"If it weren't for those few brave frontrunners who tested the waters, experimented with chemistry and explored the vast outer boundaries of the human psyche, we would all still be living in the midst of the dark ages, smoking our opium out of those long Chinese pipes and passing the time by watching condensation drop off the cavernous stalactites with painful and insufferable slowness."
-Me
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
"Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man." -Mercutio
It's another warm, sunny day in Southern California and I find myself somewhat grateful to be alive in order to witness this magnificent day with all of my five senses. With a winter like this, who really needs summer? I won't go so far as to allege that I am lucky or even blessed to be here when so many people around the world are experiencing record-breakingly cold and blistery winters. Because as an avid atheist and constant detractor of all things religious or spiritual, I cannot bring myself to make such silly and uninspired declarations.
But in the wake of a death, a death of someone I actually sort of knew, I will say that I do feel somewhat glad to be alive. After all, what's the alternative? Death, and the infinite nothingness and utter emptiness that it offers by nothing more than the virtue of what it is? No thank you. I'll take it graciously when that time comes but I am in no way looking to hasten the inevitable. In my mind, that's an absolutely ludicrous endeavor. I'd rather enjoy the hedonistic benefits of life while I am still capable of such enjoyment. Call me an asshole, call me insensitive, call me a nihilist with personality disorder, I don't care, but the pleasures of the flesh are pretty much what makes this life worth living. Testify motherfuckers!
A few days ago one of my law professors died. She killed herself according to the papers. She was young too, relatively so. I've discussed this at length with friends and acquaintances who knew her as well or if not better than I did. We all seem to be in relative agreement that it was a very uncharacteristic and poorly decided choice on her part. And even now as I write these words I am unconvinced that suicide was the true cause of her death. In fact, I am going to privately aver that there was something else a brew here. Though I will not be making such bold claims in a legal forum, I do believe that someone may have provided a helping hand, if you catch my drift. But that is a tangent unbecoming of this particular post.
If this was a suicide, as many have now come to believe and accept wholeheartedly, then depression must have been the driving force, the overwhelming factor in all of this. Though I've never really understood depression, I do accept it as a recognized disease as I have known many people who have outwardly claimed possession of it. Still, this particular lady seemed above reproach in many ways, and therefore I cannot believe that she actually succumbed to the weakness and devastation that depression seems to always necessitate. There was just so much going right in her life. Unlike the majority of us, myself included, who are self-proclaimed losers, she was by all accounts a winner.
As I understand it, she had children, young ones at that who were still very much in need of the benevolent and positive impressing force of a mother in their lives. It's their mere existence that makes it hard for me to believe that she would actually kill herself. For someone as indisputably intelligent as she was, I think it should have been pretty apparent and nonnegotiable that her children would become seriously fucked up as a result of the suicide of their mother. Quite assuredly, now thoughts of inadequacy will run through their heads in infinite repeat for as long as they both shall live. That pretty much goes without saying. So why then would someone so smart and rational do something so selfish? This is precisely why I remain unconvinced.
What's more, and I cannot stress this enough, the manner in which she committed this alleged suicide was violent to the utmost degree. In fact, I can think of probably a hundred better, less painful ways to go for someone so inclined. It's a damn shame and I don't declare that very often. Typically, women who attempt suicide opt for the less painful ways to go, i.e. drugs, drowning or even the noose. Few take a plunge off a merely six story high structure that will not assuredly or quickly end the life in question. It makes my bones hurt just thinking about it.
Still, description of her death and pity for her children are not the reasons why I'm writing this post. Her death has actually gotten me thinking about a long-forgotten concept, something that I came up with a long, long time ago but necessarily allowed to relapse into the recesses of my mind as I grew older and less philosophically inclined. The idea of the fatal flaw.
As one might imagine, just by virtue of her career as a law professor, this woman was smart, insanely so. In fact, I believe she was one of the smartest people that I ever had the pleasure of speaking with and learning from. And it has been this great intelligence of hers that got me thinking once again about fatal flaws and the people who unfortunately possess them, the people who find themselves inextricably attached to them.
It seems like all the great people, the people who have some kind of enviable talent, the ones who will go down in history as something fiercely special, have at least one fatal, insurmountable flaw. And the more impressive the talent, the more likely that flaw in question will end up proving truly fatal in the long run. I believe that's what has occurred here.
Though I hate to be overly derivative, there does seem to be a common pattern, an undeniable theme that has repeated itself over and over throughout the course of history. I am saddened by this tragedy and I do find it to be quite a shame, but a part of me does realize that it might have been part of a crucial cycle, an essential regime that has probably existed ever since the first human beings stood upright and walked this planet.
These flaws that I speak of, the fatal ones that only the truly intelligent and magnificently talented possess, though I hate to say it, might actually be essential to guard humanity against a race of super humans. It might be in society's best interest for certain insanely talented people to have untenable demons to grapple with. After all, if there were nothing to distract them, these superb people would rule the world, no doubt about it. Though some may be benign, as this law professor surely was, it stands to reason that others would be tyrants, and we can't have that.
As an aside I feel I must back up and define "super" in this particular context. By super I hardly mean supernatural. What I mean is that if these very talented people were able to live whole and fulfilled lives, completely unfettered and unweighed down by fatal flaws to contend with, their insane intelligence and enviable talents would soon give them the ability to take over the planet and everything in it. There would be nothing that the regular, non-gifted people could do about it. So in order to prevent chaos and keep the essential order, these super-talented, intelligent people must have a fatal flaw or two that necessarily captures all of their attention and eventually leads them strictly to their ultimate demise. Otherwise there would be complete anarchy, and not the good kind; not the kind that I have always encouraged and outwardly touted.
In the case of the law professor I speak of, it seems as though despite her enviable intelligence, she fell to a disease almost as old as time. Depression. Even though she kept it largely to herself, she was obviously bogged down by it and that meant that she was never able to reach her full potential. To be honest, I feel as though she should probably have had the means and drive to overcome it, being as intelligent, self-aware and proud as she was, but then again, I was never inside her head and I don't truly know what it is like to suffer from such a disease. I generally get that depression can be crippling and unbearable at times, but I still have to think that for as smart and intuitive as she was, she didn't fully understand the implications of her choice. Now she never will.
In conclusion, she did a lot of good and helped a lot of people, but her life was nevertheless definitively and tragically cut short. Call it what you want; despite all this, I would still call it a shame.
Rest in the Peaceful Nothingness of Nonexistence, Professor.
But in the wake of a death, a death of someone I actually sort of knew, I will say that I do feel somewhat glad to be alive. After all, what's the alternative? Death, and the infinite nothingness and utter emptiness that it offers by nothing more than the virtue of what it is? No thank you. I'll take it graciously when that time comes but I am in no way looking to hasten the inevitable. In my mind, that's an absolutely ludicrous endeavor. I'd rather enjoy the hedonistic benefits of life while I am still capable of such enjoyment. Call me an asshole, call me insensitive, call me a nihilist with personality disorder, I don't care, but the pleasures of the flesh are pretty much what makes this life worth living. Testify motherfuckers!
A few days ago one of my law professors died. She killed herself according to the papers. She was young too, relatively so. I've discussed this at length with friends and acquaintances who knew her as well or if not better than I did. We all seem to be in relative agreement that it was a very uncharacteristic and poorly decided choice on her part. And even now as I write these words I am unconvinced that suicide was the true cause of her death. In fact, I am going to privately aver that there was something else a brew here. Though I will not be making such bold claims in a legal forum, I do believe that someone may have provided a helping hand, if you catch my drift. But that is a tangent unbecoming of this particular post.
If this was a suicide, as many have now come to believe and accept wholeheartedly, then depression must have been the driving force, the overwhelming factor in all of this. Though I've never really understood depression, I do accept it as a recognized disease as I have known many people who have outwardly claimed possession of it. Still, this particular lady seemed above reproach in many ways, and therefore I cannot believe that she actually succumbed to the weakness and devastation that depression seems to always necessitate. There was just so much going right in her life. Unlike the majority of us, myself included, who are self-proclaimed losers, she was by all accounts a winner.
As I understand it, she had children, young ones at that who were still very much in need of the benevolent and positive impressing force of a mother in their lives. It's their mere existence that makes it hard for me to believe that she would actually kill herself. For someone as indisputably intelligent as she was, I think it should have been pretty apparent and nonnegotiable that her children would become seriously fucked up as a result of the suicide of their mother. Quite assuredly, now thoughts of inadequacy will run through their heads in infinite repeat for as long as they both shall live. That pretty much goes without saying. So why then would someone so smart and rational do something so selfish? This is precisely why I remain unconvinced.
What's more, and I cannot stress this enough, the manner in which she committed this alleged suicide was violent to the utmost degree. In fact, I can think of probably a hundred better, less painful ways to go for someone so inclined. It's a damn shame and I don't declare that very often. Typically, women who attempt suicide opt for the less painful ways to go, i.e. drugs, drowning or even the noose. Few take a plunge off a merely six story high structure that will not assuredly or quickly end the life in question. It makes my bones hurt just thinking about it.
Still, description of her death and pity for her children are not the reasons why I'm writing this post. Her death has actually gotten me thinking about a long-forgotten concept, something that I came up with a long, long time ago but necessarily allowed to relapse into the recesses of my mind as I grew older and less philosophically inclined. The idea of the fatal flaw.
As one might imagine, just by virtue of her career as a law professor, this woman was smart, insanely so. In fact, I believe she was one of the smartest people that I ever had the pleasure of speaking with and learning from. And it has been this great intelligence of hers that got me thinking once again about fatal flaws and the people who unfortunately possess them, the people who find themselves inextricably attached to them.
It seems like all the great people, the people who have some kind of enviable talent, the ones who will go down in history as something fiercely special, have at least one fatal, insurmountable flaw. And the more impressive the talent, the more likely that flaw in question will end up proving truly fatal in the long run. I believe that's what has occurred here.
Though I hate to be overly derivative, there does seem to be a common pattern, an undeniable theme that has repeated itself over and over throughout the course of history. I am saddened by this tragedy and I do find it to be quite a shame, but a part of me does realize that it might have been part of a crucial cycle, an essential regime that has probably existed ever since the first human beings stood upright and walked this planet.
These flaws that I speak of, the fatal ones that only the truly intelligent and magnificently talented possess, though I hate to say it, might actually be essential to guard humanity against a race of super humans. It might be in society's best interest for certain insanely talented people to have untenable demons to grapple with. After all, if there were nothing to distract them, these superb people would rule the world, no doubt about it. Though some may be benign, as this law professor surely was, it stands to reason that others would be tyrants, and we can't have that.
As an aside I feel I must back up and define "super" in this particular context. By super I hardly mean supernatural. What I mean is that if these very talented people were able to live whole and fulfilled lives, completely unfettered and unweighed down by fatal flaws to contend with, their insane intelligence and enviable talents would soon give them the ability to take over the planet and everything in it. There would be nothing that the regular, non-gifted people could do about it. So in order to prevent chaos and keep the essential order, these super-talented, intelligent people must have a fatal flaw or two that necessarily captures all of their attention and eventually leads them strictly to their ultimate demise. Otherwise there would be complete anarchy, and not the good kind; not the kind that I have always encouraged and outwardly touted.
In the case of the law professor I speak of, it seems as though despite her enviable intelligence, she fell to a disease almost as old as time. Depression. Even though she kept it largely to herself, she was obviously bogged down by it and that meant that she was never able to reach her full potential. To be honest, I feel as though she should probably have had the means and drive to overcome it, being as intelligent, self-aware and proud as she was, but then again, I was never inside her head and I don't truly know what it is like to suffer from such a disease. I generally get that depression can be crippling and unbearable at times, but I still have to think that for as smart and intuitive as she was, she didn't fully understand the implications of her choice. Now she never will.
In conclusion, she did a lot of good and helped a lot of people, but her life was nevertheless definitively and tragically cut short. Call it what you want; despite all this, I would still call it a shame.
Rest in the Peaceful Nothingness of Nonexistence, Professor.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
The Golden-Brown Reverie of 5 Years Gone
The coldish air blowing in from the open window is trying to irritate my skin by creating gooseflesh and making me shiver, but I have become immune from all annoying and childish pranks. I am warmed on the inside and the out; the cold cannot get in and even if it could, it could not manage to bother me in this pleasant state. I feel happy that the cold outside is failing to bother me. It makes me feel considerably powerful and peaceful in an indescribable and unapproachable sort of way. Nothing can touch me now. These intense feelings of delightful numbness, both mind and body, overwhelm me, but in a positive way that makes me smile lazily with extreme satisfaction. Never have I been more content, more at peace with the entire world and my nonnegotiable place within it. This is my acceptance of everything that has ever been thrown upon me, nature and nurture alike. I have absolutely no complaints.
It is inarguable that bad things happen all the time and all around us. There is no getting around that fact and no way to mitigate its often treacherous effects. The trick is to survive the bad things when they do occur so that we may see the good ones when or if they decide to grace us with their presence. In my experience the good things are almost always overshadowed by the bad. But that may just be my ‘glass half empty’ outlook on life. I’m not above admitting that. Still right now, the glass is entirely full.
I’ve used recreational substances quite unrestrictedly over the years to assuage the realities of the world and I must say that no drug is more successful at helping me forget the potentially unforgettable than heroin. I'd call it a godsend if I believed in god. Right now I'm almost persuaded to because all of those bad things that have happened and continue to happen seem utterly irrelevant to me. At least I am still alive and cognitive; nothing has succeeded in killing me at this point. That is the very definition of progress. And in spite of all the hopelessness and despondency rife in this world, I still find myself basking in the warm cocoon of oblivion, not feeling a single wretched feeling whatsoever. That means this is working; it always works. It’s a constant in my life that I never have to wonder about. I love it. In this moment, everything is perfect. I am perfect.
My phone suddenly begins to ring, effectively jarring me out of my heroin-inspired reverie and distinct thoughts of wonderful nothingness. Damn it. I lean over to retrieve it. The caller ID claims that it is my friend calling though I am always somewhat suspicious of what technology wants me to believe. Nevertheless I decide to answer the call, though somewhat reluctantly because I really don't feel like talking to anyone at this moment. I will just dispose of the conversation quickly in order to get back to my basking.
Yeah, I answer softly in a decibel just above a whisper. My friend immediately wants to know if I am planning on attending our five year high school reunion planned for tonight. I wasn't even aware our school celebrated five year reunions! Certainly I am uninterested in attending one. I reply in the negative, honestly relaying to her that I have absolutely no interest in seeing any of the possible guests. Why would I want to go mingle with a bunch of kids that I was essentially ambivalent toward back in high school? They surely haven’t gotten any better or more tolerable over the years. Things don’t change in five years, they barely change in fifty.
My friend tries to convince me to reconsider but the idea of spending time with people who will just feign niceties and talk about their pathetic accomplishments doesn't really seem like an all that attractive night for me. I'd rather rail off another line and lay here on my bed in a dreamy, inspired state of reverie, looking up at my ceiling and wondering if the popcorn white finish actually contains cancerous asbestos. This building has at least been here since the late seventies. It’s entirely possible that it possesses some kind of carcinogenic material. I think about researching what a lawsuit might entail in this regard.
Are you listening to me, my friend inquires over the line. I respond in the affirmative though I have no idea what question was just posed. Well then, will you go to the reunion with me, she impatiently wants to know. I sigh and roll my eyes unnecessarily given our current mode of communication. All the people from high school that I care to see, I already see, I tell my friend with cavalier indifference as I shrug and look upward at the ceiling once again. I am growing impatient with this conversation and my inextricable role in it. I want to get past this discussion as quickly as possible. But she insists that I go with her and even offers to pick me up and drive me there, an enticing offer that she knows could easily hook me for the long haul.
There will be plenty of people to mock surreptitiously, she adds, trying to sweeten the deal even further. My friend does know how to persuade me. I sigh and consider the new proposal. While I do somewhat loathe the idea of keeping company with kids that I found uninteresting as teenagers, I hardly ever turn down an invitation to an adventure that a designated driver has already been assigned to chaperone. This leaves me free to get incredibly high and possibly even unlock my typically very closed-off mind. It might not be so bad under these new guidelines.
Alright fine, I agree hesitantly, still sort of hoping that she will back out and allow me to hibernate here in my room for the rest of the night. I hardly think that I garner that kind of luck but I’m not averse to hoping for it. She informs me that she will be by in about an hour to pick me up and that I better be ready to go. I respond with a nonchalant assent to the terms and then I abruptly end the call. An hour gives me plenty of time to revel in the warmth of my newfound euphoria. This drug has been quite nice to me for years. I don't deserve it but I won't let on. It will be our little secret.
A knock on my front door causes me to jolt up and open my eyes. I look around and quickly recall that my friend was supposed to come by and pick me up for our high school reunion. I must have nodded off for a bit. I hear another knock on my door, this one more persistent than the last. I roll my eyes and climb out of bed. She's going to be irritated that I am not ready to go but she'll deal with it because I’m sort of doing her a huge favor just by virtue of agreeing to go with her.
I answer the door with a lazy smile and a half-assed greeting. Come in, I offer drowsily. Why aren't you ready, she immediately complains upon laying eyes on me. I am about to respond with something derogatory but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand. And what's wrong with you, why are you all sleepy and droopy-eyed, she interrupts. I have no adequate reply to that inquiry so I just shut the door and shrug.
Well let's go I don't want to be late, she states impatiently as she sets her purse down on my kitchen table and looks around the room. She is trying to suss out clues to her unanswered questions. I nod and head back to my bedroom to throw on a hoodie and rail off at least one more line. She yells out to me that she is stealing a water bottle from my refrigerator. I do not respond intelligently. There is no way I could raise my voice to any impressive decibel in my current state.
Once back in my bedroom, I sit down at my desk, grab the cut off straw and insufflate another line. Wow, just wow. The intense, euphoric rush is about as close to instantaneous as I can perceive. I shut my eyes and smile. This is so amazing, so incapable of putting into descriptive words. Time grinds to a halt as the warm, orgasmic rush of opium greets me like a monstrous oceanic wave that I welcome with decidedly open arms. It can drown me for all I care. Never before have I enjoyed life and what it can offer as much as I do right in this moment. This is magic, this is heavy, this is so completely undeserved that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hope this feeling continues eternally but I have no standing or reason to ask it to.
I push the hair out of my eyes and make my way back over to the bed. I have to lie down for a second. This is too much. My face feels numb and the bitter taste of the drip in the back of my throat makes me think of the color purple. With my feet planted on the ground, I fall sideways across my bed, peering once again at the ceiling with heavy eyelids and vision of unadulterated amazement. I have entered the kingdom of morphine and there are no longer feelings of unrest inside me. Somehow they have all been evacuated; everything has been evacuated. I have found a successful way to tear through the blurry film that has thus far covered my eyes. Sight this clear should be unachievable to no one or achievable to everyone. There should be no inequality across these lines but there has always been and always will be. Except I have somehow surpassed it here tonight. I’ve unreasoningly ascended to higher ground and the view up here is nothing short of amazing. It’s hard to rail against injustice when you are unambiguously profiting from it. I’m done fighting; I’m going to start relenting.
