Faults Follies and Identity

Have you ever really sat down for the purpose of thinking about identity and how you define it?

How do you define your own identity?
What components play a part in that definition?
Is there a difference between what you do and who you are?
How much do your looks or clothing play into it?
How much do other people's definitions of you play into your own?

Identity is tricky. Should we define our identities based on the things, or people, or ideologies that we identify with the most. That is to say, those that we find ourselves most pleased by, most comfortable with, those that we find to be most in line with the way we would make things were we in charge. Or perhaps we should define our own identity based on the things we one day aspire to be. Therein lies a dangerous risk of then never being able to attain the identity we aspire to and in the end giving ourselves the identity of failure because we couldn't "get there." But if we desire to improve ourselves is it better to define ourselves by the mistakes we are trying to fix, by the characteristics we aspire to, or should we perhaps define our identity as someone who is seeking to be better.

How defined does an identity need to be? Can I actually simply define myself as a man who is seeking to become a better man? That is a fairly undefined statement. That is to say that many of the details are not defined. What defines "better" for instance?

It's ever so slightly disturbing that this rambling about identity (composed over a period of months in fits and bursts) is mostly punctuated with question marks...

Wouldn't one assume that identity is something much more easy to comprehend? I think we often treat it as though it is, and thereby offend, discriminate against, and misrepresent many people. But who knows if that opinion can be true at all, because all I've established is that when it comes to identity I can't seem to establish anything with any real solidity.

I'm tempted to use some extremely meaningless and yet very palatable, politically correct, open-minded phrase like "Identity is what we make it." or "Your identity is your own." But those statements do not make any real statement.

So after contemplating this and giving myself nothing but more questions and no answers to any of them: What is my identity? (or at least what do I define it as?)

The only characteristic about me that seems permanent enough to define as an identity is that I am not the man I want to be, and I'm trying to get there. I also know that the standard I hold myself to is unattainable, and therefore I will never be the man I want to be. This however does not make me a failure. It simply means that there is always progress to be made, and there is always work to do. I will move both forward and backward in this pursuit, and that will at times depress me. But when it comes to my identity: I am a man who is seeking to become the man he knows he should be. I am always that, no matter what changes around me.

Faults Follies and Brokenness

I am not, nor can I be, perfect.
Sometimes I accept this to readily.
Sometimes I am a bad friend,
I am a bad man,
I am broken.

I am not, nor can I be, perfect.
I am far too OK with this existence.
I need to provide resistance.
I don't fight hard.
I am broken.

I am not, nor can I be, perfect.
Sorry for ignoring your reality.
Sorry that is too hard for me.
I hurt too much,
I am broken.

I am not, nor can I be, perfect.
I look like things that are not me.
I try to be things you can't see.
I wear myself out.
I am broken.

I am not, nor can I be, perfect.
Some days are worse than you know.
Some days are just too slow.
I am limited as a man.
I fix what I can.
I am broken.

Faults Follies and Aim-ful Wandering

There are certain phrases that we hear and expect to go a certain way. Much in the same way, there are certain things in life that lead use to expect other things to follow them. Because of these facts I decided to twist the phrase "aimless wandering" in the title to try to find a way to describe the unfulfilled expectations currently existing in my life.

Life has taught me that it is reasonable to expect to be told what steps to take when someone else places a goal in front of you. It seems that right now, this is another one of those times where God is not following the rules we play by down here on earth.

I have felt a very distinct calling from God to a certain profession. Namely, I feel that God wants me to be a pastor. That much is clear to me. However the steps I need to take from where I'm at to get there are not clear to me at all. I don't know if I should go to seminary, or not. Nor do I know which seminary I would go to if I did go. I'm not sure where I should go to get the training and preparation I need to serve as a pastor. I really haven't had the strongest connections to any church or denomination over the past 4 to 6 years because I've been a student in two different states. In that time it's been difficult for me to find a church that I could call home.

The church I grew up in has been changing a lot and no loger feels like home. In my time in Minneapolis I attended somewhere between 5-10 different churches with varying degrees of regularity in an effort to try to find a place to settle in. Thus far in Champaign-Urbana I've attended a minimum of 4 different churches. I can't seem to find a place that's doing ministry in such a way that I can truly settle in and join in with their ministry. Maybe that's simply because God is calling me to be a pastor because he's calling me to do ministry in a way that's not being done, and that's why I can't find it.

