Apparently I Don't Look Very Good on Paper

Hey, did you know that I'm a wandering hobo with a criminal record and a history of mental breakdowns that lead to inpatient rehab and a suicide attempt (not in that order)? Yeah, there might be some things that there isn't a record of in my online background check. Suicide. And not just, like, a 'cry for help' suicide attempt. Like a 'I have ugly scars all the way up my arms' suicide attempt. What can I say, I thought I had finished with this existence. It seemed like a good time to call it a day. I didn't know that there was so much beauty in the world that I had not yet seen. I had no idea that Emily existed. Like so many others, I was caught in a pattern of self-obsession so thick that I couldn't see any way out and I definitely couldn't take anyone else's feelings into consideration. The encouraging part of that story is that I did not die, for whatever reason. Something kept me alive, and it was not for lack of trying. That was two years ago and, time being relative and unreliable, in that short time it seems that life is totally different now. Everything has changed, most of all my connection to the world around me and the people in it.

Regardless, Emily is having a hard time explaining me to her friends and family. Yikes. I'm glad I don't have to have THAT conversation. Although I offered, told her to put me on the phone with her mom or brother and they could ask me these things directly. Maybe I could explain, ease their minds at least to the point where they know that I'm not here to mooch money off of her or convince her to join a cult. This should seem ridiculous, especially if you have met Emily. She is strong and opinionated and independent. She knows what she wants and how to get it, which only make her attraction to me that much more baffling. Oh well, that is the world we are living in and I for one am enjoying myself.

It doesn't matter. I'm a total lunatic anyway and I'm only relatively sure that the town that she lives in exists at all. The reality is thin here. The streets only settled down and stayed put after I noticed that I was having a hard time getting around. And I'm a traveler with a pretty good sense of direction. There is an ATM in the library here, but no copy of Tom Robbins' Tibetan Peach Pie. There are working payphones. There are too many cops and post office mailboxes. There are still Christmas decorations up along the street and in shop windows. There is an old-fashioned pharmacy with a soda fountain bar. There is a restaurant called the Blue White Diner or some such nonsense. The place seems like it was cobbled together to hide something. Individually, all of these things would be a little weird. Together they make me uneasy.

But Emily is wonderful. She's open and honest intelligent and beautiful. She challenges me with questions. That's her job. She is a reporter, an editor of a print newspaper at 23. She is driven and has direction. She has lived a life where she figured out what she wanted and she worked hard to get it. That is admirable and I am envious. She has a family and friends that love her and care about her and would drive through the night to check on her. That is amazing.

I'm already causing her problems. I don't come off very well on paper. My flaws are many and they are glaring, they are pretty much a smorgasbord of warning signs. The fact that I have produced films and stage shows, am a published author, have overcome depression and addiction and come out clean and happy on the other side, unlike so many others in both of our lives, sometimes falls into the background when one talks of the death of convention in order to achieve these goals. The fact that I have been successfully traveling for six months with a philosophy that I take no money for services, and that I have lots of friends to support me, who enjoy reading about my progress and evolving consciousness as a direct result thereof falls prey to the worry that I might exploit people to my own ends. I guess it's a valid concern since that is what most people do.

To combat this possibility, at least in my own mind, I keep nothing for myself. I am volunteering for my food and bed and trading services for services in order to get along, giving away everything I have, including money and material possessions, in an experiment to see if generosity will yield something more important than the security of a day job. This idea fades out of the picture pretty quickly when words like 'jail' or 'homeless' come up. Sometimes manipulation is the only reason people can come up with as to why my friends would buy me a plane ticket to come out here, knowing I have absolutely no plan but to hold a girl's hand for a couple of days and then seek the fairly ambiguous endeavor of 'making the world a better place'. I suppose it would ease some people's minds if I just got a job. I think that the White Blue Diner is hiring. If it still exists tomorrow, maybe I'll walk back over there. The problem is that it probably won't be there. Besides, I already have a job.

Emily sees the good in me, what I am trying to do. She is happy and wants me to stay but she also knows that I have to exercise restraint if I feel any ownership or exclusivity over our interaction. She is not mine and I have no say over what she decides to do. I couldn't convince her to quit her job any more than she cold convince me that the movie Shazam, starring Sinbad, exists (here, in this reality, it does not. But she remembers it) and I don't try. Maybe that's why she likes me. We laugh and joke and are released from the demons of our past and our hurt and our regrets. This is what is important to her and I am grateful for it. But I have to remember that the other story of me is there also, right out where people can see it. History, the past, is no less true than the life I am living now.