I thought you were getting ready, I hear my friend scream from the threshold of my bedroom door. I look up at her with obvious confusion. We were going to the reunion, what the hell is the matter with you, she wants to know, crossing her arms and looking down at her watch with an impatient gesture. You’ve been in here for twenty minutes, she exclaims. We are going to be late now, she informs me. I slowly rise to a sitting position and nod with purpose. I'm ready, I tell her assuredly. She gives me a look of pure incredulousness and shakes her head once again. There’s a mixture of disbelief and slightly veiled irritation in her expression.
I get up and put on my hoodie, leaving the hood in place on the top of my head. It’s always my desire to remain profoundly shadowed. I don’t understand, why don’t you just take your fiancé with you to this thing, I ask my friend absently as I search around my room for other things that I might need to take with me. He’s working again, she responds with a hint of derision in her voice. I nod, sensing that that issue may be a common problem between those two. I decide not to make any sort of rebuttal, kind of getting the feeling that she could talk a novel about this particular issue under certain circumstances.
Alright, I'm all ready to go now, I inform her pleasantly while making serious eye contact, my inane attempt at placation. I dislike annoying people if I can help it. She shakes her head with displeasure and leaves the room, heading back down the hallway to wait for me. I walk over to my desk and pocket my little one-hitter that I keep in a wooden box. It looks like a cigarette and provides the perfect cover for public use. It's pretty much an essential item at all social gatherings. It will reinvigorate my high at the most opportune time. I love it.
Let's go, she calls out to me from somewhere near my front door. I look over at my desk and see the last line that I cut for myself earlier in the afternoon. It’s all splayed out and looking very attractive to my insanely ravenous eyes. It's really calling out to me hard. I want it, I sort of feel like I need it in order to survive this night. Without much more deliberation than that, I bend down quickly, grab the straw and rail off the last line like champ. There’s no turning back now.
And I feel it coming over like a storm again. Whoa! As soon as it goes up my nose I feel it, as soon as I straighten back up I’m high! And then, whoosh goes the rush! It alights every nerve with distinctive pleasure, playing my spine like a piano all the way up the column to my brain. I find my bed once again and lay down unceremoniously. The euphoria is born in my stomach and then begins to spread and radiate out naturally from there, like rays of golden sunlight unobstructed by impatience, or fear, or anger, or hunger, or tension or anxiety. It’s a surge of absolute delight, a thoroughly delicious warmth that convinces me of my entrance into the kingdom of morphine, a nirvana-like state of complete and honest oblivion. This stuff is gripping; it strangles my very core but in a way that fills me with contentedness and unbelievable tranquility. I become confident in my future, my life, and my ability to survive and thrive in this world. How could anyone not be doing this on a semi-regular basis? How could anyone claim they are above this?
At the yelling insistence of my good friend, I stand slowly and make my stumbling way down the hall, a lazy and unintentionally cavalier grin plastered all across my face. The euphoric rush is subsiding now, gently thrusting me into the peaceful, very gratifying state of complete and utter relaxation and dreamy contentedness. My friend nods at me in a knowing manner and holds the door open so that I can pass through effortlessly. She gives me a derisive smirk and then hands me my keys after she locks the front door behind us.
As we head down the hallway toward the elevator, she totally calls me out on my immature behavior. I know you just took some drug there in your room, she jibes in a manner akin to exasperation and mundane vexation. She has knowledge of my tendencies toward recreational substances and tolerates my usage to a certain extent. Impressively she has become wise to most of my patterns and is not afraid to call me out accordingly. In actuality, it only bothers her when it holds her up, like now. I smile and nod slowly, relaying to her honestly that she is wise beyond her years. She is a very intelligent person, very adept at reading people and seeing things below the surface, the things that we as individuals strive to conceal. But despite that ability of hers, we have remained good friends over the years.
She responds to my nonverbal admission of guilt by stating, matter-of-factly, that if there were any other people who she could have convinced to accompany her to this particular five year reunion tonight, she would have gladly taken them instead of me. I laugh and nod, considering her remark valid and honest. Still, my arrogance and slight tendency toward narcissism does not allow me to take that insult in the manner in which it was intended. Instead, I accept it as a compliment and move on accordingly. Nothing can bother me in my current state. I am, for all intents and purposes, wholly and completely irreproachable.
The class reunion is at some upscale lounge in downtown Del Mar. I'm instantly annoyed by all of the people in attendance here. There are way too many for me to deal with in a coherent manner. Luckily, the heroin in my blood has ensured my well-being against harms of all kind. My friend immediately finds it exciting and starts gushing to me about all of the people that got fat, got bald and managed to trap considerably ugly significant others. I like how she always focuses on the negatives about people. I think that's why we ultimately became friends in the first place. We share a sinister sense of humor that most people would find nefarious.
Some girl immediately walks up to my friend and introduces herself as a soccer buddy, some girl with a very strange-sounding name that starts with the letter "M". I don't understand what she is saying and I don't try overly hard to decipher her words. Instead, I slowly slink away in search of the outside, a place where I can chill out and possibly have a hit or two off my pipe.
On my way out the door, I spy a group of kids that I particularly disliked in high school. I recognize the one girl by her trademark butch-style haircut and mean facial disposition. I heard awhile back that she joined the military and came out as a self-proclaimed lesbian. I always knew that she was heavily male. Ugh, I shake my head in utter disgust. She is not someone that I would ever want to run into in a dark alley. I decide that she still frightens me immensely, even to this day, and I continue on my way toward the outside, hoping that no one finds it fit to recognize and stop me in my tracks. There is absolutely no one here that I desire to converse with in any meaningful way.
This must be my lucky night because I am able to make it outside free and clear of obstructions. But, much to my chagrin, the immediate back area of the lounge is just as crowded as the inside so I decide to walk off down toward the ocean to get some distance from everyone else. While I realize that people are social creatures, these particular kinds of functions border on the insane and unimpressive to me personally. Why do I want to socialize with people that I never liked and have nothing in common with?
I pull the wooden box from deep inside my pocket and open it up in order to retrieve the little cigarette-looking pipe. Honestly, it’s the perfect cover for situations like this. I immediately crush the end of the pipe into my weed reserve, intent on packing as much weed in there as possible. The tighter the weed packs in, the better the hit. That’s just common knowledge.
Once I become satisfied with the amount of weed packed into the end of my pipe, I begin to fish around for a lighter in order to set this thing ablaze. But cruelly, my lighter is nowhere to be found. Oh shit! Don’t do this, please don’t do this! Don’t tell me that I forgot to take a lighter with me! Don’t give me this kind of heinous and demoralizing information! I can’t find a lighter anywhere, in any of my pockets. Oh fuck, you have got to be kidding me!
Unwilling to actually believe that my luck could be this bad, I continue, in marked denial, to search my pockets for a lighter of some kind, anything that might give light to my one-hitter here. But, as I come up empty once again, I finally decide that I must accept the reality that I have been thrust into. I don’t have a lighter here. There is nothing on me that will light this pipe. Unfortunately, the reality I currently stand in, is completely devoid of functional lighters. I am, for lack of a better phrase, shit out of luck lighter-wise.
I look around my general surroundings frantically for a convenience store that I might be able to walk over to and purchase a lighter, but nothing seems to be in my immediate vicinity. Damn it! This cannot be happening to me. Now I'm going to have to pander for a lighter; that has become my only choice at this point. And that course of action is sure to entail talking to some distasteful characters from my past and shooting the shit with them for a little while. I’d really hate to have to do that but my only other option is to go back in there and sit around with utter boredom while my heroin high festers and dies within me. I don’t want to seem overdramatic, but that latter course of action seems to be the worse of the two fates.
Finally and grudgingly, I swallow my, let’s call it pride, and resolve to walk back over to the lounge where the reunion is being held and try to sniff out some like-minded soul that might possess a lighter that I could borrow. It won't be a very easy task because I don't really know very many of these people. Besides, a majority of them may hold preconceived notions of me that will be impossible to discredit with only a few minutes of chatting. But it will be a necessary evil and one that I must endure in order to obtain a lighter and achieve my ultimate goal. It seems pretty clear to me now that I must smoke some weed in order to recapture my high. I won’t let it dissipate without a fight.
Back inside I find my friend once again. She demands to know where I wandered off to but I decline to respond with an intelligible answer. Whatever, she remarks with a shake of her head, giving me an annoyed look in the process. She then turns away and continues her discourse with the same girl that she met upon first entering this place, the one with the name beginning with the letter “M”. Since I would be hard pressed to believe that either one of these girls possess a lighter on their persons, I unanimously decide to wander around and look elsewhere.
I finally spot a dude out on the back balcony smoking a cigarette and I decide that he is the perfect person to ask for a lighter. After all, he got that cigarette lit in some fashion. At this moment, I would desire to know exactly how he achieved that miraculous feat. Do you have a lighter, I ask casually as I approach him from the side. He gives me a strange look at first, one that makes me think he recognizes me or considers my request confusing in some manner. Either way, I am starting to lose patience with his inattention and I’d like him to answer the question now.
Eventually he smirks lightly, nods, then reaches into his pocket and hands me his Zippo lighter. I cringe and make a face. I hate using Zippos to light marijuana because I can always taste the lighter fluid in the process. Oh well, desperate times typically call for desperate measures. I’m probably not going to find anything better in this place. So I accept the lighter and thank him gratefully. He watches me as I pull out my pipe and get it ready. He inquires if I am smoking marijuana but I ignore his question and light my pipe. I take in the smoke, deep in my lungs to make sure I am garnering the full effect, and then I blow a huge plume out. I light it again to make sure I dispose of any wayward crumbs stuck in the pipe. Then I return the lighter to the man I borrowed it from and nod slightly in response to his question. I turn away as I blow out all of my residual smoke. Oh man, this is what I’m talking about.
Marijuana is my favorite drug. Not only is it absolutely marvelous on its own, but it also has magical properties when it comes to reawakening highs that you might have otherwise lost for good. Typically the effects of heroin last up to six hours, but toward the middle and end of that stretch, it does have the tendency to start making you feel drowsy and ready for sleep. That is precisely where the marijuana comes in. It reinvigorates the drug, bringing it back to its glory days, even if only momentarily for one last hoorah, before it dissipates completely into the recesses of your mind. I love marijuana.
Wait a minute, can I get a hit off that pipe, the man calls after me. Though I appreciate his generosity with the lighter I am hardly obliged to return the sentiment. So I ignore his request in favor of reveling in the reawakened euphoria deep within my veins. But he isn’t taking no for an answer; he is incredibly persistent. He catches up to me and repeats his request, with purpose and adamancy this time. While I know this may sound callous and cold, if he was a good looking man, or even a mildly attractive one, I might be inclined to assent to his request. But that is hardly the case here and I am anything but a humanitarian. I’m not sharing with this maniac.
I wave him off and continue down the steps to the sandy beach below. C’mon, he encourages, getting in my face and giving me a very creepy smile. I don’t think so, I tell him dismissively as I move aside and pick up my pace once again. But apparently this dude doesn’t appreciate being rejected in this manner. He grabs my right arm and tries to take the pipe away from me. He’s making a huge mistake here. I could left hook this guy right now and not feel the pain of that choice. Of course, he’ll feel it and then he’ll wear it for at least a week.
Let go, I instruct him seriously. He doesn’t listen to my cautionary advice; they never listen when it’s important. You are going to be sorry, I warn him, a wry smile sneaking onto my lips and entertaining me to a certain degree. He snorts and continues to reach for the pipe in my hand. This guy has no idea what he is getting himself into. I am not one to mince words.
As he grabs onto the wrist of my right hand, I realize that there is only one way out of this very sticky situation. While violence is not always the answer, it does happen to be the answer most of the time. I am not averse to screwing up a few faces when the occasion specifically calls for it. This occasion seems to be yelling out for it so I think I will oblige, good-naturedly of course.
I cock my left arm back and deliver a strike right to his occipital bone, the area just below his right eye. He screams and immediately releases my wrist as he falls backward to the ground. Incidentally, the music stops playing and people are instantly alerted to the scene that I have just made. They gather around to learn about what has transpired and see if it something they can capture with their smart phones and broadcast for all to see on YouTube. Their addiction to social media sites really angers me at the moment. I don’t want to be famous.
Remorselessly, I shake my hand to make people think that I have been hurt in the altercation between me and lighter man. In reality, I never felt a thing. More people come around and begin to whisper inquiries about what happened and what is to be done. The lighter guy yells that I just attacked him for no good reason. That is not entirely correct, but as a scofflaw, in a manner of speaking, I would be remiss to admit that he tried to steal drugs from me. So instead I just laugh and shake my head, demonstrating my vehement disagreement with his version of the events.
Before an official inquest can be undertaken, I walk back inside to get my friend and inform her that we need to take off immediately. Why are you always hitting people and getting into trouble, my friend cries exasperatedly as I explain to her our imminent need to leave the premises. Now’s not really the most opportune time to delve into those issues, I remind her as I look over to see lounge staff approaching from the back patio. She rolls her eyes but eventually consents to leave. I’m glad she came around; I would loathe to spend the night in a jail cell.
As soon as we make it outside, before her car is even in our sights, two police officers descend out of nowhere and unconstitutionally detain us for questioning. Were either of you involved in the altercation inside, Cop One asks us both as he raises his hand and instructs us wordlessly to halt in our steps. I respond in the negative before my friend has the chance to answer honestly and doom us both. Wait here please, Cop Two insists as Cop One gives me an incredulous, complete look of disbelief. I wish I had a more honest face.
Cop One signals for his buddy to hold us while he steps aside and heads toward the front doors of this pristine establishment. Cop Two nods and consents to stand stoically above us, looking down his nose with suspicion and making wordless suggestions that I am lying about my innocence here. My friend glances over at me in a full-blown panic. I can tell she is about to come clean and thus emerge us both into a tub full of trouble.
The scuffle in there had nothing to do with us, I assure Cop Two who is looking beyond my friend and I by now. He is just going to wait for his partner to return with news before he acts in any way. I hate guys like this; they make it hard to triumph. My friend is concerned about this ordeal, I can tell. It seems quite evident that we have a limited amount of time to escape from this situation and our odds don’t look all that great.
For lack of any better ideas, I immediately try feigning menstrual cramps, something I typically do when I have been pulled over for speeding, but Cop Two does not seem at all convinced. He is better trained than most; damn my unfortunate luck! For some reason, he has become very well versed in the art of bullshit. He barely flinches at the sound of the word “menstrual”. That usually gets men away from you quick. My friend and I might be in some real trouble here.
Cop One suddenly returns and notifies Cop Two that I am in fact the one who started the fight inside. She fits the description I got in there to a fucking tee, Cop One elaborates to his partner. I give them both a look of pure incredulousness and disbelief, hoping it might shake their confidence. But it doesn’t. They seem latched on to me now and I fear there may be nothing I can do to mitigate this. I wish there was; I’m easily not above blackmail or even the bartering of small sexual favors. Truth be told, I’ve been in jail before and I have absolutely no desire to go back.
You can go, Cop One informs my friend as he reaches into his back pocket for some kind of item. I close my eyes and hope that they are not handcuffs or some kind of weapon made for subdual. While I’ve never been tasered, I cannot imagine that it is a very pleasant feeling. I'm guessing that it's in the polar opposite realm as the euphoric feelings that I was entertaining earlier.
My friend does not respond to Cop One’s words. She remains standing beside me, evidently unpersuaded to leave. Cop One rolls his eyes with apparent irritation. He then immediately grabs hold of my arm, telling me that we are not finished here and we are going back inside to speak with witnesses. I do not resist. Resistance is futile in these types of situations. I’m not all that concerned anyway; I intend to be a writer not a politician. Who cares if I get charged with simple assault and battery? Lighter guy struck first anyway. I acted in complete and utter self-defense.
Cop One proceeds to drag me to the back area of the lounge where the unattractive lighter guy forced me to punch him. I turn my head around and note Cop Two following behind us, like a foot soldier on a mission. My friend is nowhere in sight. I don’t blame her one bit for leaving; I might have left in a similar situation. Nobody wants to find themselves in an eight-by-ten jail cell, least of all the people who have never had the misfortune of being placed there before.
The kids all around me are all recounting virtually identical stories. They are telling the cops, there are at least five of them now, that I hit lighter man without provocation. That is a complete and total falsification. I was in fact provoked. Where’s the victim, I hear Cop Three yell over to Cop One, who by the way still has his hands on me. Remember what happened the last time someone put their hands on me? Cop One hears the question and looks around for lighter man. But he is apparently nowhere in sight. This might be the lucky break I need to escape this situation relatively unscathed.
Cop One instructs Cop Two, Three, Four and Five to hang back and take down more witness statements. Cop One and Cop Six intend to transport me to the precinct for questions and other investigative purposes. I roll my eyes and try to stifle the urge to become mouthy and sarcastic. My verbal outbursts have only gotten me in more trouble in the past. But it is somewhat hard trying to convince myself to be quiet when there is so much shit I could be talking instead.
Cop One and Cop Six lead me outside and put me in the back of a squad car. I remain silent for the good of my freedom and autonomy. The tough part is that I know investigations can take up to forty-eight hours of time. That is a whole lot of time for someone like me who requires certain things at intervals much shorter than that. I suppose that is exactly what these cops are relying on. But I’d rather die than give them the satisfaction of breaking me. This is going to be the longest two days of their lives. I will make damn sure of that.
You’re free to go, the lady detective relays to me casually as she sticks her head into the holding room that I have been sitting inside of for the past ten hours. Cops have come in and out of here trying to talk with me, reason with me, and scare me. None of them have entertained even a modicum of success. If I weren’t so tired and irritable, I would find an incredible amount of entertainment in their failure. But I find it hard to even smile at this point. I need to go home and sleep for at least a full day, maybe more.
The man you assaulted is not pressing any charges, the lady detective notifies me. I detect slight disappointment in her voice but I don’t let on. I just smile and nod. She should kill herself if she ever thought I was worried about this. I wasn’t worried at all. He isn’t pressing any charges, against my express advice, she adds squalidly as she motions for me to get up and follow her out of the room. She had to add that little tidbit to let me know that she would have burned me if she had the chance. I’m not impressed with her dedication or obvious disdain for me.
I comply with her demand to follow, albeit somewhat slowly, given the fact that I have been a captured prisoner for the past ten hours. I feel grateful that I can leave this place but it also makes me wonder. Why would lighter man choose not to press charges against me? It’s rare to see anyone choose not to bring a lawsuit, especially when a judgment would have been all but guaranteed. Maybe lighter man was embarrassed that he was punched out by a girl. Or maybe he is an outlaw himself, someone who doesn’t want to push their luck or anonymity for a petty and frivolous reward. I’m totally fine profiting from either one of those possibilities.
The lady detective does not divulge any reason why she is releasing me from custody other than lighter man’s unwillingness to bring suit at this time. That’s enough of a reason for me. I continue to follow the lady detective as she begins to climb the stairs that will lead up to the bullpen of the precinct. She is letting me go; I am lucky. Now I just need to stay out of trouble for the foreseeable future. There’s nothing that great outside for me anyway.