I'm trying to figure out which organizations/churches/denominations might have ministry going on that is close to what God is calling me to, but it's very hard to find such information. I've found one organization that seems to be doing ministry the way I feel God calling me to. However their US base is in Minneapolis and I don't live there anymore. I attended their church, and wish I had gotten more plugged in. But I didn't find out about that church until shortly before I was done with my degree, and it was also a logisitcal nightmare to work their services into my busy schedule.

At this point I'm trying to be patient and prayerful about all of this. I'm great at one of those two, and anyone who knows me would be able to tell you which one I suck at. So I'm praying a lot and trying very hard to keep my eyes and ears peeled for the next time God decides to give me more direction.

My Muse is Amused

I don't care if I produce a bunch of really shitty poetry

It's just that these words flow freely out of me

And I know this might not be the right time for me

To let these thoughts form poetry

But of the things I control my muse is not one

She makes love to my mind and won't stop 'til she's done

I sometimes finish a poem only to start another one

'Cause in spite of the first climax she's only just begun

She can do things to me that I'll never understand

Her movement forces exclamations that are completely unplanned

Her greatest pleasure is the movement of my hand

And my pen on a page to record our last meeting

As she caresses my thoughts I can feel my heart beating

Faster and faster to catch up with her rhythm

She always brings new inspirations and I can't just dismiss them

And if I try to write when she's not around

I have to be sneaky for fear I'd be found

'Cause she's got quite the temper and can get really jealous

And when it comes to anger she can get overzealous

So most of the time I let her have her way

And I try to keep her happy to make sure that she'll stay

With me in the morning after nights when I'm too tired to write

And I simply have to say, "Baby, not tonight."

My muse is amused by the effort I put in

To every smell, sight and sound, down to the drop of a pin

Just hoping to find the right moment for our next rendezvous

To be inspired by a thought that rings true

So I catalogue moments of joy and of pain

So I'll have stories to tell her when we meet again

About love found, love lost, and love yet unknown

About the things that I've learned and the ways that I've grown

But sometimes I wonder how much she cares

When ages have past since the last time that we shared

I lose confidence and wonder what I must have done

For the rhythm and rhyme to have left my tongue

Lonely, lying there inside of my mouth

As if all inspiration had migrated south

And I'm left waiting for the arrival of spring

Hoping she'll come back on her beautiful wings

To touch my mind with her gentle affection

And direct my pen through a series of lessons

That teach a young schoolboy the methods of pleasure

That result from the use of an excellent measure

Of verse at the appropriate time

If only she'll revisit my mind

I would smoothly stroke the her curves with my pen

And a page to keep track of the sin

We commit in loving each other too much to wait

For our intimate moments to be approved of by fate

And sometimes these intimate feelings

Cannot be contained by four walls and a ceiling

So our shouts can be heard

In each little pen-stroke that forms a new word

That may someday be shouted at comparable levels

From a stage by a poet who's caught in the revels

Of the page-printed echoes of our ecstasy

Every time my muse visits me

No Working Title Ch. 6

Eventually of course I had to leave the mall. Having become sufficiently convinced that the Barnes & Noble equipped with a Starbucks could only provide me with safe cover for so long, I knew I had to make a decision. To run or not to run? Whether tis nobler... etc.

I, as always immediately began running through the consequences of this decision in my head. If this, then that. Except these if/then thought processes ran through at least one hundred different scenarios. I followed the logical outcome of all the foreseeable forks in the road as far as my mind could take them. Admittedly, executing this thorough analysis while driving a motor vehicle is probably more akin to driving while intoxicated than I would like to believe, but this is the way my brain has always worked and I never learned how to stop it.

Once again I had managed to arrive at my chosen destination by some form of teleportation, because I have absolutely no recollection of the roads I must have driven along to get from the mall to my place. However, I was there. I quickly grabbed nearly all of my clothing, leaving only old Halloween costumes, and four of my five suits behind. I was also smart enough to grab as much food as I possibly could. Fortunately for me much of the food I had at the time was neither frozen, nor did it require refrigeration. Of course the assortment of snack foods and desserts would really only provide me with calories not any sort of nutrition. But at that point I didn't have time to try to put together balanced meals.

