On-The-Spot Story: The Story of Me and Danielle: Part One

Oh, that day? I remember that day, very well. It was the day Danielle left me. I remember being in the shower on our two year anniversary and humming a delightful tune. I went into my bedroom to get dressed, only to find my phone reading, "5 missed calls". They were from Danielle, so I returned them.

"Hello!" I said excitedly.
"Hi," she replied dully, submerged in a listless tone.
"Everything okay?"
"We need to talk."

Why would any girl do this to a man, and vise versa for that matter. No talk, only do. Never never never never never say we need to talk. Those four words are the equivalent to, "your mother just died," or, "Mr. [insert name here], you have cancer." We need to talk! -- really!? Come on.

"What's wrong?" I say with a voice that sounds like it came from an injured animal awaiting to be put out of its misery.
"We need to take a break."
"Why?"
"I just think we need to take a break."
"Wha-- I-- what did I-- uh..."
"I wanted to tell you in person but I didn't want you to drive all the way here just to turn around and go home. Two hours is a lot of gas. If you still want to come, I would like to see you, but only if you want to."

Who says that after breaking up with someone. Hey, we're through, I want to see you -- NO! That's not how it works! I went anyway; in these moments, one is desperate.

"I'll be there! I love you, Danielle."
She hangs up.

Synapse to Synapse: the possibility's thin. I'm dressed up for free drinks and family greetings on your wedding your wedding your wedding date. The figures in plastic on the wedding cake that I took were so real -- is blaring from my speakers and I feel like shit. I'm scared to death, palms are sweaty, heart wrenching to the point of cardiac malfunction, and the tears are stuck inside...they'll come out when they're ready. By this point I had called every number in my phone for any voice to listen to my trauma. Panic is a man's worst enemy when his girl lives two hours away.

What was she doing? What was she thinking? What was her logic, her reasoning behind this decision? What did I do? What could I have done? Why won't anyone answer the fucking phone!? Don't they know there is an injured man on the other end? Why aren't they psychic? Are they real friends? Why won't they answer, if so? Did they ignore me? Did I ignore her? Is that why she is doing this?

This is what shoots through a person's mind when they are on the verge of losing everything they love. It's like a bullet through all of the most vital organs, muscles, nerves, etc, until you decay into nothing. So many unanswered questions. So many wrongs for one man to fix.

I got there, after what felt like a lifetime of slowly moving clouds and tedious scenery. I walked up a very familiar staircase and down an unforgettable corridor. She was just walking out as I reached the door and my stomach was in knots. It is funny how the body reacts to pressure, tense moments, uncomfortable settings... it locks up, it loses all intelligence.

My stomach was not only in knots as we walked back to my car, it was imploding into itself, inflicting sharp, unrelenting pain on its owner. The myriad of thoughts that sprung to mind during those moments of silence -- we both faced forward, not daring to look at each other yet; afraid to see into the depths of each others' soul and see something we would not like -- I could not even fathom a memory. Those thoughts might as well have been shooting stars in the inconceivable universe that was my mind.

We got in the car; we ran some errands; I tried to hold her hand, she declined; we ate lunch, I cried, she asked me to stop in fear that she would start too; I didn't, but tried; we went to Target, she mentioned drinking some wine; I mentioned how I thought that was stupid; she didn't appreciate it.

We got back to her place, exhausted from the overwhelming emotions undoubtedly circulating through the both of us. Two years down the drain, an engagement gone to waste, a ring worn in vain. I was her families adopted son; they loved me more than her it seemed -- I sometimes genuinely wonder. We got back to her place, I parked and walked her to her door. She invited me in.

That afternoon, a war began, and tears were shed, things were said, and a man was broken into an unrecognizable detritus...

TO BE CONTINUED!

On-The-Spot Story: Number One: Part One

There is division in the synapse of his mind. He doesn't belong here, he doesn't deserve what he's been handed... a bum hand of cards. Sullen air, the smell of broken-hearts, a plethora of hard liquors, and cigarette smoke. What can come of this? His eyes set on one thing -- now. "Maybe I'll write a book," he says, leaning over a dirty toilet, "maybe I'll change the world," from his porcelain throne. What can come of this?

He wakes up the next day, 1:30pm, wondering where his day has gone. Four hours of daylight before darkness takes the sky and he's back to the bottle like a dog to its vomit. Where did he go wrong?