I hope you learned a valuable lesson here, the lady detective says to me curtly as she walks me to the front door and allows me to exit the building. I nod, displaying politeness but not necessarily affirmation to her remark. She can have her comment, that’s fine, but I don’t have to respond. Her words of caution or warning mean nothing to me; if a punk tries to mess with me in the future, I am not going to hesitate to lay him out. That’s just the way it is. But I’m not going to go out of my way to admit that to her, especially when she’s holding handcuffs and a gun and the unmitigated power to re-detain me at any time.
Immediately as I step outside, I notice my friend waiting on the curbside to pick me up. I would recognize her beige grandma car a mile away. It’s nice that she came; she definitely didn’t have to. I give the lady detective one last mockingly sincere half-smile and then I make my way toward my friend’s car. The detective shouts after me some kind of additional warning but I pay it no particular attention. All I want to do is go home, pop a Xanax and sleep for like a day. I’m really not at all interested in reliving any of the past twenty-four hours.
I’m only here because it was sort of my fault that you got in trouble, my friend volunteers quickly as I enter the passenger side of her car. I slam the door shut and graciously thank her for showing up despite her guilt-flawed reason for doing so. It doesn’t matter why she has chosen to give me a ride, I’m just glad that she has. I really didn’t want to have to walk the twelve blocks it would take to get back to my apartment on the southern side of downtown. Especially taking into account the drastic turn the weather seems to have taken since I got locked up last night. Rain would have been the final nail to the casket of this experience.
My friend pulls away from the curb and enters the flow of traffic. She asks me how I am but my reply is unintelligible. I don’t feel like keeping up my end of a conversation right now. But she doesn’t let it go at that. She desires to know exactly what I went through at the station last night. Of course I choose to leave those things unsaid. Silence marks the trip for a little while until she decides to ask one more time. I sigh and tell her that it was no big deal. It wasn’t that bad, I insist as I rub my eyes and try to keep alert for the next few miles. Soon I will be home and within steps of my bed. I can’t wait to get the opportunity to sleep.
That cop was really an asshole, my friend comments bitterly. I agree with the sentiment. All cops are assholes, I clarify. So what did they do with you for ten hours, she asks curiously. I don’t respond. I watch her hands as they move the steering wheel left as she makes the turn onto Ninth Street. I’ve never been detained by the police before I just want to know, my friend admits with a small smile. I shrug but there is no time to elaborate. The shrieking, bone curdling, metal-crunching sound of striking impact and the shattering of shards of glass everywhere makes any response that I might have given wholly and completely irrelevant.
The End.
It is inarguable that bad things happen all the time and all around us. There is no getting around that fact and no way to mitigate its often treacherous effects. The trick is to survive the bad things when they do occur so that we may see the good ones when or if they decide to grace us with their presence. In my experience the good things are almost always overshadowed by the bad. But that may just be my ‘glass half empty’ outlook on life. I’m not above admitting that. Still right now, the glass is entirely full.
I’ve used recreational substances quite unrestrictedly over the years to assuage the realities of the world and I must say that no drug is more successful at helping me forget the potentially unforgettable than heroin. I'd call it a godsend if I believed in god. Right now I'm almost persuaded to because all of those bad things that have happened and continue to happen seem utterly irrelevant to me. At least I am still alive and cognitive; nothing has succeeded in killing me at this point. That is the very definition of progress. And in spite of all the hopelessness and despondency rife in this world, I still find myself basking in the warm cocoon of oblivion, not feeling a single wretched feeling whatsoever. That means this is working; it always works. It’s a constant in my life that I never have to wonder about. I love it. In this moment, everything is perfect. I am perfect.
My phone suddenly begins to ring, effectively jarring me out of my heroin-inspired reverie and distinct thoughts of wonderful nothingness. Damn it. I lean over to retrieve it. The caller ID claims that it is my friend calling though I am always somewhat suspicious of what technology wants me to believe. Nevertheless I decide to answer the call, though somewhat reluctantly because I really don't feel like talking to anyone at this moment. I will just dispose of the conversation quickly in order to get back to my basking.
Yeah, I answer softly in a decibel just above a whisper. My friend immediately wants to know if I am planning on attending our five year high school reunion planned for tonight. I wasn't even aware our school celebrated five year reunions! Certainly I am uninterested in attending one. I reply in the negative, honestly relaying to her that I have absolutely no interest in seeing any of the possible guests. Why would I want to go mingle with a bunch of kids that I was essentially ambivalent toward back in high school? They surely haven’t gotten any better or more tolerable over the years. Things don’t change in five years, they barely change in fifty.
My friend tries to convince me to reconsider but the idea of spending time with people who will just feign niceties and talk about their pathetic accomplishments doesn't really seem like an all that attractive night for me. I'd rather rail off another line and lay here on my bed in a dreamy, inspired state of reverie, looking up at my ceiling and wondering if the popcorn white finish actually contains cancerous asbestos. This building has at least been here since the late seventies. It’s entirely possible that it possesses some kind of carcinogenic material. I think about researching what a lawsuit might entail in this regard.
Are you listening to me, my friend inquires over the line. I respond in the affirmative though I have no idea what question was just posed. Well then, will you go to the reunion with me, she impatiently wants to know. I sigh and roll my eyes unnecessarily given our current mode of communication. All the people from high school that I care to see, I already see, I tell my friend with cavalier indifference as I shrug and look upward at the ceiling once again. I am growing impatient with this conversation and my inextricable role in it. I want to get past this discussion as quickly as possible. But she insists that I go with her and even offers to pick me up and drive me there, an enticing offer that she knows could easily hook me for the long haul.
There will be plenty of people to mock surreptitiously, she adds, trying to sweeten the deal even further. My friend does know how to persuade me. I sigh and consider the new proposal. While I do somewhat loathe the idea of keeping company with kids that I found uninteresting as teenagers, I hardly ever turn down an invitation to an adventure that a designated driver has already been assigned to chaperone. This leaves me free to get incredibly high and possibly even unlock my typically very closed-off mind. It might not be so bad under these new guidelines.
Alright fine, I agree hesitantly, still sort of hoping that she will back out and allow me to hibernate here in my room for the rest of the night. I hardly think that I garner that kind of luck but I’m not averse to hoping for it. She informs me that she will be by in about an hour to pick me up and that I better be ready to go. I respond with a nonchalant assent to the terms and then I abruptly end the call. An hour gives me plenty of time to revel in the warmth of my newfound euphoria. This drug has been quite nice to me for years. I don't deserve it but I won't let on. It will be our little secret.
* * * * *
A knock on my front door causes me to jolt up and open my eyes. I look around and quickly recall that my friend was supposed to come by and pick me up for our high school reunion. I must have nodded off for a bit. I hear another knock on my door, this one more persistent than the last. I roll my eyes and climb out of bed. She's going to be irritated that I am not ready to go but she'll deal with it because I’m sort of doing her a huge favor just by virtue of agreeing to go with her.
I answer the door with a lazy smile and a half-assed greeting. Come in, I offer drowsily. Why aren't you ready, she immediately complains upon laying eyes on me. I am about to respond with something derogatory but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand. And what's wrong with you, why are you all sleepy and droopy-eyed, she interrupts. I have no adequate reply to that inquiry so I just shut the door and shrug.
Well let's go I don't want to be late, she states impatiently as she sets her purse down on my kitchen table and looks around the room. She is trying to suss out clues to her unanswered questions. I nod and head back to my bedroom to throw on a hoodie and rail off at least one more line. She yells out to me that she is stealing a water bottle from my refrigerator. I do not respond intelligently. There is no way I could raise my voice to any impressive decibel in my current state.
Once back in my bedroom, I sit down at my desk, grab the cut off straw and insufflate another line. Wow, just wow. The intense, euphoric rush is about as close to instantaneous as I can perceive. I shut my eyes and smile. This is so amazing, so incapable of putting into descriptive words. Time grinds to a halt as the warm, orgasmic rush of opium greets me like a monstrous oceanic wave that I welcome with decidedly open arms. It can drown me for all I care. Never before have I enjoyed life and what it can offer as much as I do right in this moment. This is magic, this is heavy, this is so completely undeserved that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hope this feeling continues eternally but I have no standing or reason to ask it to.
I push the hair out of my eyes and make my way back over to the bed. I have to lie down for a second. This is too much. My face feels numb and the bitter taste of the drip in the back of my throat makes me think of the color purple. With my feet planted on the ground, I fall sideways across my bed, peering once again at the ceiling with heavy eyelids and vision of unadulterated amazement. I have entered the kingdom of morphine and there are no longer feelings of unrest inside me. Somehow they have all been evacuated; everything has been evacuated. I have found a successful way to tear through the blurry film that has thus far covered my eyes. Sight this clear should be unachievable to no one or achievable to everyone. There should be no inequality across these lines but there has always been and always will be. Except I have somehow surpassed it here tonight. I’ve unreasoningly ascended to higher ground and the view up here is nothing short of amazing. It’s hard to rail against injustice when you are unambiguously profiting from it. I’m done fighting; I’m going to start relenting.
* * * * *
I thought you were getting ready, I hear my friend scream from the threshold of my bedroom door. I look up at her with obvious confusion. We were going to the reunion, what the hell is the matter with you, she wants to know, crossing her arms and looking down at her watch with an impatient gesture. You’ve been in here for twenty minutes, she exclaims. We are going to be late now, she informs me. I slowly rise to a sitting position and nod with purpose. I'm ready, I tell her assuredly. She gives me a look of pure incredulousness and shakes her head once again. There’s a mixture of disbelief and slightly veiled irritation in her expression.
I get up and put on my hoodie, leaving the hood in place on the top of my head. It’s always my desire to remain profoundly shadowed. I don’t understand, why don’t you just take your fiancé with you to this thing, I ask my friend absently as I search around my room for other things that I might need to take with me. He’s working again, she responds with a hint of derision in her voice. I nod, sensing that that issue may be a common problem between those two. I decide not to make any sort of rebuttal, kind of getting the feeling that she could talk a novel about this particular issue under certain circumstances.
Alright, I'm all ready to go now, I inform her pleasantly while making serious eye contact, my inane attempt at placation. I dislike annoying people if I can help it. She shakes her head with displeasure and leaves the room, heading back down the hallway to wait for me. I walk over to my desk and pocket my little one-hitter that I keep in a wooden box. It looks like a cigarette and provides the perfect cover for public use. It's pretty much an essential item at all social gatherings. It will reinvigorate my high at the most opportune time. I love it.
Let's go, she calls out to me from somewhere near my front door. I look over at my desk and see the last line that I cut for myself earlier in the afternoon. It’s all splayed out and looking very attractive to my insanely ravenous eyes. It's really calling out to me hard. I want it, I sort of feel like I need it in order to survive this night. Without much more deliberation than that, I bend down quickly, grab the straw and rail off the last line like champ. There’s no turning back now.
And I feel it coming over like a storm again. Whoa! As soon as it goes up my nose I feel it, as soon as I straighten back up I’m high! And then, whoosh goes the rush! It alights every nerve with distinctive pleasure, playing my spine like a piano all the way up the column to my brain. I find my bed once again and lay down unceremoniously. The euphoria is born in my stomach and then begins to spread and radiate out naturally from there, like rays of golden sunlight unobstructed by impatience, or fear, or anger, or hunger, or tension or anxiety. It’s a surge of absolute delight, a thoroughly delicious warmth that convinces me of my entrance into the kingdom of morphine, a nirvana-like state of complete and honest oblivion. This stuff is gripping; it strangles my very core but in a way that fills me with contentedness and unbelievable tranquility. I become confident in my future, my life, and my ability to survive and thrive in this world. How could anyone not be doing this on a semi-regular basis? How could anyone claim they are above this?
At the yelling insistence of my good friend, I stand slowly and make my stumbling way down the hall, a lazy and unintentionally cavalier grin plastered all across my face. The euphoric rush is subsiding now, gently thrusting me into the peaceful, very gratifying state of complete and utter relaxation and dreamy contentedness. My friend nods at me in a knowing manner and holds the door open so that I can pass through effortlessly. She gives me a derisive smirk and then hands me my keys after she locks the front door behind us.
As we head down the hallway toward the elevator, she totally calls me out on my immature behavior. I know you just took some drug there in your room, she jibes in a manner akin to exasperation and mundane vexation. She has knowledge of my tendencies toward recreational substances and tolerates my usage to a certain extent. Impressively she has become wise to most of my patterns and is not afraid to call me out accordingly. In actuality, it only bothers her when it holds her up, like now. I smile and nod slowly, relaying to her honestly that she is wise beyond her years. She is a very intelligent person, very adept at reading people and seeing things below the surface, the things that we as individuals strive to conceal. But despite that ability of hers, we have remained good friends over the years.
She responds to my nonverbal admission of guilt by stating, matter-of-factly, that if there were any other people who she could have convinced to accompany her to this particular five year reunion tonight, she would have gladly taken them instead of me. I laugh and nod, considering her remark valid and honest. Still, my arrogance and slight tendency toward narcissism does not allow me to take that insult in the manner in which it was intended. Instead, I accept it as a compliment and move on accordingly. Nothing can bother me in my current state. I am, for all intents and purposes, wholly and completely irreproachable.
* * * * *
The class reunion is at some upscale lounge in downtown Del Mar. I'm instantly annoyed by all of the people in attendance here. There are way too many for me to deal with in a coherent manner. Luckily, the heroin in my blood has ensured my well-being against harms of all kind. My friend immediately finds it exciting and starts gushing to me about all of the people that got fat, got bald and managed to trap considerably ugly significant others. I like how she always focuses on the negatives about people. I think that's why we ultimately became friends in the first place. We share a sinister sense of humor that most people would find nefarious.
Some girl immediately walks up to my friend and introduces herself as a soccer buddy, some girl with a very strange-sounding name that starts with the letter "M". I don't understand what she is saying and I don't try overly hard to decipher her words. Instead, I slowly slink away in search of the outside, a place where I can chill out and possibly have a hit or two off my pipe.
On my way out the door, I spy a group of kids that I particularly disliked in high school. I recognize the one girl by her trademark butch-style haircut and mean facial disposition. I heard awhile back that she joined the military and came out as a self-proclaimed lesbian. I always knew that she was heavily male. Ugh, I shake my head in utter disgust. She is not someone that I would ever want to run into in a dark alley. I decide that she still frightens me immensely, even to this day, and I continue on my way toward the outside, hoping that no one finds it fit to recognize and stop me in my tracks. There is absolutely no one here that I desire to converse with in any meaningful way.
This must be my lucky night because I am able to make it outside free and clear of obstructions. But, much to my chagrin, the immediate back area of the lounge is just as crowded as the inside so I decide to walk off down toward the ocean to get some distance from everyone else. While I realize that people are social creatures, these particular kinds of functions border on the insane and unimpressive to me personally. Why do I want to socialize with people that I never liked and have nothing in common with?
I pull the wooden box from deep inside my pocket and open it up in order to retrieve the little cigarette-looking pipe. Honestly, it’s the perfect cover for situations like this. I immediately crush the end of the pipe into my weed reserve, intent on packing as much weed in there as possible. The tighter the weed packs in, the better the hit. That’s just common knowledge.
Once I become satisfied with the amount of weed packed into the end of my pipe, I begin to fish around for a lighter in order to set this thing ablaze. But cruelly, my lighter is nowhere to be found. Oh shit! Don’t do this, please don’t do this! Don’t tell me that I forgot to take a lighter with me! Don’t give me this kind of heinous and demoralizing information! I can’t find a lighter anywhere, in any of my pockets. Oh fuck, you have got to be kidding me!
Unwilling to actually believe that my luck could be this bad, I continue, in marked denial, to search my pockets for a lighter of some kind, anything that might give light to my one-hitter here. But, as I come up empty once again, I finally decide that I must accept the reality that I have been thrust into. I don’t have a lighter here. There is nothing on me that will light this pipe. Unfortunately, the reality I currently stand in, is completely devoid of functional lighters. I am, for lack of a better phrase, shit out of luck lighter-wise.
I look around my general surroundings frantically for a convenience store that I might be able to walk over to and purchase a lighter, but nothing seems to be in my immediate vicinity. Damn it! This cannot be happening to me. Now I'm going to have to pander for a lighter; that has become my only choice at this point. And that course of action is sure to entail talking to some distasteful characters from my past and shooting the shit with them for a little while. I’d really hate to have to do that but my only other option is to go back in there and sit around with utter boredom while my heroin high festers and dies within me. I don’t want to seem overdramatic, but that latter course of action seems to be the worse of the two fates.
Finally and grudgingly, I swallow my, let’s call it pride, and resolve to walk back over to the lounge where the reunion is being held and try to sniff out some like-minded soul that might possess a lighter that I could borrow. It won't be a very easy task because I don't really know very many of these people. Besides, a majority of them may hold preconceived notions of me that will be impossible to discredit with only a few minutes of chatting. But it will be a necessary evil and one that I must endure in order to obtain a lighter and achieve my ultimate goal. It seems pretty clear to me now that I must smoke some weed in order to recapture my high. I won’t let it dissipate without a fight.
Back inside I find my friend once again. She demands to know where I wandered off to but I decline to respond with an intelligible answer. Whatever, she remarks with a shake of her head, giving me an annoyed look in the process. She then turns away and continues her discourse with the same girl that she met upon first entering this place, the one with the name beginning with the letter “M”. Since I would be hard pressed to believe that either one of these girls possess a lighter on their persons, I unanimously decide to wander around and look elsewhere.
I finally spot a dude out on the back balcony smoking a cigarette and I decide that he is the perfect person to ask for a lighter. After all, he got that cigarette lit in some fashion. At this moment, I would desire to know exactly how he achieved that miraculous feat. Do you have a lighter, I ask casually as I approach him from the side. He gives me a strange look at first, one that makes me think he recognizes me or considers my request confusing in some manner. Either way, I am starting to lose patience with his inattention and I’d like him to answer the question now.
Eventually he smirks lightly, nods, then reaches into his pocket and hands me his Zippo lighter. I cringe and make a face. I hate using Zippos to light marijuana because I can always taste the lighter fluid in the process. Oh well, desperate times typically call for desperate measures. I’m probably not going to find anything better in this place. So I accept the lighter and thank him gratefully. He watches me as I pull out my pipe and get it ready. He inquires if I am smoking marijuana but I ignore his question and light my pipe. I take in the smoke, deep in my lungs to make sure I am garnering the full effect, and then I blow a huge plume out. I light it again to make sure I dispose of any wayward crumbs stuck in the pipe. Then I return the lighter to the man I borrowed it from and nod slightly in response to his question. I turn away as I blow out all of my residual smoke. Oh man, this is what I’m talking about.
Marijuana is my favorite drug. Not only is it absolutely marvelous on its own, but it also has magical properties when it comes to reawakening highs that you might have otherwise lost for good. Typically the effects of heroin last up to six hours, but toward the middle and end of that stretch, it does have the tendency to start making you feel drowsy and ready for sleep. That is precisely where the marijuana comes in. It reinvigorates the drug, bringing it back to its glory days, even if only momentarily for one last hoorah, before it dissipates completely into the recesses of your mind. I love marijuana.