Having gotten all of the aforementioned items into my car I once again hit the road. This time being careful to drive along roads unfamiliar to me. I figured if I went places that I never went to it was likely that no one would be looking for me there. I happened across a Bank of America branch I had never seen before which I was quite grateful for. I felt safe enough to make the stop and empty one of my checking accounts. Banks aren't really inclined to give people ridiculous amounts of cash. I was promptly informed that if I wanted to close my account they would only be able to give me a cashier's check, which for all intents and purposes can only really be used to open another account at a different bank. Conveniently for me the teller I was dealing with was easily flustered and she actually answered me when I asked what the largest amount of cash was that they'd allow me to withdraw. Something makes me feel like that was a against teller protocol...

I walked out of the bank $10,000.00 richer, at least considering only the wealth I carried on my person. Then I proceeded to pick a random direction and drive, stopping only when my body cried out loudly enough with hunger pain to force me to eat, or when nature called loudly enough. I didn't sleep that night, I drove. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and whether it was or not, my brain was so ridiculously over-active that night there was no way I'd have slept if I had chosen a place to lay my head.

I had clearly decided to run. I had not really made this decision consciously. I had merely started running while I was deciding whether or not to run. This forced me to adhere to the following logic: "Well, I've already started. Why stop now?" Which may not be the strongest of arguments when considering drugs, sex, or any type of detrimental activity. However, I'm willing to accept the faulty reason behind the argument because I feel that it's justified in the case when those sentences really should read: "Well, I've already started running for my life. Why stop now, when that just means I'll be killed?"

So, taking the "Why stop now?" attitude with my current situation I decided that I needed to determine the best possible way to continue on this course. However, there's not really any useful information regarding running for one's life taught in any university's aerospace engineering curriculum. So I really had no idea what I was going to do.

I decided a severe change to my appearance could only help me hide. Having grown the long shaggy hair and beard that comes from two years of grad school taking over one's life to the point that one has little time to consider doing anything other that class, work for class, research, or preparation for research, I decided to shave. I went to the first barber shop I saw in some small town I only visited because my hunger pains had been strong enough to knock out Ali in his prime. I told the kind old man to take everything down to the skin, "Shave it all off." I told him. "It's high time for a change."

No Working Title Ch. 5

I woke up in a daze. This was the cheapest hotel I had ever stayed in, and in spite of costing nearly one-quarter what my family had insisted one must pay to receive a proper place to spend the night I had slept just fine. I had been too tired to stay awake any longer than necessary upon arrival so I simply crawled in bed, removing only my shoes and belt.

After a few minutes of confusion and general morning stupor the soreness of the bumps and bruises hit me like a truck. I stripped down and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. While waiting for the water to warm up to a reasonable temperature I surveyed the damage in the mirror. I had a sizable bruise on my hip from being tackled onto a cement sidewalk. I could feel the bruise I couldn't see on the back of my head, although "Eric" had not managed to cause a bump to form on my head with his punch. My gut was sore and my arms were mildly bruised from our encounter on Massachusetts. Overall I'd say I was in good shape considering that his intent had been to kill me. He hadn't even drawn blood.

I felt a strange pride in that fact. In spite of the fact that I had put out the contract on my own life, because I really and truly wanted to die. It was a strange type of validating feeling to know that someone had tried to kill me, and had not managed to make me bleed. It was one of those moments that made a guy feel manly. I was tempted to flex what little muscle I had in the mirror. I was, however, too sore and confused about everything to allow myself such frivolity, or at least that's what I'd like to believe. Really what happened is that I noticed the water had become sufficiently warm, so I hopped in the shower to get clean, and massage out some of the soreness from the previous days exploits.

