundred dollar Coach boots; typical white middle-class suburbia. Her behavior changed. I called her one evening and she told me she couldn’t talk, she was baking a pie for the boys.


This was a person I had seen so stoned, she refused to go to the store, but she had munchies so she just poured brownie mix into a bowl and ate it with water. Now she was baking homemade apple pies like June Cleaver and had apparently lost capability to use speaker phone. Her life revolved around her husband, his family, and community college. She would talk endlessly about how much she hated her brother-in-law, (and the only clear reason I ever got as to why was he didn’t like her cooking), and her sign language class, but if I wanted to talk about my art show, graduation, struggling to get a job, applying for grad school, or the deciphering the language of a cute guy I had met it was greeted with much eye rolling and redirection back to all of her problems. The only thing we could talk about was the past and talking about would make her chuckle and say “Wow I can’t believe we were so wild back then”.


The thing is, there is no back then for me. I still am that person. I keep on wanting to yell, “Who are you and what have you done with the real Re-run?!”


I have another friend, or I guess I should say had in the past tense, who was five times more crazy than Re-run and I combined. Most of her stories usually ended with, “And the last thing I remembered was my head hitting the sidewalk as I fell out the cab.” She ended-up in rehab and while she managed to clean up her life and is doing quite well for herself now, she’s pretty much severed all ties with me. I know she didn’t do it to be cruel, I know that part of her process of getting clean was leaving her old life in the past and I am a representation of that past.
  
I can’t help but wonder if that is how Re-run sees me now, some sad single person that will die alone surrounded by empty bottles of Stoli. I wonder if some of the resentment spawns from my own disappointment in her for giving up her dreams so hastily. Maybe it’s mutual jealousy. Me wishing that I didn't have to worry about making rent or having to come home to an empty bed every night. Her wishing that she was still out there living on the edge trying to be an artiste. I sit with old photos some nights trying to pin down the exact moment that things went wrong.
  
I find my solace in knowing that I’m not alone with this problem. The other day I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend of mine who was describing the horrible transformation of his friend into gun collecting redneck who mooches off his girlfriend. I told him that I could give him some good advice or some bad advice. He wanted the bad first.
 
“Get him to break up with his girlfriend and get him back in to drugs.” I said. 
 “My practical advice is sometimes people change and sometimes people outgrow each other. There isn’t anything you can do about it.”

 And that is the real horror.