Wait a minute, can I get a hit off that pipe, the man calls after me. Though I appreciate his generosity with the lighter I am hardly obliged to return the sentiment. So I ignore his request in favor of reveling in the reawakened euphoria deep within my veins. But he isn’t taking no for an answer; he is incredibly persistent. He catches up to me and repeats his request, with purpose and adamancy this time. While I know this may sound callous and cold, if he was a good looking man, or even a mildly attractive one, I might be inclined to assent to his request. But that is hardly the case here and I am anything but a humanitarian. I’m not sharing with this maniac.
I wave him off and continue down the steps to the sandy beach below. C’mon, he encourages, getting in my face and giving me a very creepy smile. I don’t think so, I tell him dismissively as I move aside and pick up my pace once again. But apparently this dude doesn’t appreciate being rejected in this manner. He grabs my right arm and tries to take the pipe away from me. He’s making a huge mistake here. I could left hook this guy right now and not feel the pain of that choice. Of course, he’ll feel it and then he’ll wear it for at least a week.
Let go, I instruct him seriously. He doesn’t listen to my cautionary advice; they never listen when it’s important. You are going to be sorry, I warn him, a wry smile sneaking onto my lips and entertaining me to a certain degree. He snorts and continues to reach for the pipe in my hand. This guy has no idea what he is getting himself into. I am not one to mince words.
As he grabs onto the wrist of my right hand, I realize that there is only one way out of this very sticky situation. While violence is not always the answer, it does happen to be the answer most of the time. I am not averse to screwing up a few faces when the occasion specifically calls for it. This occasion seems to be yelling out for it so I think I will oblige, good-naturedly of course.
I cock my left arm back and deliver a strike right to his occipital bone, the area just below his right eye. He screams and immediately releases my wrist as he falls backward to the ground. Incidentally, the music stops playing and people are instantly alerted to the scene that I have just made. They gather around to learn about what has transpired and see if it something they can capture with their smart phones and broadcast for all to see on YouTube. Their addiction to social media sites really angers me at the moment. I don’t want to be famous.
Remorselessly, I shake my hand to make people think that I have been hurt in the altercation between me and lighter man. In reality, I never felt a thing. More people come around and begin to whisper inquiries about what happened and what is to be done. The lighter guy yells that I just attacked him for no good reason. That is not entirely correct, but as a scofflaw, in a manner of speaking, I would be remiss to admit that he tried to steal drugs from me. So instead I just laugh and shake my head, demonstrating my vehement disagreement with his version of the events.
Before an official inquest can be undertaken, I walk back inside to get my friend and inform her that we need to take off immediately. Why are you always hitting people and getting into trouble, my friend cries exasperatedly as I explain to her our imminent need to leave the premises. Now’s not really the most opportune time to delve into those issues, I remind her as I look over to see lounge staff approaching from the back patio. She rolls her eyes but eventually consents to leave. I’m glad she came around; I would loathe to spend the night in a jail cell.
As soon as we make it outside, before her car is even in our sights, two police officers descend out of nowhere and unconstitutionally detain us for questioning. Were either of you involved in the altercation inside, Cop One asks us both as he raises his hand and instructs us wordlessly to halt in our steps. I respond in the negative before my friend has the chance to answer honestly and doom us both. Wait here please, Cop Two insists as Cop One gives me an incredulous, complete look of disbelief. I wish I had a more honest face.
Cop One signals for his buddy to hold us while he steps aside and heads toward the front doors of this pristine establishment. Cop Two nods and consents to stand stoically above us, looking down his nose with suspicion and making wordless suggestions that I am lying about my innocence here. My friend glances over at me in a full-blown panic. I can tell she is about to come clean and thus emerge us both into a tub full of trouble.
The scuffle in there had nothing to do with us, I assure Cop Two who is looking beyond my friend and I by now. He is just going to wait for his partner to return with news before he acts in any way. I hate guys like this; they make it hard to triumph. My friend is concerned about this ordeal, I can tell. It seems quite evident that we have a limited amount of time to escape from this situation and our odds don’t look all that great.
For lack of any better ideas, I immediately try feigning menstrual cramps, something I typically do when I have been pulled over for speeding, but Cop Two does not seem at all convinced. He is better trained than most; damn my unfortunate luck! For some reason, he has become very well versed in the art of bullshit. He barely flinches at the sound of the word “menstrual”. That usually gets men away from you quick. My friend and I might be in some real trouble here.
Cop One suddenly returns and notifies Cop Two that I am in fact the one who started the fight inside. She fits the description I got in there to a fucking tee, Cop One elaborates to his partner. I give them both a look of pure incredulousness and disbelief, hoping it might shake their confidence. But it doesn’t. They seem latched on to me now and I fear there may be nothing I can do to mitigate this. I wish there was; I’m easily not above blackmail or even the bartering of small sexual favors. Truth be told, I’ve been in jail before and I have absolutely no desire to go back.
You can go, Cop One informs my friend as he reaches into his back pocket for some kind of item. I close my eyes and hope that they are not handcuffs or some kind of weapon made for subdual. While I’ve never been tasered, I cannot imagine that it is a very pleasant feeling. I'm guessing that it's in the polar opposite realm as the euphoric feelings that I was entertaining earlier.
My friend does not respond to Cop One’s words. She remains standing beside me, evidently unpersuaded to leave. Cop One rolls his eyes with apparent irritation. He then immediately grabs hold of my arm, telling me that we are not finished here and we are going back inside to speak with witnesses. I do not resist. Resistance is futile in these types of situations. I’m not all that concerned anyway; I intend to be a writer not a politician. Who cares if I get charged with simple assault and battery? Lighter guy struck first anyway. I acted in complete and utter self-defense.
Cop One proceeds to drag me to the back area of the lounge where the unattractive lighter guy forced me to punch him. I turn my head around and note Cop Two following behind us, like a foot soldier on a mission. My friend is nowhere in sight. I don’t blame her one bit for leaving; I might have left in a similar situation. Nobody wants to find themselves in an eight-by-ten jail cell, least of all the people who have never had the misfortune of being placed there before.
The kids all around me are all recounting virtually identical stories. They are telling the cops, there are at least five of them now, that I hit lighter man without provocation. That is a complete and total falsification. I was in fact provoked. Where’s the victim, I hear Cop Three yell over to Cop One, who by the way still has his hands on me. Remember what happened the last time someone put their hands on me? Cop One hears the question and looks around for lighter man. But he is apparently nowhere in sight. This might be the lucky break I need to escape this situation relatively unscathed.
Cop One instructs Cop Two, Three, Four and Five to hang back and take down more witness statements. Cop One and Cop Six intend to transport me to the precinct for questions and other investigative purposes. I roll my eyes and try to stifle the urge to become mouthy and sarcastic. My verbal outbursts have only gotten me in more trouble in the past. But it is somewhat hard trying to convince myself to be quiet when there is so much shit I could be talking instead.
Cop One and Cop Six lead me outside and put me in the back of a squad car. I remain silent for the good of my freedom and autonomy. The tough part is that I know investigations can take up to forty-eight hours of time. That is a whole lot of time for someone like me who requires certain things at intervals much shorter than that. I suppose that is exactly what these cops are relying on. But I’d rather die than give them the satisfaction of breaking me. This is going to be the longest two days of their lives. I will make damn sure of that.
* * * * *
You’re free to go, the lady detective relays to me casually as she sticks her head into the holding room that I have been sitting inside of for the past ten hours. Cops have come in and out of here trying to talk with me, reason with me, and scare me. None of them have entertained even a modicum of success. If I weren’t so tired and irritable, I would find an incredible amount of entertainment in their failure. But I find it hard to even smile at this point. I need to go home and sleep for at least a full day, maybe more.
The man you assaulted is not pressing any charges, the lady detective notifies me. I detect slight disappointment in her voice but I don’t let on. I just smile and nod. She should kill herself if she ever thought I was worried about this. I wasn’t worried at all. He isn’t pressing any charges, against my express advice, she adds squalidly as she motions for me to get up and follow her out of the room. She had to add that little tidbit to let me know that she would have burned me if she had the chance. I’m not impressed with her dedication or obvious disdain for me.
I comply with her demand to follow, albeit somewhat slowly, given the fact that I have been a captured prisoner for the past ten hours. I feel grateful that I can leave this place but it also makes me wonder. Why would lighter man choose not to press charges against me? It’s rare to see anyone choose not to bring a lawsuit, especially when a judgment would have been all but guaranteed. Maybe lighter man was embarrassed that he was punched out by a girl. Or maybe he is an outlaw himself, someone who doesn’t want to push their luck or anonymity for a petty and frivolous reward. I’m totally fine profiting from either one of those possibilities.
The lady detective does not divulge any reason why she is releasing me from custody other than lighter man’s unwillingness to bring suit at this time. That’s enough of a reason for me. I continue to follow the lady detective as she begins to climb the stairs that will lead up to the bullpen of the precinct. She is letting me go; I am lucky. Now I just need to stay out of trouble for the foreseeable future. There’s nothing that great outside for me anyway.
I hope you learned a valuable lesson here, the lady detective says to me curtly as she walks me to the front door and allows me to exit the building. I nod, displaying politeness but not necessarily affirmation to her remark. She can have her comment, that’s fine, but I don’t have to respond. Her words of caution or warning mean nothing to me; if a punk tries to mess with me in the future, I am not going to hesitate to lay him out. That’s just the way it is. But I’m not going to go out of my way to admit that to her, especially when she’s holding handcuffs and a gun and the unmitigated power to re-detain me at any time.
Immediately as I step outside, I notice my friend waiting on the curbside to pick me up. I would recognize her beige grandma car a mile away. It’s nice that she came; she definitely didn’t have to. I give the lady detective one last mockingly sincere half-smile and then I make my way toward my friend’s car. The detective shouts after me some kind of additional warning but I pay it no particular attention. All I want to do is go home, pop a Xanax and sleep for like a day. I’m really not at all interested in reliving any of the past twenty-four hours.
I’m only here because it was sort of my fault that you got in trouble, my friend volunteers quickly as I enter the passenger side of her car. I slam the door shut and graciously thank her for showing up despite her guilt-flawed reason for doing so. It doesn’t matter why she has chosen to give me a ride, I’m just glad that she has. I really didn’t want to have to walk the twelve blocks it would take to get back to my apartment on the southern side of downtown. Especially taking into account the drastic turn the weather seems to have taken since I got locked up last night. Rain would have been the final nail to the casket of this experience.
My friend pulls away from the curb and enters the flow of traffic. She asks me how I am but my reply is unintelligible. I don’t feel like keeping up my end of a conversation right now. But she doesn’t let it go at that. She desires to know exactly what I went through at the station last night. Of course I choose to leave those things unsaid. Silence marks the trip for a little while until she decides to ask one more time. I sigh and tell her that it was no big deal. It wasn’t that bad, I insist as I rub my eyes and try to keep alert for the next few miles. Soon I will be home and within steps of my bed. I can’t wait to get the opportunity to sleep.
That cop was really an asshole, my friend comments bitterly. I agree with the sentiment. All cops are assholes, I clarify. So what did they do with you for ten hours, she asks curiously. I don’t respond. I watch her hands as they move the steering wheel left as she makes the turn onto Ninth Street. I’ve never been detained by the police before I just want to know, my friend admits with a small smile. I shrug but there is no time to elaborate. The shrieking, bone curdling, metal-crunching sound of striking impact and the shattering of shards of glass everywhere makes any response that I might have given wholly and completely irrelevant.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Inverse Color Differential aka Anti-Sky Paradox
I am not a scientist and I've never professed otherwise. In fact I take a certain amount of pride in my superior right-brained skills even if it came at the price of my left brain. So what if my analytical left brain functions are a little diminished? That's the cross I embraced in high school when I took my first taste of a recreational substance and smiled. Admittedly it's been both uphill and downhill since then. But I have never complained about being illiterate where science and math are concerned. Generally I accept scientific principles, even if I don't always understand them. Certainly I accept mathematics and the legitimacy of the study of calculus while I clearly do not understand it. Nevertheless, evolution is a hell of a lot easier to swallow than creationism. That's a fact. Anyone who believes humans were made in the likeness and image of a mythical super-being should check their brain for tumors. But I am no scientist.
I exist somewhere in the metaphorical middle ground between evolution and fantasy. Now if anyone is still reading at this point let me make clear that this is not the introduction to an atheistic rant. On the contrary, it's a theory I came up with, one that unilaterally mocks all known scientific principles and everything else that decidedly left-brain people hold dear.
February 25, 2009 (all dates are approximations)
I close my eyes and enjoy the relaxing nature of the couch. I feel as though I am in the middle of a cloud, a nice, fluffy, white, smoky cloud of pure comfort. It’s dense but it allows me to float peacefully within it, untainted with feelings of discontentedness. I open my eyes and try to peer out the window but the blue sky outside is barely visible through this cloud all around me. I can somehow tell that the sky is blue, yet I start to wonder if that is on account of my eyes seeing the blue or my brain knowing it to be blue and commanding my eyes accordingly. I don’t know how I could ever know one way or another which phenomenon was actually taking place. In fact, for all I know the sky is red and has been red for many years, making my brain an unmodified liar. Or maybe it is my eyes that are liars. I suppose I cannot trust any of the organs inside me. They could all be deceiving me in one way or another. And what if I am not alone in possessing a deceitful brain? It stands to reason that because brains are all made of relatively the same materials that other people exist out there with lying brains of their own. That would explain why mankind generally believes and agrees that the sky is blue and the sun is yellow and the trees are green, even if they are truly not. It’s a brain-wide conspiracy!
This may be the marijuana talking but I feel like I must test this hypothesis for accuracy. It would really bum me out to discover that there are people out there with honest brains while I sit here with a deceitful one. But that could very well be the case. What if the sky really is red and there are people out there who see it as such? That would annoy me. I would surely come to envy that elite class of brains.
Unable to let the issue rest in my head, I pose the question of the sky’s true color to the room hoping for constructive replies. Ray states that it is blue without even looking up from the bong, a statement that unanimously convinces me that he too could suffer from the same ailment as I, assuming of course the sky is not really blue. Regardless, Ray is operating under the perception that the sky is blue, just like I am. If the sky is in fact not blue, Ray doesn’t see it. He is not elite. Now it is time to get Tyler’s response. If he turns out to be elite, I may have to rethink my whole stance on him. After all, Landon is decidedly not elite; he believes the sky is blue and would accept no other premise as true. Of course the sky may really be blue and in that case this whole tangent is a silly waste of time. I would feel much better if that were the case but I am not so sure anymore.
Tyler confirms the sky is blue as well. He is not elite. Oh well. This all may have been for naught anyway because science has consistently advocated an invariably blue sky from the point of Earth’s inception. Though Earth as a planetary object has changed quite considerably since its inception, it is entirely possible that the color of the atmosphere changed sometime thereafter. That may be the only way to account for the possibility of people’s brains registering colors differently and it may be the only explanation that could prove my theory plausible, not that I have that as an ultimate goal.
Epilogue: I was never able to confirm or reject this theory. It stands as a rational prospect in the universe of infinite possibilities.
I exist somewhere in the metaphorical middle ground between evolution and fantasy. Now if anyone is still reading at this point let me make clear that this is not the introduction to an atheistic rant. On the contrary, it's a theory I came up with, one that unilaterally mocks all known scientific principles and everything else that decidedly left-brain people hold dear.
February 25, 2009 (all dates are approximations)
I close my eyes and enjoy the relaxing nature of the couch. I feel as though I am in the middle of a cloud, a nice, fluffy, white, smoky cloud of pure comfort. It’s dense but it allows me to float peacefully within it, untainted with feelings of discontentedness. I open my eyes and try to peer out the window but the blue sky outside is barely visible through this cloud all around me. I can somehow tell that the sky is blue, yet I start to wonder if that is on account of my eyes seeing the blue or my brain knowing it to be blue and commanding my eyes accordingly. I don’t know how I could ever know one way or another which phenomenon was actually taking place. In fact, for all I know the sky is red and has been red for many years, making my brain an unmodified liar. Or maybe it is my eyes that are liars. I suppose I cannot trust any of the organs inside me. They could all be deceiving me in one way or another. And what if I am not alone in possessing a deceitful brain? It stands to reason that because brains are all made of relatively the same materials that other people exist out there with lying brains of their own. That would explain why mankind generally believes and agrees that the sky is blue and the sun is yellow and the trees are green, even if they are truly not. It’s a brain-wide conspiracy!
This may be the marijuana talking but I feel like I must test this hypothesis for accuracy. It would really bum me out to discover that there are people out there with honest brains while I sit here with a deceitful one. But that could very well be the case. What if the sky really is red and there are people out there who see it as such? That would annoy me. I would surely come to envy that elite class of brains.
Unable to let the issue rest in my head, I pose the question of the sky’s true color to the room hoping for constructive replies. Ray states that it is blue without even looking up from the bong, a statement that unanimously convinces me that he too could suffer from the same ailment as I, assuming of course the sky is not really blue. Regardless, Ray is operating under the perception that the sky is blue, just like I am. If the sky is in fact not blue, Ray doesn’t see it. He is not elite. Now it is time to get Tyler’s response. If he turns out to be elite, I may have to rethink my whole stance on him. After all, Landon is decidedly not elite; he believes the sky is blue and would accept no other premise as true. Of course the sky may really be blue and in that case this whole tangent is a silly waste of time. I would feel much better if that were the case but I am not so sure anymore.
Tyler confirms the sky is blue as well. He is not elite. Oh well. This all may have been for naught anyway because science has consistently advocated an invariably blue sky from the point of Earth’s inception. Though Earth as a planetary object has changed quite considerably since its inception, it is entirely possible that the color of the atmosphere changed sometime thereafter. That may be the only way to account for the possibility of people’s brains registering colors differently and it may be the only explanation that could prove my theory plausible, not that I have that as an ultimate goal.
Epilogue: I was never able to confirm or reject this theory. It stands as a rational prospect in the universe of infinite possibilities.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Lux, an Individual, Plaintiff v. Earth, an Entity, Defendant
I open my civil procedure book to page three twenty-nine and start reading the introductory comments of the chapter. If I were a different person I would just skip ahead a few pages to the cases but I know that sometimes the introduction provides important insights that should not be overlooked. Besides, my professor tends to fixate on them unnaturally. I don’t appreciate coming off like a loser when he inevitably quizzes us later in class.
The chapter begins by attempting to teach us about pleaders. Pleaders tell stories designed to get a court to give them something they want. Once upon a time, those stories were oral and relatively free-form, with the pleader telling the court what had happened and what he wanted the court to do about it. I feel like this ‘once upon a time’ model would be much more desirable than the one we have currently in place. The former lends itself more convincingly to the chaos and vengeance that I’ve always more or less endorsed in my life. But over time I suppose things get complicated even if the aim was initially simplistic. Modern society, whether or not it was the stated intention, has taken its justice system to the utmost extreme. These days complaints are filed years before the corresponding case is heard before a court, if it's ever even heard at all. This ‘dragging claims out’ mentality has become the decided norm and there is really no going back now. I sigh with veiled annoyance at that reality. It’s nice when things are simple.