After showering, I of course dried myself off and got dressed. I sat in the one chair provided in that room, which was an uncomfortable wooden chair placed near a small table. In spite of it's inhospitable nature I sat in this chair to contemplate. I had many things to think about. What was I going to do next? Why had I foiled my own plan? What did it mean that I was strangely proud of that accomplishment? How would I continue to run, or for that matter did I want to run? Should I just let the next person kill me and take my family's wealth? Was killing me sufficient to earn such a lavish prize? Like I said, a lot of things to contemplate, and each question seemed to lead to another question. The answers seemed to be just around the corner sometimes, but they must've seen me coming because they alluded me at every turn.

In spite of the fact that I knew being in public made me vulnerable, I also knew that there was a certain safety provided by being surrounded by witnesses. I also had the strange delusion that someone would be tracking my credit card already, and know exactly which hotel I was currently resting at. Therefore I grabbed the few things I had with me and drove to the nearest ATM. I made the maximum allowed withdrawal, and reminded myself that I should get to a bank and empty one of my accounts to have a sufficient supply of cash, that is if I wanted to continue running. I also needed more clothing and some breakfast.

In order to make things simple I thought I would drive back to my place to get some things to make this escape possible. I had begun to pack a bag before going to campus, but then realized that if I waited longer the business day would end before I had finished my wild goose chase at M.I.T. So I had resolved to come back home and pack up my supplies.

As I drove back I noticed a mall off to the right of the highway, and decided that would be a fine place to get breakfast and some fresh clothes before I got home. I bought an entire outfit and changed in a restroom. Then I went to what seemed to be one of twenty corporate coffee shops in the mall in order to get some breakfast. The particular corporate coffee establishment that I selected was located within the bookstore at this mall. As I walked toward the coffee shop I saw the aisle containing journals. That's when the idea to write some things down in hopes that it would organize my thoughts occurred to me. This story is being written down not to entertain, but simply to help attempt to make sense of all of this.

I then got a medium roast fair trade, and a delicious looking blueberry coffee cake. I sat down with my breakfast and started to scribble down what you know as chapter 1.

Faults, Follies, and Being Big-nosed and French

I've realized recently that there are many things that I want for the world, or at least the part of it that I'll ever come in contact with, and not terribly many things I want for myself.

One of my favorite literary characters is Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac. One reason I've always like Cyrano is that I can relate to him. For him it was his huge nose, but it's different for me. However, I am very similar to Cyrano in many ways. One Cyrano quote from the play that I know I've said before with different words is, "I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down, - e'en though you never were to know it, - Never! - If but at times I might - far off and lonely, - hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you."

That's what I mean about wanting things for the world, and not so much for myself. I want those around me to be happy, or if not happy than be in pursuit of becoming the person they are supposed to be so they can be happy then. I have at times in the past set down my own happiness to help others be happy, in so much as I've done things that complicate my life to simplify the lives of those around me. The strange thing is that I honestly don't think I know how to do things any differently. I'm not sure why I do things like that. Is it the way I was raised, the way I'm wired (so to speak), is this part of my nature, or something I've learned? Not having an answer to that question I simply accept that this is what I do.

One thing I've been thinking a lot about recently is what my purpose is here. How am I supposed to live my life? What legacy am I supposed to leave? Am I supposed to be an engineer, a pastor, an actor, or something completely different?

I want so many positive things for the world. Now I just need to figure out how I can best bring those things into reality.

No Working Title Ch. 4 The College Drop-Out

After I managed to safely acquire groceries I succumbed to the paranoia for a few more days. Locked all doors and windows to my place. Closed all the blinds. Hell, I even put all the groceries I could in the mini-fridge in my room so I wouldn't have to leave my bedroom any more than absolutely necessary.

It seemed like a good plan at the time.

The thing is that in spite of how unstable I was at that point I would sometimes have what can only be described as fits of lucidity. During such a fit I am actually capable of rational thought and can sometimes approach the world from a perspective mostly unaffected by the chemicals which exert their power over my life with so much strength. I happened to have one such fit three days after venturing out into the dangerous world of Whole Foods. It was at this point that I became disgusted with the faint-hearted fearful fool I had become over the past week or so.

I remember distinctly thinking to myself that I had started the gears of this machine and I would either be the one to stop them, or they would stop me. One way or another this was going to end. I could only hide for so long, before someone tracked me down and found my place. And as far as hideouts are concerned I'd certainly chosen a very poor place to barricade myself. So my options were either to hide like a stupid trapped animal waiting for my executioners to come to me, or maybe I could make it difficult for them.