Her name was Margot; she was twenty, thin, dark haired with eyes to match; she was personable, sexy, and built to break hearts. She wore blue jeans, nice tops, and black mascara. She wore a grin on her face and a steel toe in her figurative boot just begging to find balls to break. She new who she was, but know one else did, except him. Margot had a polite exterior; she was kind, gentle, loving, caring, beautiful, and to his friends, the nicest girlfriend of all "the guys". This all amounts to nothing these days. The pleasure it was to meet her is firmly shadowed by the pleasure it was to see her go, from my point of view. When you hurt a friend like him, you begin to lose face with those who care about him; but when you fuck him over, you might as well be a stinking, dead carcass that no one would touch with a ten-foot pole.

I saw Margot walking down the street last week. I was eating a McDonald's baked apple pie while I was driving. In my mind, I pictured rolling down the window as I passed and throwing my chocolate milkshake at her, like in the film The Weather Man by Gore Verbinski, but I chose to keep that humorous desire to myself. It's one thing to think something, it's entirely different to act it out with your best friend's ex-girlfriend (no matter how platonic the act may be)... but somehow, I don't think he'd mind in this case.

Just A Stray Dog

I have come to realize and accept that I am just a stray dog; a black sheep among those I love. I am so completely unlike my family that I tend to humorously wonder if I was adopted! If it were not for the fact that I have my mother's features and my father's build, I would genuinely entertain the idea. I love my family, I do, but our personal ideology on life, God... etcetera... is so different. This dilemma leads me to believe that many things in life are gray areas.

I have grown to wonder how there is only one "right" interpretation or denomination of the Bible. For example, I watch "questionable" films and listen to "secular" music, but my grandfather -- who is a pastor -- does not. Does this mean one of us is not going to heaven? Or, does it mean we just share different spiritual convictions? I tend to think the latter is true, but many would argue, which leads me to my next point: If one denomination is true, then is everyone else going to hell? Most Baptists believe that you MUST be baptized to be truly saved; meanwhile, Full Gospel believers tend to believe that, "if the Bible says it, it is fact," and, "the way to Heaven is Christ alone." So, who is right?

The way I follow Christ is not through denominational doctrine or religious structure and traditions; I choose to build my personal relationship with Christ and live by my spiritual convictions and personal knowledge of the bible -- what I take from it's worn and wise pages. Many people put their personal opinions on a supernatural pedestal, saying that God says this and God says that, when really it is just their idea on a chosen subject.

I don't know what to say really. I feel like I may eventually do a documentary exposing the absurdity of organized religion and how so much of it is strictly routine, tradition, and unintentional (well...sometimes intentional) brainwashing. People follow many rules they have no logical explanation to follow; that have no detrimental repercussion if left disobeyed. I find this to be interesting. It arouses my curiosity -- how many people truly KNOW what they believe? This is what my documentary would reveal: I would interview multiple sources (Christians of all kinds, Mormons, Muslims, Jews, Atheist, etc.); I would ask questions like, "What and who is God to you?" and, "What does being a [place subject's religious orientation here] mean to you?" I think this would be a very interesting film to see except that its sole purpose would be to reveal an unanswered question, there is no proof to back up which persons religion is right. So in the end, the film would be useless, with the one exception being that we would finally be forced to see that no one person is "right".

But enough about religion. Life is the main subject of this post. What does living life mean? To me, it is being happy, building a family, getting through college, getting an MA and Ph. D in something Film related, and the list goes on. For some at my age it is to get drunk every night, have sex with as many people they can, to LIVE LIFE in the "generation X" sense. I find that lifestyle to be feeble, mindless, irresponsible, and mundane; average and ignorant to say the least. But does this make those who subscribe to living a life in such a way wrong? Not at all, it's just not for me. I do not need such vices; drugs, alcohol, parties, etc...and they are vices. What are my vices? They all reside inside my mind. I need myself, my alone time; I need my fiancee and romance, love; I need friends to "hang out" with; I need God to exist, if only in my mind (which I personally believe God far exceeds the boundaries of my human limitations)...

Where was I? Hmm.

To be honest, I lost my train of thought; It derailed along the way somewhere. Hint the title: Discursive Inner-Monologue of Austin Glidden.

To my friends and fellow readers (whom I hope are one in the same) have a good new year. 2010 seems to be promising, lets hop it exceeds my expectations in all of our lives. Take care.

-Austin