Next the book attempts to analyze the similarities and differences between the old complaint form and the contemporary one. But I fear my focus has already begun to wander. For some inexplicable reason, I start to picture the old-time pleaders described in this introductory paragraph as little red-headed children with freckles, perhaps even pigtails, crying tearfully to their fathers about the treacherous actions of their siblings or supposed friends. Of course daddy doesn’t really care about what was done to his red-headed child; he will do absolutely nothing to restore any sense of justice. The child must learn to live with whatever covenant breach was inflicted upon her and that is essentially where the story ends.
Unfortunately the court system back then was just about as ineffectual as a father dealing with his red-headed child, perhaps even more so. Not much has changed over the years except for the complications involved in the general process of trying to find some semblance of justice. But it seems as though it hides from everyone. Justice was and continues to be something of a running joke that none of us can quite understand. But we do pretend.
In my career, I hesitate to use that word because of the dishonesty it portrays but regardless, in my career I have drafted a few of these modern day complaints. Therefore, I feel pretty confident in stating that I know the general protocol involved and can repeat it almost in my sleep. Of course that particular skill doesn’t really make things better. In fact, I cannot help but wonder if our justice system is long for life. It is inarguably ineffectual; not one person could possibly assert any level of satisfaction with it. There seems to always be some room for complaint.
So here it is, my play on the complaint. It's rather silly but that tends to be my specialty. This is a complaint that I have entertained now for at least a year, though I believe it's been stewing much longer than that. I guess you lose track of time when you are in this constant state of disillusion and heavy denial. But I’ll try to make this as accurate as possible. After all I am an attorney, a person you might even call 'counselor' one day, though it doesn't seem likely.
*Note: This is not a real Complaint. I do not condone the use of this Complaint in a legal forum and I discourage anyone from attempting to use it. Enjoy.
Lux, an Individual, Plaintiff, Civil Action No: J6901789
vs.
Earth, an Entity, Defendant
Verified complaint for Violation of Due Process Clause, Material Breach of Implied Contract, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress, False Imprisonment, Negligence, Damages, and Injunctive Relief. Jury Demand.
Introduction
1. Plaintiff Lux, hereinafter “LUX”, for her Complaint against Defendant Earth, hereinafter “EARTH” hereby brings claims seeking relief for, among other things, the taking of private property through a violation of the Due Process Clause, the breach of an implied contract that law school would benefit Plaintiff, and Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress vis-à-vis the prior implied contract.
2. Lux alleges on personal knowledge as to all facts known to her, and on information and belief as to all other facts, as follows:
The Parties
3. Plaintiff Lux is an adult individual residing in the County of Los Angeles. She lives and breathes in the State of California.
4. Upon information and belief, Defendant Earth, is a global entity with a presence in many different countries. Its principal place of business is everywhere, including the State of California.
Jurisdiction and Venue
5. This action arises under the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution and the common law of the State of California.
6. This Court has subject matter jurisdiction pursuant to 17 U.S.C. §1331 (federal question), U.S. Const. Amend 5 (Due Process Clause) and expressly incorporated under U.S. Const. Amend. 14 to the States, and 28 U.S.C. §1367(a)(supplemental jurisdiction). This Court has personal jurisdiction over Defendant Earth because, on information and belief, it conducts a significant amount of business in this District. Earth has also committed wrongful acts which have had direct effects in this District.
7. Venue is proper in this judicial district under 28 U.S.C. § 1391(b)(2) because a substantial part of the events giving rise to the claims asserted herein occurred in this District.
Factual Background
8. This dispute arises out of Earth’s wrongful acts during the years between 2007 and extending through 2011 and the present. Surely Earth’s wrongful acts against Lux extend further back than the year 2007 but all those wrongful acts will not now be the subject of this Complaint.
9. Plaintiff Lux exists on Earth as a human being. Defendant Earth, in its capacity as a planet that hosts life, including human being life, has a duty to look out for and protect life of all kinds. Because Earth led Lux to a metaphorical slaughter, Lux has suffered damages of a very profound nature. She seeks major redress of those wrongs.
10. On or around August 2007, Lux began her legal education as a law student at an accredited ABA law school in the State of California, the reputation of which was and continues to be solid. As a condition precedent of attending law school, she agreed to an implied contract that a legal education was a worthy pursuit. At this point in history, Plaintiff had no reason to believe it would be anything but worthy. Defendant Earth knew more about the future prospects that Lux would be able to entertain at the time of formation of the contract. Keeping this knowledge to itself, Earth allowed Lux to enter into this ill-fated contract, an action of which she would predictably live to regret. Lux was undoubtedly pressured into agreeing to the terms of this contract even though she did not realize the extent of what could happen in the future. Defendant Earth made many untrue statements in order to convince Lux to agree to the terms of this one-sided contract, including assurances that Lux was not wasting her time and money by undertaking three years of legal studies in a declining economy. Lux reasonably relied on those statements made by Earth when she agreed to enter into the contract.
11. Prior to August 2007, Lux had a content, debt-free life. The benefit of not being harassed on a daily basis by creditors and other such sharks was a routine that Plaintiff liked and was very well accustomed to. She had grown used to the benefit of that lifestyle and considered it not a bad way of living. Plaintiff Lux reasonably expected the continued receipt of this benefit of living comfortably and contently the way she always had. Although Lux never had any previous delusions of grandeur, her life was by no means terrible. Of course that has all come to change now at the time of this Complaint.
12. Defendant Earth has taken away Plaintiff’s property rights vis-à-vis her debt-free existence prior to 2007. Lux is entitled to that freedom and way of life that she had grown accustomed to and this entitlement is now only a pipe dream, less in fact. Lux received no notice or hearing before this right was savagely taken away from Plaintiff four years ago. It has yet to be restored and Lux is naturally discontent over the matter.
13. Upon information and belief, the behavior of Earth was and continues to be intentional; at the very least Earth has acted with reckless indifference. Earth’s behavior in this regard would surely shock the conscience of any court this matter comes before.
14. This interest is extremely important to Lux. She finds her current life exceedingly more and more difficult to live by the day. If this situation is not rectified soon, Lux may become too disillusioned to recover and live a normal life.
15. Defendant Earth has tricked Lux into a state of mind fraught with danger and paranoia. Lux constantly fears the passing of time, to the point where she can entertain no other more pleasant thoughts. Earth has engaged in outrageous conduct that has led Lux to suffer severe distress as a result. Lux is unable to think clearly without the aid of narcotics. Earth’s actions have exceeded all bounds of decency that are typically tolerated in a civilized society.
16. Defendant Earth has trapped and restrained Plaintiff Lux, several acts of which have led to her continued confinement in Earth’s bounded area. Lux is well aware of her confinement within Earth’s bounded area and her inability to free herself from its constraints. There is no reasonable means of escape that the Plaintiff has been made aware of or has been able to reasonably discover. Any means of escape that Plaintiff has been able to think of are both dangerous and disgusting. Lux at no time consented to being trapped within Earth’s bounded area. Quite the contrary, it was done against her will and she now demands redress.
17. Earth either knew or should have reasonably known that it was engaging in all acts alleged herein and that those acts would cause harm to Plaintiff.
First Cause of Action – Violation of the Due Process Clause
18. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
19. Upon information and belief, Defendant Earth was previous to 2007 providing Lux the benefit of a debt-free existence. This was an interest unmistakably important to Lux. In fact, she counted on this benefit on a mere daily basis.
20. At no time did Earth make clear that this benefit would soon end. When taking away a benefit such as this one, it is the duty of Earth to notify benefactors of the benefit of its impending end. Earth made no such notification to Lux.
21. It is the duty of Earth to allow for a hearing so that individuals who are soon to be deprived of a benefit that they have grown accustomed to, can present evidence and argue as to why they should be able to keep the benefit. The hearing must also provide individuals with the reasons why their coveted benefit is being taken away. Lux was not granted the opportunity for a hearing whatsoever.
22. It would have been very easy for Earth to set in place procedures that would warn Lux and individuals like Lux that this benefit could run its course.
23. Earth has an undeniable interest in making sure that its citizens are relatively happy. A revolution, which many countries sit on the inevitable forefront of, is not in the best interest of Earth.
24. Because of Earth’s deprival of a benefit that Lux had grown accustomed to, Lux is entitled to damages pursuant to the Due Process Clause.
Second Cause of Action – Breach of an Implied Contract
25. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
26. In exchange for adequate consideration, Lux agreed that she would go through three years of law school at an accredited and ABA-approved university. The consideration in question, the promise of economic well-being after graduation and passage of the bar exam, was never delivered upon by Defendant Earth.
27. The terms of the contract were harsh and oppressive and decidedly one-sided. Lux was under an extreme undue pressure to submit to the terms of the contract. There was both substantive and procedural unconscionability in this implied contract, neither of which Lux realized at the time of formation because at that time Lux had not yet begun her legal education. Needless to say, Lux was not in a position to negotiate the terms of the contract.
28. Certainly there was uneven and unequal bargaining power between Plaintiff Lux and Defendant Earth, especially evident given the nature of the contract in question and the dearth of knowledge at Plaintiff’s disposal at the time of contract. The country had yet to plummet into economic despair in the fall of 2007. But the reality was on the horizon, perfectly within Defendant’s sights. Even though Plaintiff Lux has long come to the realization that life is nothing more than a mere game, she always assumed that hard work ultimately paid off. She has come to find out that that assumption is flawed, more than flawed, it is all out false. It fails as a matter of law. Plaintiff will admit that she came of age at the wrong time in history, a period where the world was descending into unrestricted chaos. However, economic upheaval, revolutions and wars was hardly foreseeable in Plaintiff Lux’s position as a human being in early 2007 when the contract was entered into. Therefore it cannot be said that Lux entered into the contract reasonably informed of the risks.
29. Defendant Earth uttered many untrue statements, the most egregious of which was that Plaintiff Lux would enjoy economic prosperity at the conclusion of her legal studies and after she passed the bar examination. Defendant made this statement to Lux hoping to coerce her into assenting to the contract, knowing all the while of its extreme falsity. Needless to really say, Lux relied on the veracity of this statement when entering into the contract, reliance of which ended up being to Lux’s extreme detriment. While Lux acknowledges that she has the right to rescind the contract based on this heinous misrepresentation made by Earth, Lux instead opts for damages because rescission alone cannot right this wrong.
30. Plaintiff Lux here acknowledges that Defendant Earth will attempt to use the Statute of Frauds as a defense to this implied contract. However she would like to point out at this time that that course of action would be, for lack of a better phrase, a dick move on Defendant’s part.
31. As a direct and proximate result of Earth’s breach of the implied contract, Lux suffered and continues to suffer direct, incidental, and consequential damages. These damages include but are not limited to Plaintiff’s current disillusionment.
32. Earth’s actions have caused and continue to cause irreparable harm to Lux, and Lux is therefore entitled to injunctive relief to stop Earth from continuing to breach the Implied Contract.
Third Cause of Action – Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress
33. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
34. Through Earth’s engagement in outrageous conduct, including but not limited to Earth’s breach of contract, Earth has caused and continues to cause Lux severe distress. In breaching the implied contract and causing Lux to waste her time and money, Earth has acted with utter disregard for Lux’s emotional tranquility.
35. As a direct and proximate result of Earth’s actions, Lux has suffered damages and losses in an amount exceeding $500,000.
36. Defendant’s actions were and continue to be willful and malicious in that Defendant intentionally breached the implied contract and caused Lux to experience severe distress as a result of Earth’s outrageous behavior. Plaintiff is therefore entitled to punitive damages in accordance with California Civil Code §3294.
Fourth Cause of Action – False Imprisonment
37. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
38. Earth is a planet with an atmosphere. Earth has kept Lux restrained and confined within its bounded area now for more than twenty-four years. Lux has searched and searched for an escape but has been tragically unsuccessful in the pursuit.
39. Lux is well aware of her confinement on Earth and is injured by it on a daily basis. Her injury exists in the form of growing older and seeing those around her die. She has also been injured by Earth due to its gravitational pull on numerous occasions.
40. Death by means of suicide is the only means of escape from Earth’s bounded area and that method is dangerous, disgusting and unreasonable, especially in the mind of an atheist. Plaintiff Lux is an atheist. Accordingly, there is no reasonable means of escape that Lux can discover.
41. Defendant’s actions were and continue to be willful and malicious in that Defendant is intentionally and callously holding Lux confined within its bounds. As a result of this outrageous behavior, Plaintiff is entitled to damages in the amount of $500,000.
Fifth Cause of Action – Negligence
42. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
43. Earth has a duty to protect and serve all life contained within it. Because Plaintiff Lux is a life contained within Earth, by the transitive property, Earth has a duty to protect and serve Lux.
44. Earth breached its duty of care when it harmed Lux by depriving her of her Due Process Rights, by breaching the implied contract, by intentionally inflicting emotional distress upon Lux, and by falsely imprisoning Lux against her will within its Earthly confines.
45. But for Earth’s ghastly breach of its duty to protect Lux, Plaintiff Lux would be healthy, uninjured and living in economic prosperity right now.
46. It was or should have been foreseeable to Defendant Earth that Plaintiff Lux would be injured as a result of its breach of the implied agreement. Therefore Earth is responsible for the injury.
47. Plaintiff Lux in no way contributed to the breach, mostly because Lux was unaware of the future and what could happen, both factors that Earth knows and is responsible for predicting.
48. Defendant Earth was negligent in its interactions with Plaintiff Lux and as a result Lux was harmed. Lux is therefore entitled to damages in the amount of $500,000.
Jury Demand
49. Lux requests a jury trial on all triable issues of fact.
Prayer for Relief
Wherefore, Plaintiff prays for judgment as follows:
1. That judgment be entered in favor of Lux and against Defendant Earth;
2. That Defendant, and all persons in active participation therewith, be preliminarily and permanently enjoined from inflicting continued harm to Lux.
3. That Defendants be ordered to pay Lux the amount of $5 million.
4. That Lux recover compensatory damages for Defendant’s wrongdoing in an amount to be established at trial, together with pre-judgment and post-judgment interest thereon;
5. That Lux recover an award of exemplary damage, disgorgement, restitution, pre-judgment and post-judgment interest as permitted by statute and/or contract; and
6. Any such other relief as the Court may deem just and proper.
Respectfully submitted,
Lux
Dated: October 25, 2011
The chapter begins by attempting to teach us about pleaders. Pleaders tell stories designed to get a court to give them something they want. Once upon a time, those stories were oral and relatively free-form, with the pleader telling the court what had happened and what he wanted the court to do about it. I feel like this ‘once upon a time’ model would be much more desirable than the one we have currently in place. The former lends itself more convincingly to the chaos and vengeance that I’ve always more or less endorsed in my life. But over time I suppose things get complicated even if the aim was initially simplistic. Modern society, whether or not it was the stated intention, has taken its justice system to the utmost extreme. These days complaints are filed years before the corresponding case is heard before a court, if it's ever even heard at all. This ‘dragging claims out’ mentality has become the decided norm and there is really no going back now. I sigh with veiled annoyance at that reality. It’s nice when things are simple.
Next the book attempts to analyze the similarities and differences between the old complaint form and the contemporary one. But I fear my focus has already begun to wander. For some inexplicable reason, I start to picture the old-time pleaders described in this introductory paragraph as little red-headed children with freckles, perhaps even pigtails, crying tearfully to their fathers about the treacherous actions of their siblings or supposed friends. Of course daddy doesn’t really care about what was done to his red-headed child; he will do absolutely nothing to restore any sense of justice. The child must learn to live with whatever covenant breach was inflicted upon her and that is essentially where the story ends.
Unfortunately the court system back then was just about as ineffectual as a father dealing with his red-headed child, perhaps even more so. Not much has changed over the years except for the complications involved in the general process of trying to find some semblance of justice. But it seems as though it hides from everyone. Justice was and continues to be something of a running joke that none of us can quite understand. But we do pretend.
In my career, I hesitate to use that word because of the dishonesty it portrays but regardless, in my career I have drafted a few of these modern day complaints. Therefore, I feel pretty confident in stating that I know the general protocol involved and can repeat it almost in my sleep. Of course that particular skill doesn’t really make things better. In fact, I cannot help but wonder if our justice system is long for life. It is inarguably ineffectual; not one person could possibly assert any level of satisfaction with it. There seems to always be some room for complaint.
So here it is, my play on the complaint. It's rather silly but that tends to be my specialty. This is a complaint that I have entertained now for at least a year, though I believe it's been stewing much longer than that. I guess you lose track of time when you are in this constant state of disillusion and heavy denial. But I’ll try to make this as accurate as possible. After all I am an attorney, a person you might even call 'counselor' one day, though it doesn't seem likely.
*Note: This is not a real Complaint. I do not condone the use of this Complaint in a legal forum and I discourage anyone from attempting to use it. Enjoy.
United States District Court
For the Central District of California
For the Central District of California
Lux, an Individual, Plaintiff, Civil Action No: J6901789
vs.
Earth, an Entity, Defendant
Verified complaint for Violation of Due Process Clause, Material Breach of Implied Contract, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress, False Imprisonment, Negligence, Damages, and Injunctive Relief. Jury Demand.
Introduction
1. Plaintiff Lux, hereinafter “LUX”, for her Complaint against Defendant Earth, hereinafter “EARTH” hereby brings claims seeking relief for, among other things, the taking of private property through a violation of the Due Process Clause, the breach of an implied contract that law school would benefit Plaintiff, and Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress vis-à-vis the prior implied contract.
2. Lux alleges on personal knowledge as to all facts known to her, and on information and belief as to all other facts, as follows:
The Parties
3. Plaintiff Lux is an adult individual residing in the County of Los Angeles. She lives and breathes in the State of California.
4. Upon information and belief, Defendant Earth, is a global entity with a presence in many different countries. Its principal place of business is everywhere, including the State of California.
Jurisdiction and Venue
5. This action arises under the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution and the common law of the State of California.
6. This Court has subject matter jurisdiction pursuant to 17 U.S.C. §1331 (federal question), U.S. Const. Amend 5 (Due Process Clause) and expressly incorporated under U.S. Const. Amend. 14 to the States, and 28 U.S.C. §1367(a)(supplemental jurisdiction). This Court has personal jurisdiction over Defendant Earth because, on information and belief, it conducts a significant amount of business in this District. Earth has also committed wrongful acts which have had direct effects in this District.
7. Venue is proper in this judicial district under 28 U.S.C. § 1391(b)(2) because a substantial part of the events giving rise to the claims asserted herein occurred in this District.
Factual Background
8. This dispute arises out of Earth’s wrongful acts during the years between 2007 and extending through 2011 and the present. Surely Earth’s wrongful acts against Lux extend further back than the year 2007 but all those wrongful acts will not now be the subject of this Complaint.