I really didn't expect to make it. After all how the hell is an aerospace engineering grad student supposed to make it against professional killers. I don't think my knowledge of the Navier-Stokes equations will at all come in handy when trying to avoid getting whacked by a trained and practiced killer. At that moment in time I really thought that there was no way I had a chance to make it out alive. (Please understand that as I jot down these chapters while on the run, my perspective has changed a bit. But I'm trying, as much as possible, to write these entries as though they were journal entries from that point in time. I'm trying to give you the story from my perspective as it happened, that way if/when my writing catches up to present time I can just keep writing journal entries)

So, at that point in time, I decided that if I was the prey I might as well make the hunt interesting. It made sense, make the hunter try for it, challenge the hunter a little.

So I developed a plan to disappear. I already avoided the public eye as much as possible. The media had all but given up on figuring out where that rich Kremer boy was and what he was doing with his life. I had done a good enough job of avoiding and frustrating them I think they lost interest. So my only real connections to anything were to my studies, my doctors and my places of residence. So if I went on the run, and quit school I might be more difficult prey to find. This also meant that I'd have to give up on the supposed treatment I was receiving at the campus mental health clinic from the psychiatrists they employed there.

So now I just needed to go to campus to take care of the wild goose chase I was sure they'd send me on in order to withdraw my registration prior to the new semester. Then cancel my appointments with the mental health center, and that would be it, I could run. Sounded simple enough.

Just hop in the car, use the key to ignite the fuel, which would allow the car to provide transportation for me to get to campus and subsequently use said key to lock said car and use my God-given foot-mobile to visit any number of offices to get this done. Should've been simple.

This time it wasn't quite that easy. My head did that same pin-ball motion cataloging every face on the drive to campus, every pedestrian, every motorist, every suspect. Hell, I even remember this stupid looking beagle that stared at me in a very suspect fashion. However, I managed once again to reach my destination without any recollection of looking at the road. Things didn't get weird until I visited the third of many offices on campus, to get the signature of one Dr. Green. In order to withdraw I need to get authorization from my advisor, and given that he and I had been discussing my future and hinting at taking a break from research I knew I wouldn't meet with much resistance. The surprise came when he said my cousin had been by looking for me.

"Your cousin Eric was here earlier today and asked me if I could help him get back in touch with you. Said he didn't want to drag me into any of the old family business, but that he hadn't talked to you in years and had a devil of a time just finding out that you worked for me. I told him he could check your office and the labs, but that I didn't know where you lived. I hope that's alright, I really tried not to overstep my bounds. With family matters it's hard to know where the line is," explained Dr. Green.

"No worries, you're fine Dr. Green. I have no idea why he'd want to see me after all these years. But if it's that important I'm sure he'll be waiting for me at my office. However, I'd like to ask you not to mention anything to anyone that might ask for me in the future. I know you were just trying to help, but it would be best if you stayed out of all this." I said. "Especially since I don't have a cousin Eric." I thought to myself.

So this was it. The first person to come after me. Whoever this guy was, and I'm sure his name wasn't Eric, it had taken him about seven days to get the information from the guy in prison. Pretty quick I guess. But this jerk clearly wasn't the cream of the crop when it comes to hitmen. He was looking for me in a very public fashion. I guess his plan was to get to me fast, and he wasn't worried about being discreet about it. Fairly stupid plan, but I'm sure he knew he wasn't the best at this type of thing, so he had to get to me before any of the guys who really are good at this to have a chance at the prize. So maybe it wasn't that bad of a plan after all, considering that possibility.

On my way out of the building I had to pass the hall where my office was located. On my way in I didn't realize I could actually be walking past the first person to make an attempt on my life. At least not with any real rationality, I had of course in my typical delusional fashion been cataloging the face of every person as a suspect. But I hadn't peeked down that hall.

When I got to the hall I walked in a fashion that felt as casual as I could walk, but I'm sure wasn't. Then I looked down the hall towards my office in a fashion that felt as casual as I could look down a hall, and I saw him. "Eric." Waiting in front of my office, impatiently. He was checking his watch, like he had to be somewhere in the near future and was wondering how much longer he could wait before he'd have to call it a day and try again later. Because of this watch checking, he didn't see me pass, or at least he didn't look my direction while I was simultaneously looking his direction.

I had a few more stops on campus before I was done, a couple more signatures to get, then I needed to drop off the papers, and swing by the clinic. I carefully considered getting away from campus (very far away) as soon as I could (meaning run full speed to my car and pushing the pedal to the metal). But I realized that for the moment I had the advantage, I knew where Eric was, and I didn't need to visit that building again. However, if I waited for another day to finish this business on campus he might ask around and figure out that I needed to submit some papers, and where I needed to submit them. Then the advantage would be his.

So I hurried. I tried to hurry casually, "Just look like someone who has important things to do and limited time to do them in," I told myself. I highly doubt I looked like anything less than someone who knew a killer was after them, but maybe my acting was better than I give myself credit for. I got a few odd looks from people as I brushed their shoulders as hurried people do, but nothing more than that. I finished all the errands on campus in about half the time I would've expected it to take, now just to get back to my car and I'd be free to run.

Unfortunately my car was parked in the wonderfully titled Main Lot. You'd think people smart enough to be at M.I.T. could name things better than that, but no. I needed to go to the Main Lot, the lot closest to the Aerospace Engineering building, and that of course was the last known location of "Eric." So I knew there was a possibility that I'd run into him there, especially if he'd finally decided he didn't have the time to wait anymore. I got into the lot and was pulling my keys out of my pocket when I learned that "Eric" had in fact decided his other tasks for the day were more important than waiting in that hallway.

First I heard the hard footsteps of someone running towards me in shoes that were definitely not made for running. I quickly peeked over my shoulder trying not to panic, and trying to still focus on getting my keys out while I looked back to see "Eric" approaching with haste. He didn't seem to be brandishing any weapon, so maybe his intent was to capture me first, then kill me. Regardless of the intricacies of his intents, I knew what the end-game was for him, and I didn't like that plan much. I tried to get to my car faster than he got to me. "Eric" was apparently in better runner than I was, because he caught me with a strong blow to the back of my head just before I got close enough to try to put the key in the door.

Fortunately the blow came just as I turned to get my body in position to put said key in said door, so although I think I still took the brunt of the blow it glanced off and certainly could have been worse. This was the first time in my life I ever regretted locking my car doors. It was a good habit I developed because in general I don't trust the general public, no matter how nice of a neighborhood I'm in. However, at this moment in time, having locked my door only meant there were additional steps between me and getting in my car and escaping.

I quickly decided that getting in the car was not an option right now. I also knew that since he had hit me, I could legally beat the hell out of this man and claim self-defense. I turned in such a way that as soon as I located his body I'd put my full body weight behind a punch. I was able stick him with a pretty solid blow to the gut. I think I may have knocked the wind out of him, cause he didn't put up much of a defense against the follow-up combo of a jab and a right hook. As I planted my right hook on his left cheek I realized that if I beat up "Eric" here and there were witnesses I'd have to talk to cops, and I wouldn't be able to run. I didn't like that plan. So I bolted.

I ran away from "Eric" which also meant running away from my car, which I didn't like either, but I need to develop a plan. I tried to do so on the run, but this wasn't my strong suit. Ask me to design an experiment to test the relative strength of different weaving patterns of carbon fiber fabric under impact loading and I'll have that done in five minutes. But ask me how to get away from someone who is trying to kill me, while ideally not leaving them the ability to follow me and also allowing myself to get away without having to speak with authorities...

I was completely at a loss, and I was running across the lot like a madman with a madman on my tail, because I was both of those things. I bolted through Pratt School towards Massachusetts Ave knowing that if I got across the street and past Bexley Hall I could head toward the Student Center and the Fitness Center, both of which would provide good places to hide. However, "Eric" caught up to me again just as I was getting close to Massachusetts, and "Eric" was pissed. He caught my right side with a strong right hook, and used his left hand to turn me back towards him. I got my arms up just fast enough to block a right to the face. Then I jabbed at him but it didn't do much good. He ducked under my jab and tackled me to the ground. However, he must have hit his head on the newspaper stand or something, because there was an awful sound and his grip loosened enough for me to get out from under him. I ran along Massachusetts towards to Student Center and watched for my chance to bolt across the street. He was quick to his feet though, so maybe he hadn't hit his head after all.