9. Plaintiff Lux exists on Earth as a human being. Defendant Earth, in its capacity as a planet that hosts life, including human being life, has a duty to look out for and protect life of all kinds. Because Earth led Lux to a metaphorical slaughter, Lux has suffered damages of a very profound nature. She seeks major redress of those wrongs.
10. On or around August 2007, Lux began her legal education as a law student at an accredited ABA law school in the State of California, the reputation of which was and continues to be solid. As a condition precedent of attending law school, she agreed to an implied contract that a legal education was a worthy pursuit. At this point in history, Plaintiff had no reason to believe it would be anything but worthy. Defendant Earth knew more about the future prospects that Lux would be able to entertain at the time of formation of the contract. Keeping this knowledge to itself, Earth allowed Lux to enter into this ill-fated contract, an action of which she would predictably live to regret. Lux was undoubtedly pressured into agreeing to the terms of this contract even though she did not realize the extent of what could happen in the future. Defendant Earth made many untrue statements in order to convince Lux to agree to the terms of this one-sided contract, including assurances that Lux was not wasting her time and money by undertaking three years of legal studies in a declining economy. Lux reasonably relied on those statements made by Earth when she agreed to enter into the contract.
11. Prior to August 2007, Lux had a content, debt-free life. The benefit of not being harassed on a daily basis by creditors and other such sharks was a routine that Plaintiff liked and was very well accustomed to. She had grown used to the benefit of that lifestyle and considered it not a bad way of living. Plaintiff Lux reasonably expected the continued receipt of this benefit of living comfortably and contently the way she always had. Although Lux never had any previous delusions of grandeur, her life was by no means terrible. Of course that has all come to change now at the time of this Complaint.
12. Defendant Earth has taken away Plaintiff’s property rights vis-à-vis her debt-free existence prior to 2007. Lux is entitled to that freedom and way of life that she had grown accustomed to and this entitlement is now only a pipe dream, less in fact. Lux received no notice or hearing before this right was savagely taken away from Plaintiff four years ago. It has yet to be restored and Lux is naturally discontent over the matter.
13. Upon information and belief, the behavior of Earth was and continues to be intentional; at the very least Earth has acted with reckless indifference. Earth’s behavior in this regard would surely shock the conscience of any court this matter comes before.
14. This interest is extremely important to Lux. She finds her current life exceedingly more and more difficult to live by the day. If this situation is not rectified soon, Lux may become too disillusioned to recover and live a normal life.
15. Defendant Earth has tricked Lux into a state of mind fraught with danger and paranoia. Lux constantly fears the passing of time, to the point where she can entertain no other more pleasant thoughts. Earth has engaged in outrageous conduct that has led Lux to suffer severe distress as a result. Lux is unable to think clearly without the aid of narcotics. Earth’s actions have exceeded all bounds of decency that are typically tolerated in a civilized society.
16. Defendant Earth has trapped and restrained Plaintiff Lux, several acts of which have led to her continued confinement in Earth’s bounded area. Lux is well aware of her confinement within Earth’s bounded area and her inability to free herself from its constraints. There is no reasonable means of escape that the Plaintiff has been made aware of or has been able to reasonably discover. Any means of escape that Plaintiff has been able to think of are both dangerous and disgusting. Lux at no time consented to being trapped within Earth’s bounded area. Quite the contrary, it was done against her will and she now demands redress.
17. Earth either knew or should have reasonably known that it was engaging in all acts alleged herein and that those acts would cause harm to Plaintiff.
First Cause of Action – Violation of the Due Process Clause
18. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
19. Upon information and belief, Defendant Earth was previous to 2007 providing Lux the benefit of a debt-free existence. This was an interest unmistakably important to Lux. In fact, she counted on this benefit on a mere daily basis.
20. At no time did Earth make clear that this benefit would soon end. When taking away a benefit such as this one, it is the duty of Earth to notify benefactors of the benefit of its impending end. Earth made no such notification to Lux.
21. It is the duty of Earth to allow for a hearing so that individuals who are soon to be deprived of a benefit that they have grown accustomed to, can present evidence and argue as to why they should be able to keep the benefit. The hearing must also provide individuals with the reasons why their coveted benefit is being taken away. Lux was not granted the opportunity for a hearing whatsoever.
22. It would have been very easy for Earth to set in place procedures that would warn Lux and individuals like Lux that this benefit could run its course.
23. Earth has an undeniable interest in making sure that its citizens are relatively happy. A revolution, which many countries sit on the inevitable forefront of, is not in the best interest of Earth.
24. Because of Earth’s deprival of a benefit that Lux had grown accustomed to, Lux is entitled to damages pursuant to the Due Process Clause.
Second Cause of Action – Breach of an Implied Contract
25. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
26. In exchange for adequate consideration, Lux agreed that she would go through three years of law school at an accredited and ABA-approved university. The consideration in question, the promise of economic well-being after graduation and passage of the bar exam, was never delivered upon by Defendant Earth.
27. The terms of the contract were harsh and oppressive and decidedly one-sided. Lux was under an extreme undue pressure to submit to the terms of the contract. There was both substantive and procedural unconscionability in this implied contract, neither of which Lux realized at the time of formation because at that time Lux had not yet begun her legal education. Needless to say, Lux was not in a position to negotiate the terms of the contract.
28. Certainly there was uneven and unequal bargaining power between Plaintiff Lux and Defendant Earth, especially evident given the nature of the contract in question and the dearth of knowledge at Plaintiff’s disposal at the time of contract. The country had yet to plummet into economic despair in the fall of 2007. But the reality was on the horizon, perfectly within Defendant’s sights. Even though Plaintiff Lux has long come to the realization that life is nothing more than a mere game, she always assumed that hard work ultimately paid off. She has come to find out that that assumption is flawed, more than flawed, it is all out false. It fails as a matter of law. Plaintiff will admit that she came of age at the wrong time in history, a period where the world was descending into unrestricted chaos. However, economic upheaval, revolutions and wars was hardly foreseeable in Plaintiff Lux’s position as a human being in early 2007 when the contract was entered into. Therefore it cannot be said that Lux entered into the contract reasonably informed of the risks.
29. Defendant Earth uttered many untrue statements, the most egregious of which was that Plaintiff Lux would enjoy economic prosperity at the conclusion of her legal studies and after she passed the bar examination. Defendant made this statement to Lux hoping to coerce her into assenting to the contract, knowing all the while of its extreme falsity. Needless to really say, Lux relied on the veracity of this statement when entering into the contract, reliance of which ended up being to Lux’s extreme detriment. While Lux acknowledges that she has the right to rescind the contract based on this heinous misrepresentation made by Earth, Lux instead opts for damages because rescission alone cannot right this wrong.
30. Plaintiff Lux here acknowledges that Defendant Earth will attempt to use the Statute of Frauds as a defense to this implied contract. However she would like to point out at this time that that course of action would be, for lack of a better phrase, a dick move on Defendant’s part.
31. As a direct and proximate result of Earth’s breach of the implied contract, Lux suffered and continues to suffer direct, incidental, and consequential damages. These damages include but are not limited to Plaintiff’s current disillusionment.
32. Earth’s actions have caused and continue to cause irreparable harm to Lux, and Lux is therefore entitled to injunctive relief to stop Earth from continuing to breach the Implied Contract.
Third Cause of Action – Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress
33. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
34. Through Earth’s engagement in outrageous conduct, including but not limited to Earth’s breach of contract, Earth has caused and continues to cause Lux severe distress. In breaching the implied contract and causing Lux to waste her time and money, Earth has acted with utter disregard for Lux’s emotional tranquility.
35. As a direct and proximate result of Earth’s actions, Lux has suffered damages and losses in an amount exceeding $500,000.
36. Defendant’s actions were and continue to be willful and malicious in that Defendant intentionally breached the implied contract and caused Lux to experience severe distress as a result of Earth’s outrageous behavior. Plaintiff is therefore entitled to punitive damages in accordance with California Civil Code §3294.
Fourth Cause of Action – False Imprisonment
37. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
38. Earth is a planet with an atmosphere. Earth has kept Lux restrained and confined within its bounded area now for more than twenty-four years. Lux has searched and searched for an escape but has been tragically unsuccessful in the pursuit.
39. Lux is well aware of her confinement on Earth and is injured by it on a daily basis. Her injury exists in the form of growing older and seeing those around her die. She has also been injured by Earth due to its gravitational pull on numerous occasions.
40. Death by means of suicide is the only means of escape from Earth’s bounded area and that method is dangerous, disgusting and unreasonable, especially in the mind of an atheist. Plaintiff Lux is an atheist. Accordingly, there is no reasonable means of escape that Lux can discover.
41. Defendant’s actions were and continue to be willful and malicious in that Defendant is intentionally and callously holding Lux confined within its bounds. As a result of this outrageous behavior, Plaintiff is entitled to damages in the amount of $500,000.
Fifth Cause of Action – Negligence
42. Lux hereby realleges and incorporates by reference the allegations in paragraphs 8 through 17 above, as if fully set forth herein.
43. Earth has a duty to protect and serve all life contained within it. Because Plaintiff Lux is a life contained within Earth, by the transitive property, Earth has a duty to protect and serve Lux.
44. Earth breached its duty of care when it harmed Lux by depriving her of her Due Process Rights, by breaching the implied contract, by intentionally inflicting emotional distress upon Lux, and by falsely imprisoning Lux against her will within its Earthly confines.
45. But for Earth’s ghastly breach of its duty to protect Lux, Plaintiff Lux would be healthy, uninjured and living in economic prosperity right now.
46. It was or should have been foreseeable to Defendant Earth that Plaintiff Lux would be injured as a result of its breach of the implied agreement. Therefore Earth is responsible for the injury.
47. Plaintiff Lux in no way contributed to the breach, mostly because Lux was unaware of the future and what could happen, both factors that Earth knows and is responsible for predicting.
48. Defendant Earth was negligent in its interactions with Plaintiff Lux and as a result Lux was harmed. Lux is therefore entitled to damages in the amount of $500,000.
Jury Demand
49. Lux requests a jury trial on all triable issues of fact.
Prayer for Relief
Wherefore, Plaintiff prays for judgment as follows:
1. That judgment be entered in favor of Lux and against Defendant Earth;
2. That Defendant, and all persons in active participation therewith, be preliminarily and permanently enjoined from inflicting continued harm to Lux.
3. That Defendants be ordered to pay Lux the amount of $5 million.
4. That Lux recover compensatory damages for Defendant’s wrongdoing in an amount to be established at trial, together with pre-judgment and post-judgment interest thereon;
5. That Lux recover an award of exemplary damage, disgorgement, restitution, pre-judgment and post-judgment interest as permitted by statute and/or contract; and
6. Any such other relief as the Court may deem just and proper.
Respectfully submitted,
Lux
Dated: October 25, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Vendetta Red's Ambulance Chaser
It may have dawned on me though I never realized the extreme importance that our society puts on electricity until two weeks ago when this area suffered an extensive blackout. It angered me, not because I had just showered and was unable to dry my hair, but because there was literally nothing to do but sit around and stare at the wall, something that became impossible once the sun went down.
I tried playing solitaire with real cards and found it utterly insufferable. Everything I wanted to do, write, listen to music, watch the first NFL football game of the 2011 season, was completely out of the question. We couldn't even eat dinner. I had to settle for Sauvignon blanc and some raspberries, not entirely unpleasant but not quite a hearty meal either. By 8:30 there was still no lights and I was, for lack of a better word, restless. The sun had gone down an hour earlier and across the valley I could see that some cities in our county had their electricity restored, but not us. Even though it was a warm night, I didn't care to sit outside on the patio and smoke weed. So I went in the house, lit some candles and smoked some weed. I dug out a sketch pad from a few years ago and started drawing.
Luckily, fortunately, and if I believed in a higher power I would say thank god that my iPod had a sufficient charge that night. I put in my earbuds and started drawing fiercely. This is one of the things I came up with after listening to some Vendetta Red. Great band by the way, excellent wordsmiths. If I were studying for the GRE or the SAT or the GMAT or some other vocabulary test, I would definitely try to get my fill of them.
Oh and because I'm an attorney I feel that I must say "I don't own the lyrics below, just the drawing associated with them on this blog. I am in no way affiliated with Vendetta Red, though that would be awesome, and while this isn't my favorite one of their songs, it is really quite good." (Yes, that last part was dicta)
I tried playing solitaire with real cards and found it utterly insufferable. Everything I wanted to do, write, listen to music, watch the first NFL football game of the 2011 season, was completely out of the question. We couldn't even eat dinner. I had to settle for Sauvignon blanc and some raspberries, not entirely unpleasant but not quite a hearty meal either. By 8:30 there was still no lights and I was, for lack of a better word, restless. The sun had gone down an hour earlier and across the valley I could see that some cities in our county had their electricity restored, but not us. Even though it was a warm night, I didn't care to sit outside on the patio and smoke weed. So I went in the house, lit some candles and smoked some weed. I dug out a sketch pad from a few years ago and started drawing.
Luckily, fortunately, and if I believed in a higher power I would say thank god that my iPod had a sufficient charge that night. I put in my earbuds and started drawing fiercely. This is one of the things I came up with after listening to some Vendetta Red. Great band by the way, excellent wordsmiths. If I were studying for the GRE or the SAT or the GMAT or some other vocabulary test, I would definitely try to get my fill of them.
Oh and because I'm an attorney I feel that I must say "I don't own the lyrics below, just the drawing associated with them on this blog. I am in no way affiliated with Vendetta Red, though that would be awesome, and while this isn't my favorite one of their songs, it is really quite good." (Yes, that last part was dicta)
In fiscal flight from the ravenous cavernous orifice
asphyxiated form
Washed in wolves blood sterile and pantomimed parting in
parts the trial of the worm
Sew the lid closed cough and spit into your palm with
charitable charm
Slap the bad man's wrist insist disarm
Do the math the path is a narrow one it led me down to a cold
and shallow grave
On my tombstone I read the epitaph "Here lies the one who lived
and died a slave"
Till the vexing that his hex annexing animates his
glorious distresses
Serve the right foot raw so flawed undressed
Semi conscious concentration Christmas cards and suffocation
Ambulances beckon bodies tires squealing sirens wailing
asphyxiated form
Washed in wolves blood sterile and pantomimed parting in
parts the trial of the worm
Sew the lid closed cough and spit into your palm with
charitable charm
Slap the bad man's wrist insist disarm
Do the math the path is a narrow one it led me down to a cold
and shallow grave
On my tombstone I read the epitaph "Here lies the one who lived
and died a slave"
Till the vexing that his hex annexing animates his
glorious distresses
Serve the right foot raw so flawed undressed
Semi conscious concentration Christmas cards and suffocation
Ambulances beckon bodies tires squealing sirens wailing
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Number Between 116 and 118
I have no rational fears. I know that is a somewhat arrogant declaration but it’s entirely true. I don’t fear heights or spiders or elevators or the dark or snakes or germs or tunnels or any of the other fears that people would generally consider normal and founded. But that’s not to say that I don’t have any fears, I do have a few. They are just the irrational, inexplicable and very silly variety. The number between 116 and 118 is one such fear. It’s not based in logic, rationality or common sense; it’s wholly and completely insane and I readily admit to that. The story of why I came to fear this number is complicated yet unremarkable.
It begins around 1988 or 1989, a time when analog television still existed. In fact it was a time where analog television was the only television that existed, and static channels or empty channels or dead channels or white noise if you will, were prevalent throughout the television channel lineup. It was well-known that pretty much every channel above 69 and below 2, were dead. Channel 1 was my absolute nemesis, the one I feared the most.
Now I cannot pin this down to one singular incident, mostly because at the time I was too young to register moments and commit them to memory accordingly. Nevertheless, it was during that time in my early formative years where I became intensely afraid of these dead, static-laden channels. Admittedly I remain afraid of them to this day. Luckily though, with the advent of digital technology, these dead channels of static are becoming a thing of the past, like capitalism and democracy. They have been replaced by a soundless blue screen that I find much more aesthetically pleasing and not nearly as upsetting.
I don’t know exactly why I came to fear the dead channels with their snow and static. I think it was my father’s doing. After all, he was responsible for my fear of certain pool drains and my somewhat later developed fear of black lizards with blue bellies, so it stands to reason he was also responsible for my fear of the dead channels. But I do not assert this with one-hundred percent certainty. He has vehemently denied my accusations in this regard.
Still, I imagine it could have happened something like this. We were sitting on the couch watching television when he made the executive decision to flip the tuner to channel 10. As an aside at this time we only had about four channels, channel 10 being ABC. When he went to switch the channel, something went horribly wrong. While he tried to punch in the 1 and the 0, he accidentally switched their order, a product of dyslexia or perhaps a failure of the remote control buttons. So instead of getting channel 10, we got channel 1, my proclaimed nemesis. The static roared loud and the white and black snow vibrated with utter craziness, a terrifying assault on my young eyes and ears. It was a punishment unfitting of the simple mistake. And from there a fear was born, an irrational fear that twenty some odd years later I have been unable to cure. At least that’s how I imagine it all happened.
My fear in this regard seemed to blossom like a mushroom overnight. I slowly and steadily began to fear everything that was unnatural vis-à-vis the television. By this I mean that I hated the static snow, the blackness, and those bright and vibrant color-bars with their long beeping sounds. Anything that signified the television was malfunctioning in some way scared me to the point where I would refrain from watching altogether. If I did watch, I diligently kept my hand hovering over the power button so that I could turn the television off at the first sign of trouble. That is the way I continue to operate.
Fast forward approximately fifteen years. My irrational fear of dead channels was still alive and thriving in 2005. This was roughly the time where the movie The Ring was released in the United States. With its little girl beast emerging from the static of a television to scare unsuspecting viewers to death, my fear of the dead channels was heavily reinforced. The movie made me wonder how some random screenwriter was able to get inside my head and discern my deepest, darkest fear without so much as meeting me. And when I finally realized that others might share this so-called irrational fear, I found the idea quite comforting. Maybe it was not as unfounded as I had been led to believe.
Now it might be unclear at this point what channel 1 and the other dead channels possibly have to do with the number between 116 and 118. However it is probably quite obvious that it has something to do with the channel with that particular numerical designation. Well it does. I was flipping through the channels one day in 2005 when I came upon an unusual channel. It was inarguably strange, blacker than night with a white graph superimposed. The line of the graph moved around with jerky, almost breathing type motions. It was reminiscent of a heartbeat monitor, although it was anything but magnificent. And while the snow of the dead channels was thankfully absent, the familiar and scary static sound was present and louder than ever.
I began associating the weird graph channel with the scariness of channel 1 and all the other dead channels that I had come to fear over the years. And as the reader might have logically deduced by now, the channel with the weird graph was none other than the number between 116 and 118. So my fear and loathing of the number grew naturally from there. In a lot of ways it was worse than channel 1, which by this time had turned into the ‘On Demand’ channel (don’t get me started). But it was worse than channel 1 because it was a modern day channel 1. While the static channels had all but disappeared, transformed into non-threatening blue screens for the most part, this static-filled, heartbeat graph channel had found some kind of digital loophole. It was coming through my television bringing loud and frenzied static, something that by all accounts should have been eradicated at the turn of the millennium.