I can only imagine that "Eric" was only focused on me because of what happened next. I saw a gap in traffic that suited my intents just fine. It was one of those gaps in traffic where the cars in each lane of the street were staggered perfectly such that just as I was about through one lane the next lane would be clear. The traffic also meant it would be near impossible for "Eric" to cross at the same time as me. I had to risk it even though negotiating this staggered traffic was probably the biggest risk of my life to date. I never made it past the middle of the street. I didn't have to.

I heard the collision before I knew what had happened. I couldn't stop running until I got to the middle of the road or I would be hit. But as I turned to see what happened upon reaching the middle of the road I saw that "Eric" had jumped into traffic behind me, and had not been fast enough. All the cars on the road had screeched to a halt and people were already on cell phones calling 911. I had to stay, there were too many witnesses for me to consider running.

"Eric" was dead on arrival, or at least that's what I overheard when the EMT's walked by me. All I could think was that this would mean my name in the media again. Not just that, but also that someone had been trying to kill me. This was about as bad as this could have gone. Or maybe it wasn't, after all I could've been killed, or I could've been the one who got hit.

But wait I wanted to die, right? I asked for this, didn't I? Why was I resisting? I needed to get away, I needed time to think. But first I had a lot of questions to answer for the cops. I didn't know a lot of the answers, like "Who was the guy after me?" Others I couldn't answer truthfully, like "Is there any reason he would be after you? Do you know why he might try to do this to you?"

Those conversations are all very hazy in my memory, because my mind was elsewhere, humming with too many thoughts of my own. I know I answered all their questions, and didn't raise any suspicion that there might be a contract out on me. They concluded that it must have been a mugging gone wrong, and left it at that.

Then I was able to get away. I went back to my car and drove until I was too tired for it to be safe for me to be behind the wheel. Then I drove about an hour more, only to finally give in and stop at a hotel on the side of the freeway.

Faults, Follies, and Walking and Talking

I've been talking a good game recently about how I'm going to change my life. Well the time to walk the walk, and not just talk the talk, has come. In fact it probably came a while ago, but I've been talking a good enough game to convince myself that my talking was part of walking it out.

False.

Talking is only talking. Now it's time to get things done. It's time to finish this degree. It's time to put the work in and finish it. It's time to stop mulling over, and making decisions about the changes I need to make in my life, and make them (the changes that is). It was time to stop being this guy I don't want to be a while ago, and it's time to start being the man I want to be.

I've got some big things ahead of me. Things I don't entirely understand. For fear of speaking Christian-ese at you, I've tried to avoid saying this but there's no way to avoid it: God is calling me to make some big changes in my life. That's the only way to explain it. And if that sounds creepy and cult-like to you, I would recommend not reading the rest of this post.

One thing I know for sure is that I am done drinking alcohol for the rest of my life. I will not be drinking any more, not even a sip to taste a beer that I've never had. No taste-testing when friends tell me they found a delicious new drink, no matter what that drink might be. I'm done. Drinking serves no positive purpose in my life. If anything alcohol is a trigger for bad habits, and it is common knowledge that alcohol is a depressant which is not something I need in my life.

I also really need to start reading my Bible more often, more regularly. I need my relationship with God to grow closer. I've been disconnected from the world and in many ways from God for a long time, and need to get that connection back. I need to be actively involved in this relationship for it to work, just like any relationship I have here on earth.

I need to pursue the things I'm passionate about, with everything I've got. I'm on my way to doing that. Right now it's difficult to work out the logistics, but I'm working on it. I can't exactly haul off and go to New Zealand at will, nor can I just up and move to Ireland. I need to prepare for the things God is calling me to. I need to become the man that I need to be in order to take on those experiences. By that I mean that I need the appropriate training, and I need to be in the right place emotionally, and spiritually to take those steps in my life. If I were to dive right in to the things that God seems to be calling me to do, I'd drown.

So I'm going to start with small steps. I'm going to stop drinking. I'm going to make other changes too, but I'm going to try not to overwhelm myself by taking on too many changes at once. I'm also trying not to be over cautious and go too slow. That's a fine line between overwhelming change and insufficient progress, and I'm going to walk it the best I can.

I'm going work towards being the man I am meant to be, no matter what that might mean.

I will lose relationships over it, and already have.

I will be misunderstood, and I already am.

I know that this won't always be easy, happy, or fun. But I also know that if I can really follow through with this it will be the best decision I've ever made. It will hurt, probably a lot at times. I'd like to pretend I'm prepared for that, but I'm probably not. But that's why God is there to nourish me when I'm tired. That's there are people in my life who are willing to support me in this pursuit because they know it is the best thing I can do for myself.

So I need to start doing it, and stop talking about doing it.

No Working Title Ch. 3 Assisted Suicide

We always tell ourselves to expect the unexpected, which by linguistic definition may or may not be impossible. But as I said, I had not expected to become so paranoid about the people coming to kill me. I wanted to die after all. What reason did I really have to become so overwhelmingly suspicious of people who I had (indirectly) hired to kill me. The worst part was that since I had successfully passed the information to said people indirectly I had no idea who I was looking for.

So I watched everyone.

The first few days the paranoia was crippling. I stayed home, too afraid of the outside world to even leave my own bedroom. Hell, I barely even trusted myself not to get killed walking from my bed to the master bathroom to relieve myself. But I wanted to die, why all of a sudden was I trying to find ways to avoid this? Like I said, none of this is reasonable. But that did not provide any reason for me to go out into the world and let it happen.

What eventually forced me to go outside again was a lack of food. I never was the type to have a stockpile of groceries in the house at all times, so I had to get food somehow after three days of hiding.

I decided against trying to live off delivery food for as long as possible because I felt that I'd have absolutely no chance of survival when I was left face-to-face with the delivery man at the door. Now had you talked to me three days earlier any situation with no chance of survival would've sounded ideal. But somehow now I needed a way out of this.

But I was stuck, I needed food. So I dressed as inconspicuously as I possibly could, trying to look like any generic twenty-something male in Boston, and I went out to get groceries.

I've spent the last half hour trying to find a way to explain to you how I felt on that first trip out of the house. I can't seem to force my brain to formulate any sentences that really do justice to my feelings over those couple of hours. I felt like my head was a pinball pinging back-and-forth from one person to the next. Every pedestrian, every motorist on the way there was a suspect in my mind. I could trust no one. How I managed to drive without crashing I have no idea, because I don't remember looking at the road. But I remember their faces, all of them. The strength of my conviction that each individual I encountered was my murderer seared their faces in my memory forever.

Of course this only got worse at the store itself, because now I had to leave my car and enter a public building with God-knows how many suspects. Some of the people in that store even looked suspect, which was the last thing I needed. Any slight twitch in the man picking out tomatoes, the smallest glance in my direction from the people working the deli, and I was convinced the next move would be for my life.

I was barely a functioning human being. Yet somehow I was able to pick out my food, and even grabbed mostly reasonable things that could actually be used to make a meal. Although I did for some reason purchase prune juice...

So aside from a moment in time where my delusions turned me into a ninety-year-old, I had actually done well. Now all I needed to do was load the groceries in my car, and drive home. Simple, right?

As much as I really want to get to the exciting part of this story faster, I'm not an author by trade and I can't seem to get there yet. Because it was in fact quite simple. There was no hollywood moment where the idiot in the horror movie thinks he's made it only to get his throat slit by the mad man hiding in the back seat. No, none of that. Just a very simple use of the provided storage space in the trunk, the key to ignite the fuel, which allowed the car to provide transportation for me and my sustenance all the way home.

Maybe three days just isn't enough time for word spread. Maybe word had gotten out of the prison, but no one had been able to locate me yet. After all school was on break, so I wasn't visiting any of my normal haunts.

Patience was never a strength of mine, and trying to be patient when you're waiting for the chance to foil your own contract kill is ridiculous. To say the very least, my patience was nonexistent. I'm fairly certain I had so little patience that I must have expected to have been murdered two days before putting out the contract.

But alas, this method of assisted suicide was apparently far less efficient others.