Accordingly, I now hate channel 117 in the same vein and with the same amount of passion that I hate channel 1. But unlike channel 1, which had pretty much been relegated to the land of television, the number between 116 and 118 had found a way to escape the digital realm. It had broken free of its digital television shackles and entered the real world with only one true intent: to harass me incessantly. And it has enjoyed mild success thus far. Every time the clock reads 1:17, be it am or pm, I feel a sense of fear, the irrational hostility that only something evil can create within you. And though I haven’t laid eyes on the channel itself in years, I am constantly reminded of it, at least twice a day, sometimes more.
It doesn’t sit well, on its own or in my head. I wish I could petition to remove it from the clock, from time in general, though I know I’d be met with a bit of resistance. So for now I must resolve to ignore it, purposefully look the other way for the two minutes surrounding 1:16. Of course there is no avoiding evil completely; there are days where I happen upon the number, be it on the clock, as part of someone’s address, on the treadmill while I’m exercising, on January 17th, or what have you. The ways in which it can plague my life are unfortunately infinite. It’s impossible to completely escape; this story here is my reluctant acceptance of that fact.
To this day, well into my mid-twenties, I fear all the many television abnormalities. As my roommate could easily attest to, even the far less menacing color-bars make me incredibly uneasy. While the snow and static from the dead channels has all but been eradicated in this digital age, new, related fears have been forged. Presently, it’s the EAS or Emergency Alert System that is wreaking havoc on my life. Without warning, my digital cable box will freeze and immediately change the channel, without my consent by the way, to this terrifying black and white EAS test screen. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the noise, not static but a frighteningly loud siren that could easily chill your very bones.
I remember one day I was innocently filling the bowl of my bong, looking forward to a nice and relaxing afternoon when all of a sudden my television started emitting this high-pitched, completely abhorrent siren. It was more like an incessant shrieking than anything else. At first I thought there was a fire or someone was breaking into my apartment, but it ended up being worse than that. I turned around and realized that it was the EAS screen on my television making the sound. Ever since that day, I’ve been especially careful and diligent in my monitoring of the cable box. I won’t be caught unaware again; it could be a heart attack in the making.
In sum I cannot be certain what would be worse: lying in a coffin filled with live black lizards, or being tied to a chair and forced to watch and endure and listen to channel 117. Though my tendency is to aver that subjection to channel 117 would be the far less traumatizing choice, I’m honestly not sure if that is indeed the case. When it comes to the ‘would you rather’ game, my predisposition is always to go for hidden Option C, death, even though I know that it’s the cheaters’ recourse. I suppose the only thing I can really do at this point is continue living my life and hope that my destiny doesn’t come down to a choice between poison and a dagger.
The End.
It begins around 1988 or 1989, a time when analog television still existed. In fact it was a time where analog television was the only television that existed, and static channels or empty channels or dead channels or white noise if you will, were prevalent throughout the television channel lineup. It was well-known that pretty much every channel above 69 and below 2, were dead. Channel 1 was my absolute nemesis, the one I feared the most.
Now I cannot pin this down to one singular incident, mostly because at the time I was too young to register moments and commit them to memory accordingly. Nevertheless, it was during that time in my early formative years where I became intensely afraid of these dead, static-laden channels. Admittedly I remain afraid of them to this day. Luckily though, with the advent of digital technology, these dead channels of static are becoming a thing of the past, like capitalism and democracy. They have been replaced by a soundless blue screen that I find much more aesthetically pleasing and not nearly as upsetting.
I don’t know exactly why I came to fear the dead channels with their snow and static. I think it was my father’s doing. After all, he was responsible for my fear of certain pool drains and my somewhat later developed fear of black lizards with blue bellies, so it stands to reason he was also responsible for my fear of the dead channels. But I do not assert this with one-hundred percent certainty. He has vehemently denied my accusations in this regard.
Still, I imagine it could have happened something like this. We were sitting on the couch watching television when he made the executive decision to flip the tuner to channel 10. As an aside at this time we only had about four channels, channel 10 being ABC. When he went to switch the channel, something went horribly wrong. While he tried to punch in the 1 and the 0, he accidentally switched their order, a product of dyslexia or perhaps a failure of the remote control buttons. So instead of getting channel 10, we got channel 1, my proclaimed nemesis. The static roared loud and the white and black snow vibrated with utter craziness, a terrifying assault on my young eyes and ears. It was a punishment unfitting of the simple mistake. And from there a fear was born, an irrational fear that twenty some odd years later I have been unable to cure. At least that’s how I imagine it all happened.
My fear in this regard seemed to blossom like a mushroom overnight. I slowly and steadily began to fear everything that was unnatural vis-à-vis the television. By this I mean that I hated the static snow, the blackness, and those bright and vibrant color-bars with their long beeping sounds. Anything that signified the television was malfunctioning in some way scared me to the point where I would refrain from watching altogether. If I did watch, I diligently kept my hand hovering over the power button so that I could turn the television off at the first sign of trouble. That is the way I continue to operate.
Fast forward approximately fifteen years. My irrational fear of dead channels was still alive and thriving in 2005. This was roughly the time where the movie The Ring was released in the United States. With its little girl beast emerging from the static of a television to scare unsuspecting viewers to death, my fear of the dead channels was heavily reinforced. The movie made me wonder how some random screenwriter was able to get inside my head and discern my deepest, darkest fear without so much as meeting me. And when I finally realized that others might share this so-called irrational fear, I found the idea quite comforting. Maybe it was not as unfounded as I had been led to believe.
Now it might be unclear at this point what channel 1 and the other dead channels possibly have to do with the number between 116 and 118. However it is probably quite obvious that it has something to do with the channel with that particular numerical designation. Well it does. I was flipping through the channels one day in 2005 when I came upon an unusual channel. It was inarguably strange, blacker than night with a white graph superimposed. The line of the graph moved around with jerky, almost breathing type motions. It was reminiscent of a heartbeat monitor, although it was anything but magnificent. And while the snow of the dead channels was thankfully absent, the familiar and scary static sound was present and louder than ever.
I began associating the weird graph channel with the scariness of channel 1 and all the other dead channels that I had come to fear over the years. And as the reader might have logically deduced by now, the channel with the weird graph was none other than the number between 116 and 118. So my fear and loathing of the number grew naturally from there. In a lot of ways it was worse than channel 1, which by this time had turned into the ‘On Demand’ channel (don’t get me started). But it was worse than channel 1 because it was a modern day channel 1. While the static channels had all but disappeared, transformed into non-threatening blue screens for the most part, this static-filled, heartbeat graph channel had found some kind of digital loophole. It was coming through my television bringing loud and frenzied static, something that by all accounts should have been eradicated at the turn of the millennium.
Accordingly, I now hate channel 117 in the same vein and with the same amount of passion that I hate channel 1. But unlike channel 1, which had pretty much been relegated to the land of television, the number between 116 and 118 had found a way to escape the digital realm. It had broken free of its digital television shackles and entered the real world with only one true intent: to harass me incessantly. And it has enjoyed mild success thus far. Every time the clock reads 1:17, be it am or pm, I feel a sense of fear, the irrational hostility that only something evil can create within you. And though I haven’t laid eyes on the channel itself in years, I am constantly reminded of it, at least twice a day, sometimes more.
It doesn’t sit well, on its own or in my head. I wish I could petition to remove it from the clock, from time in general, though I know I’d be met with a bit of resistance. So for now I must resolve to ignore it, purposefully look the other way for the two minutes surrounding 1:16. Of course there is no avoiding evil completely; there are days where I happen upon the number, be it on the clock, as part of someone’s address, on the treadmill while I’m exercising, on January 17th, or what have you. The ways in which it can plague my life are unfortunately infinite. It’s impossible to completely escape; this story here is my reluctant acceptance of that fact.
To this day, well into my mid-twenties, I fear all the many television abnormalities. As my roommate could easily attest to, even the far less menacing color-bars make me incredibly uneasy. While the snow and static from the dead channels has all but been eradicated in this digital age, new, related fears have been forged. Presently, it’s the EAS or Emergency Alert System that is wreaking havoc on my life. Without warning, my digital cable box will freeze and immediately change the channel, without my consent by the way, to this terrifying black and white EAS test screen. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the noise, not static but a frighteningly loud siren that could easily chill your very bones.
I remember one day I was innocently filling the bowl of my bong, looking forward to a nice and relaxing afternoon when all of a sudden my television started emitting this high-pitched, completely abhorrent siren. It was more like an incessant shrieking than anything else. At first I thought there was a fire or someone was breaking into my apartment, but it ended up being worse than that. I turned around and realized that it was the EAS screen on my television making the sound. Ever since that day, I’ve been especially careful and diligent in my monitoring of the cable box. I won’t be caught unaware again; it could be a heart attack in the making.
In sum I cannot be certain what would be worse: lying in a coffin filled with live black lizards, or being tied to a chair and forced to watch and endure and listen to channel 117. Though my tendency is to aver that subjection to channel 117 would be the far less traumatizing choice, I’m honestly not sure if that is indeed the case. When it comes to the ‘would you rather’ game, my predisposition is always to go for hidden Option C, death, even though I know that it’s the cheaters’ recourse. I suppose the only thing I can really do at this point is continue living my life and hope that my destiny doesn’t come down to a choice between poison and a dagger.
The End.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
[Untitled]
The biggest tragedy in life is the incessant marching on of time. It never stops, it doesn't respond to threats, denials, begging, or bargaining. It presses on with cavalier indifference and I don't blame it. Things can’t stay the same forever just because we want them to.
But anger is a useless emotion in connection with death. It serves no purpose and is a means to no end. Death will always be there, lurking around the corner, an unreckonable force with no known cure. Not that a cure is forthcoming; I don’t believe the scientists of the human race will ever discover the secret of life or the antidote to death. Though I am, and will remain, devoutly unreligious, I will not aver that science has all the answers.
Indisputably, death is in all of our futures, how could a rational mind possibly assert otherwise? Regardless, we bathe in the present, ignore the future prospect of death, and relish the past in an almost unhealthy way. We perceive the things we do as important, we hope the people in our lives see us as memorable, we desire to leave a mark on this world that will remind all future generations of our once existence. Of course we can admit that most will be failures at that particular endeavor; few are actually remembered by history or singled out in the annals of time. But conciliatorily, we hope that at least our families and friends will share a word about our lives, some story or sentiment that proves we had a life here at one time.
As much as possible, I refrain from considering my own death and the deaths of the people around me. It’s too bleak a thought for me to venture near, to even fathom really. Yes, death is indeed unimaginable, but only for the living. I suspect for the dying, it is quite welcome, a long deserved respite from a tortuous journey. And while it is inarguably a sad thing for us to witness as mortal creatures, it is both a necessary and natural process.
Of course for the ones left behind, death is a cruel reminder of what is still in store. It also signifies the nonnegotiable end of a cherished relationship. The latter is the reality where anger usually resides. We absolutely abhor the idea of losing a loved one to death. But our consciences could never afford a choice to keep the dying alive for mere peace of mind. As living creatures, we should always strive to be unselfish, especially when it comes to death.
Ultimately death is sad because we desire those around us, as well as ourselves, to live forever, to last for an eternity, to never succumb to the inevitable expiration that haunts each and every one of us. We’d freeze ourselves in time if we could, to never grow old and decay, to never have to watch our families and friends and contemporaries wither away to nothing. But those are unrealistic feats.
Today I witnessed a death. While it was sad, it was also for the best. Best only because we cannot freeze ourselves in time, we cannot keep from growing old and we cannot stave off the slow rotting that afflicts us all. If we could, then death would not be for the best. Instead, we'd live forever, within and amongst our kin, healthy and relatively happy.
I didn’t pity her, not really. In fact I envied her in a manner of speaking. She is finished now. Death is no longer a prospect, no longer an impending doom in her future that she will one day have to contend with. We should all be so lucky.
Rest In Peace, Skylar.
But anger is a useless emotion in connection with death. It serves no purpose and is a means to no end. Death will always be there, lurking around the corner, an unreckonable force with no known cure. Not that a cure is forthcoming; I don’t believe the scientists of the human race will ever discover the secret of life or the antidote to death. Though I am, and will remain, devoutly unreligious, I will not aver that science has all the answers.
Indisputably, death is in all of our futures, how could a rational mind possibly assert otherwise? Regardless, we bathe in the present, ignore the future prospect of death, and relish the past in an almost unhealthy way. We perceive the things we do as important, we hope the people in our lives see us as memorable, we desire to leave a mark on this world that will remind all future generations of our once existence. Of course we can admit that most will be failures at that particular endeavor; few are actually remembered by history or singled out in the annals of time. But conciliatorily, we hope that at least our families and friends will share a word about our lives, some story or sentiment that proves we had a life here at one time.
As much as possible, I refrain from considering my own death and the deaths of the people around me. It’s too bleak a thought for me to venture near, to even fathom really. Yes, death is indeed unimaginable, but only for the living. I suspect for the dying, it is quite welcome, a long deserved respite from a tortuous journey. And while it is inarguably a sad thing for us to witness as mortal creatures, it is both a necessary and natural process.
Of course for the ones left behind, death is a cruel reminder of what is still in store. It also signifies the nonnegotiable end of a cherished relationship. The latter is the reality where anger usually resides. We absolutely abhor the idea of losing a loved one to death. But our consciences could never afford a choice to keep the dying alive for mere peace of mind. As living creatures, we should always strive to be unselfish, especially when it comes to death.
Ultimately death is sad because we desire those around us, as well as ourselves, to live forever, to last for an eternity, to never succumb to the inevitable expiration that haunts each and every one of us. We’d freeze ourselves in time if we could, to never grow old and decay, to never have to watch our families and friends and contemporaries wither away to nothing. But those are unrealistic feats.
Today I witnessed a death. While it was sad, it was also for the best. Best only because we cannot freeze ourselves in time, we cannot keep from growing old and we cannot stave off the slow rotting that afflicts us all. If we could, then death would not be for the best. Instead, we'd live forever, within and amongst our kin, healthy and relatively happy.
I didn’t pity her, not really. In fact I envied her in a manner of speaking. She is finished now. Death is no longer a prospect, no longer an impending doom in her future that she will one day have to contend with. We should all be so lucky.
Rest In Peace, Skylar.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Crazy Nutjob Stalker Tried To Foil My Honorable Attempt At Passing The California Bar Exam
*Note: This is unfortunately a true story and I recount it only now in honor of the upcoming Bar Exam on July 26, 27, and 28. GOOD LUCK CLASS OF 2011!!
It was mid-May 2010, although later she would assert that she had been harassing me since January of that year. I had just finished my very last exam of law school and it felt pretty awesome. Now the only thing looming over my head was the three day beast in late July that would determine whether I became a successful attorney or that kid on the side of the road holding out a cardboard sign with a scribbled out sob story replete with religious overtones in order to evoke the sympathies of passersby.
Ah, but I already digress! Anyway, that Thursday after my last final I was looking forward to a weekend of graduation celebrations, short-lived as they may be. As an avid procrastinator and one who has made a private career out of living in the present and pushing the future as far from the forefront of my mind as possible, I wasn't even thinking about the following Monday that would find me back in the classroom, enduring five hour lectures courtesy of Barbri, for the next two months in preparation to sit for the California Bar Exam. It was the last thing on my mind.
That night I was at a bar with my roommate and another friend, taking full advantage of my newfound freedom, when I got a call on my cell phone from a 'Restricted' number. Now at that time, I had absolutely no qualms about answering 'Restricted' calls. In fact, I almost always answered them because the curiosity would just kill me otherwise. So I took the call and the first thing I heard was a woman’s voice calling me a fucking bitch. Me? I’ve been called narcissistic, cavalier, and apathetic with nihilistic tendencies, but never a bitch! I was somewhat shocked and not entirely sure I heard her correctly. But she ended the call immediately thereafter, leaving me to wonder what was going on.
It was loud in the bar and I had had a few drinks that night, but nonetheless, I was pretty sure that she had called me a fucking bitch. I told my friends what had just transpired and they both expressed the opinion that it was a wrong number, a simple mistake. I agreed with them initially and decided to brush it off. After all, it must have been a mistake; there was no one that I could think of who had any cause to call me such derogatory names. So I shrugged it off and went back to drinking and laughing and celebrating with my friends.
The next night there was an awards banquet for all the graduating law students at my school. I was getting ready to leave when I got a call from none other than ‘Restricted’ once again. At the time not really recalling the night before in any great detail, I answered the phone with a good-natured ‘Hello?’ The caller just hung up. I started to get this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, the kind of feeling you get when you feel like you’re in some kind of perceptible danger.
A minute went by and I remember the feeling getting stronger. The phone rang again, and again it was from ‘Restricted’. Now as an aside right here I must state that I absolutely abhor the label ‘Restricted’ in this context. It connotes a level of doom because the caller is not only unknown but also classified. These days, I all-out refuse to answer any ‘Restricted’ numbers, my own innate curiosity be damned.
I was annoyed at the persistence of the caller but I answered it again in the name of investigation. Again the cowardly caller hung up without speaking. By that time I was starting to realize that nothing about the exchange was random or a mistake in the usual sense of the word; it was purposeful and intentional. The phone rang once more another minute later. I was really irritated by that point so I answered the phone by emphatically declaring that the charade was getting ridiculous. Instead of hanging up as she had done on the previous two occasions, she responded with what became her trademark saying, “fucking bitch.”
I was taken aback but I quickly recognized the voice as the one from the bar the night before. I had heard her correctly after all. I requested to know who she was and what the meaning of all the harassment was. I’ll never forget her reply to that question, a sinisterly spiteful “Oh, you know exactly who this is.” It was chilling, truth be told. Her voice was bloodcurdling cold and slightly sociopathical in sound. But I truly had no idea who she was or what I possibly could have done to her to deserve that kind of treatment. Before I could express that sentiment to her though, she promptly cut off the call.
I’m not going to lie here, I started to panic a little. As an avid watcher of Criminal Minds and as a past law clerk at the prosecutor’s office, I know full-well what terribly, crazy and insane things people are capable of perpetrating given the right motivations. I wasn’t pleased at all that now apparently one of the many nutjobs in this world had decided to set her sights on me. Admittedly, I tend to be a bit paranoid by nature, so to have someone actually threaten me in no uncertain terms was more than a little disconcerting.
From that moment on, I started telling my friends and acquaintances all about it so that if something did happen to me, the police would know where to start looking. I was pretty sure at the time that the situation would escalate; she didn’t sound like she was at all finished harassing me. And she wasn’t. But for the rest of that weekend, for whatever reason, she left me alone. Unfortunately though, she was just getting started.
Come Monday morning, as I was settling into the desk to embark on my very first day of bar exam preparation, my phone buzzed and I remember feeling a chill of panic as I looked at the caller. It was Ms. Restricted. I didn’t answer the phone; instead I turned it completely off. I didn’t even want her to have the satisfaction of hearing my phone ring and knowing that I would receive a missed call from her. It was no doubt especially irritating for her as I didn’t have a voicemail at that time. So by shutting off my phone, I literally made it impossible for her to harass me. Of course, it also made it impossible for anyone else to reach me, but I figured that was okay since I had to get serious about studying anyway.
So I placed my phone away and resolved to concentrate on the screen in front of me as the portly professor began to lecture on torts, a subject by the way that I hadn’t studied since the first year of law school and would inarguably be rusty at. In fact, I would come to learn more about torts in that Barbri class than I ever learned during those first two semesters of school. It is actually quite surprising the amount of information you can’t retain in two years, but I suppose that’s a digression for another time and venue.
About a week went by with my phone being completely shut off and it finally occurred to me that my parents might wonder what was going on. After I spoke briefly with my father, I hung up the phone. But just as I was about to turn it off again, Ms. Restricted called. At that point I was thinking “Holy Fucking Shit” this nutjob must have been calling me non-stop because I don’t believe in coincidences. I answered the call with the idea that I would talk some sense into her. She accused me of sleeping with her boyfriend, not once but continually, hurled a few choice insults along those lines, and then hung up before I could get a word in.
Quickly I turned the phone back off and threw it down. Paranoia was then majorly coursing through me. I found myself wondering if Ms. Restricted was somehow able to discern when I had turned my phone back on. I questioned what kind of a nut she was. The idea she could have that information was really frightening. I immediately jumped over to the window and scanned the outside area for suspicious people but I saw none. Still I wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t lurking around nearby, so I drew the blinds shut and decided to go smoke a bowl to calm my nerves.
When my roommate arrived home that evening, I updated her on the situation. She thought at the time it could be the girlfriend of Josh (names have been changed), a guy that I casually dated a year earlier. She rationalized that it was Josh's girlfriend mainly because we had recently run into them both, and the girlfriend was acting oddly juvenile. But I expressed a fair amount of doubt in that scenario. What kind of a special nutcase would hold a grudge for more than a year? And since she wasn’t even his girlfriend at the time I was seeing him, it didn’t make a ton of sense that she would be Ms. Restricted. But we didn’t dwell on it long.
Skip ahead to mid-June. My phone had been more or less shut off for close to a month, much to the chagrin of friends and family trying to get a hold of me. I decided it might be time to test the waters by turning it back on and seeing if Ms. Restricted was still lurking about. My curiosity was a factor in that decision but I also felt like I was keeping up fairly impressively with the Barbri interactive pace program and could do with a little distractive nuisance. Besides, if she continued the harassment, I could just shut my phone off again.
For the first few days that my phone was back on, I received no annoying ‘Restricted’ calls. So I was thinking maybe she gave up, or in the alternative, figured out she had made a mistake in harassing me in the first place. But I came to find out one afternoon that that wasn’t the case at all. I was sitting in class waiting for the lecture to begin when I felt my phone buzz. Sure enough it was her, Ms. Restricted. She was back. I turned to my friend sitting next to me and showed her the screen of my phone. She knew all about the prior harassment and offered to answer the call. I reluctantly allowed her to do so. But in hindsight, that was a mistake. Apparently thinking it might be funny to poke the unstable nutjob, my friend teased her about the boyfriend issue that was obviously a sore subject. My friend said something to the extent of “Oh yea, he was so good, aren’t you jealous,” before she promptly hung up on Ms. Restricted.
I immediately knew it would be a big problem. Ms. Restricted was definitely going to up the ante now. I was far from amused. I asked my friend why she had to kick the hornet’s nest and raise some hell but she just shrugged in response. Not even thirty seconds later, Ms. Restricted called back. Now that my friend had basically announced my guilt thus stripping me of any further deniability, I knew I couldn’t answer the call. Ignoring it didn’t work; Ms. Restricted had become enraged. She called about four times in a row before I finally had to shut it off once again. Then I chastised my friend for her unhelpful meddling. But I let it go soon thereafter as the lecture began and the topic was property. As far as the MBE was concerned, property law was my undoing. I had to focus.
That night, I turned my phone back on and was instantly bombarded by calls from Ms. Restricted. This woman seriously had no life. She obviously made it a full time job stalking and harassing me. I don’t see how any man could possibly be worth that much strife. Anyway I finally relented and answered the phone, stating immediately, and before she could get a word in, that I had no idea who she was or who her boyfriend was.
She of course didn’t buy my ignorance on the matter even though it was actually authentic and sincere. But instead of hanging up this time, Ms. Restricted somehow found a little confidence and began chatting with me. I told her that I believed she was mistaken but when she said “Lux, please…” I realized that I was in fact the person of interest to her. That was a shocking moment; I really started freaking out. Until then I had been under the assumption that she had the wrong person. But the truth of the matter was, I had wronged her somehow. It may have been something small and insignificant, but in her eyes it was a wrong nonetheless. Because I didn’t want to have to spend the foreseeable future looking over my shoulder and wondering if every woman I came across with a scowl was Ms. Restricted, I decided in that moment to try to mend fences. I knew it was going to be hard when I had no idea who she was or what she was under the impression I had done, but I was going to try nevertheless.
I immediately demanded to know who she was and who her boyfriend was, but she refused to divulge the information. I asked her how I was supposed to stop seeing him if I didn’t even know who he was to begin with. She had no answer for that. Instead she proceeded to engage me in an hour-long guessing game, one that was never actually resolved in that phone call. In the midst of the game, where she gave me clues (I wish that were a joke) as to her identity, she also concocted a crazy story about how it wasn’t really her boyfriend that I was sleeping with but she was calling on behalf of a friend. Of course I didn’t believe it; I don’t care how good a friend I have, I’m not going to stalk someone for her. I called bullshit on her, but she was insistent.
In life I have sort of learned that a lot of battles are not worth fighting. This includes battles with crazy ladies who may or may not know where I live and what car I drive. So finally I just stated that I believed her. At the end of the conversation, she alluded that the calls would end now that we talked. I was wary of that statement, particularly because nothing really was resolved, but I accepted her promise on face value anyway.
And the calls did stop. But then they resumed. It was T minus one week until the bar exam. I was on the last leg of the marathon and the calls from Ms. Restricted picked up again. I was already freaking out about the test: did I study enough, will California Civil Procedure rear its ugly head in one of the six essays, will there be crossovers to deal with? I was trying to cram as much information into my head as humanly possible. The last thing I needed was this crazy, persistent nutjob back on the horizon. But there she was, like an ugly stain, making herself known five or six times a day.
It got to a point, I want to say the Friday before the exam, where I just decided that I wasn’t going to allow her to make me fail. I didn’t want her having the last laugh. Nobody deserves to get the last laugh except me. So I became determined to pass, of course I was always somewhat determined, but her diligent harassment spurred me on even more. I wanted to be able to assert wholeheartedly that she wasn’t able to faze me at all. So for the next two days, I focused solely on preparing for the exam. I honestly didn’t think about Ms. Restricted at all, except once or twice in the form of a criminal law hypothetical. I imagined what kind of criminal and civil laws she was violating and what kind of arguments were supported by the facts at hand. It was extremely helpful in studying and the bar exam went off without a hitch. I was pretty confident after the final performance test was written and they called time. There was no possible way I could have failed.
On November 19, 2010, I found out that I passed the bar exam. So fuck you stalker! Some might say she gave it a valiant effort but mine was stronger and more impressive. I have since found out Ms. Restricted’s identity though I won’t share on this forum. She was someone that I knew and it was a situation that she blew way out of proportion in her own mind. I never slept with her boyfriend or had even the mildest interest in doing so. To this day I still believe she is an unstable nutjob though she eventually did apologize for the harassment and I accepted it graciously. Regardless, I take a certain amount of solace in the fact that while she did make me uneasy and slightly more paranoid than I’m accustomed to during a time in my life where I needed anything but that, in the long run she wasted a lot of her own time and energy on a futile endeavor – harassing me – and that’s time she will never be able to recover. It turns out there really was a woman out there (potentially more than one in fact), who was sleeping with her boyfriend. All that time she spent stalking me, she could have spent stalking the other woman. When we finally spoke and all things were revealed, it was that little fact that she expressed the most regret over.
In closing, I am telling this story now only because the upcoming bar exam has reminded me about it. Also, it was a very odd thing in my life that has further awakened me to the craziness of people in this world. But despite the certainly large number of nuts out there, in the year since this all happened, I can honestly say with a straight face that her disgracefulness is thus far unrivaled.
The End...at least so I hope.
It was mid-May 2010, although later she would assert that she had been harassing me since January of that year. I had just finished my very last exam of law school and it felt pretty awesome. Now the only thing looming over my head was the three day beast in late July that would determine whether I became a successful attorney or that kid on the side of the road holding out a cardboard sign with a scribbled out sob story replete with religious overtones in order to evoke the sympathies of passersby.
Ah, but I already digress! Anyway, that Thursday after my last final I was looking forward to a weekend of graduation celebrations, short-lived as they may be. As an avid procrastinator and one who has made a private career out of living in the present and pushing the future as far from the forefront of my mind as possible, I wasn't even thinking about the following Monday that would find me back in the classroom, enduring five hour lectures courtesy of Barbri, for the next two months in preparation to sit for the California Bar Exam. It was the last thing on my mind.
That night I was at a bar with my roommate and another friend, taking full advantage of my newfound freedom, when I got a call on my cell phone from a 'Restricted' number. Now at that time, I had absolutely no qualms about answering 'Restricted' calls. In fact, I almost always answered them because the curiosity would just kill me otherwise. So I took the call and the first thing I heard was a woman’s voice calling me a fucking bitch. Me? I’ve been called narcissistic, cavalier, and apathetic with nihilistic tendencies, but never a bitch! I was somewhat shocked and not entirely sure I heard her correctly. But she ended the call immediately thereafter, leaving me to wonder what was going on.
It was loud in the bar and I had had a few drinks that night, but nonetheless, I was pretty sure that she had called me a fucking bitch. I told my friends what had just transpired and they both expressed the opinion that it was a wrong number, a simple mistake. I agreed with them initially and decided to brush it off. After all, it must have been a mistake; there was no one that I could think of who had any cause to call me such derogatory names. So I shrugged it off and went back to drinking and laughing and celebrating with my friends.
The next night there was an awards banquet for all the graduating law students at my school. I was getting ready to leave when I got a call from none other than ‘Restricted’ once again. At the time not really recalling the night before in any great detail, I answered the phone with a good-natured ‘Hello?’ The caller just hung up. I started to get this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, the kind of feeling you get when you feel like you’re in some kind of perceptible danger.
A minute went by and I remember the feeling getting stronger. The phone rang again, and again it was from ‘Restricted’. Now as an aside right here I must state that I absolutely abhor the label ‘Restricted’ in this context. It connotes a level of doom because the caller is not only unknown but also classified. These days, I all-out refuse to answer any ‘Restricted’ numbers, my own innate curiosity be damned.
I was annoyed at the persistence of the caller but I answered it again in the name of investigation. Again the cowardly caller hung up without speaking. By that time I was starting to realize that nothing about the exchange was random or a mistake in the usual sense of the word; it was purposeful and intentional. The phone rang once more another minute later. I was really irritated by that point so I answered the phone by emphatically declaring that the charade was getting ridiculous. Instead of hanging up as she had done on the previous two occasions, she responded with what became her trademark saying, “fucking bitch.”
I was taken aback but I quickly recognized the voice as the one from the bar the night before. I had heard her correctly after all. I requested to know who she was and what the meaning of all the harassment was. I’ll never forget her reply to that question, a sinisterly spiteful “Oh, you know exactly who this is.” It was chilling, truth be told. Her voice was bloodcurdling cold and slightly sociopathical in sound. But I truly had no idea who she was or what I possibly could have done to her to deserve that kind of treatment. Before I could express that sentiment to her though, she promptly cut off the call.
I’m not going to lie here, I started to panic a little. As an avid watcher of Criminal Minds and as a past law clerk at the prosecutor’s office, I know full-well what terribly, crazy and insane things people are capable of perpetrating given the right motivations. I wasn’t pleased at all that now apparently one of the many nutjobs in this world had decided to set her sights on me. Admittedly, I tend to be a bit paranoid by nature, so to have someone actually threaten me in no uncertain terms was more than a little disconcerting.
From that moment on, I started telling my friends and acquaintances all about it so that if something did happen to me, the police would know where to start looking. I was pretty sure at the time that the situation would escalate; she didn’t sound like she was at all finished harassing me. And she wasn’t. But for the rest of that weekend, for whatever reason, she left me alone. Unfortunately though, she was just getting started.
Come Monday morning, as I was settling into the desk to embark on my very first day of bar exam preparation, my phone buzzed and I remember feeling a chill of panic as I looked at the caller. It was Ms. Restricted. I didn’t answer the phone; instead I turned it completely off. I didn’t even want her to have the satisfaction of hearing my phone ring and knowing that I would receive a missed call from her. It was no doubt especially irritating for her as I didn’t have a voicemail at that time. So by shutting off my phone, I literally made it impossible for her to harass me. Of course, it also made it impossible for anyone else to reach me, but I figured that was okay since I had to get serious about studying anyway.
So I placed my phone away and resolved to concentrate on the screen in front of me as the portly professor began to lecture on torts, a subject by the way that I hadn’t studied since the first year of law school and would inarguably be rusty at. In fact, I would come to learn more about torts in that Barbri class than I ever learned during those first two semesters of school. It is actually quite surprising the amount of information you can’t retain in two years, but I suppose that’s a digression for another time and venue.
About a week went by with my phone being completely shut off and it finally occurred to me that my parents might wonder what was going on. After I spoke briefly with my father, I hung up the phone. But just as I was about to turn it off again, Ms. Restricted called. At that point I was thinking “Holy Fucking Shit” this nutjob must have been calling me non-stop because I don’t believe in coincidences. I answered the call with the idea that I would talk some sense into her. She accused me of sleeping with her boyfriend, not once but continually, hurled a few choice insults along those lines, and then hung up before I could get a word in.
Quickly I turned the phone back off and threw it down. Paranoia was then majorly coursing through me. I found myself wondering if Ms. Restricted was somehow able to discern when I had turned my phone back on. I questioned what kind of a nut she was. The idea she could have that information was really frightening. I immediately jumped over to the window and scanned the outside area for suspicious people but I saw none. Still I wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t lurking around nearby, so I drew the blinds shut and decided to go smoke a bowl to calm my nerves.
When my roommate arrived home that evening, I updated her on the situation. She thought at the time it could be the girlfriend of Josh (names have been changed), a guy that I casually dated a year earlier. She rationalized that it was Josh's girlfriend mainly because we had recently run into them both, and the girlfriend was acting oddly juvenile. But I expressed a fair amount of doubt in that scenario. What kind of a special nutcase would hold a grudge for more than a year? And since she wasn’t even his girlfriend at the time I was seeing him, it didn’t make a ton of sense that she would be Ms. Restricted. But we didn’t dwell on it long.
Skip ahead to mid-June. My phone had been more or less shut off for close to a month, much to the chagrin of friends and family trying to get a hold of me. I decided it might be time to test the waters by turning it back on and seeing if Ms. Restricted was still lurking about. My curiosity was a factor in that decision but I also felt like I was keeping up fairly impressively with the Barbri interactive pace program and could do with a little distractive nuisance. Besides, if she continued the harassment, I could just shut my phone off again.
For the first few days that my phone was back on, I received no annoying ‘Restricted’ calls. So I was thinking maybe she gave up, or in the alternative, figured out she had made a mistake in harassing me in the first place. But I came to find out one afternoon that that wasn’t the case at all. I was sitting in class waiting for the lecture to begin when I felt my phone buzz. Sure enough it was her, Ms. Restricted. She was back. I turned to my friend sitting next to me and showed her the screen of my phone. She knew all about the prior harassment and offered to answer the call. I reluctantly allowed her to do so. But in hindsight, that was a mistake. Apparently thinking it might be funny to poke the unstable nutjob, my friend teased her about the boyfriend issue that was obviously a sore subject. My friend said something to the extent of “Oh yea, he was so good, aren’t you jealous,” before she promptly hung up on Ms. Restricted.
I immediately knew it would be a big problem. Ms. Restricted was definitely going to up the ante now. I was far from amused. I asked my friend why she had to kick the hornet’s nest and raise some hell but she just shrugged in response. Not even thirty seconds later, Ms. Restricted called back. Now that my friend had basically announced my guilt thus stripping me of any further deniability, I knew I couldn’t answer the call. Ignoring it didn’t work; Ms. Restricted had become enraged. She called about four times in a row before I finally had to shut it off once again. Then I chastised my friend for her unhelpful meddling. But I let it go soon thereafter as the lecture began and the topic was property. As far as the MBE was concerned, property law was my undoing. I had to focus.
That night, I turned my phone back on and was instantly bombarded by calls from Ms. Restricted. This woman seriously had no life. She obviously made it a full time job stalking and harassing me. I don’t see how any man could possibly be worth that much strife. Anyway I finally relented and answered the phone, stating immediately, and before she could get a word in, that I had no idea who she was or who her boyfriend was.
She of course didn’t buy my ignorance on the matter even though it was actually authentic and sincere. But instead of hanging up this time, Ms. Restricted somehow found a little confidence and began chatting with me. I told her that I believed she was mistaken but when she said “Lux, please…” I realized that I was in fact the person of interest to her. That was a shocking moment; I really started freaking out. Until then I had been under the assumption that she had the wrong person. But the truth of the matter was, I had wronged her somehow. It may have been something small and insignificant, but in her eyes it was a wrong nonetheless. Because I didn’t want to have to spend the foreseeable future looking over my shoulder and wondering if every woman I came across with a scowl was Ms. Restricted, I decided in that moment to try to mend fences. I knew it was going to be hard when I had no idea who she was or what she was under the impression I had done, but I was going to try nevertheless.
I immediately demanded to know who she was and who her boyfriend was, but she refused to divulge the information. I asked her how I was supposed to stop seeing him if I didn’t even know who he was to begin with. She had no answer for that. Instead she proceeded to engage me in an hour-long guessing game, one that was never actually resolved in that phone call. In the midst of the game, where she gave me clues (I wish that were a joke) as to her identity, she also concocted a crazy story about how it wasn’t really her boyfriend that I was sleeping with but she was calling on behalf of a friend. Of course I didn’t believe it; I don’t care how good a friend I have, I’m not going to stalk someone for her. I called bullshit on her, but she was insistent.
In life I have sort of learned that a lot of battles are not worth fighting. This includes battles with crazy ladies who may or may not know where I live and what car I drive. So finally I just stated that I believed her. At the end of the conversation, she alluded that the calls would end now that we talked. I was wary of that statement, particularly because nothing really was resolved, but I accepted her promise on face value anyway.
And the calls did stop. But then they resumed. It was T minus one week until the bar exam. I was on the last leg of the marathon and the calls from Ms. Restricted picked up again. I was already freaking out about the test: did I study enough, will California Civil Procedure rear its ugly head in one of the six essays, will there be crossovers to deal with? I was trying to cram as much information into my head as humanly possible. The last thing I needed was this crazy, persistent nutjob back on the horizon. But there she was, like an ugly stain, making herself known five or six times a day.
It got to a point, I want to say the Friday before the exam, where I just decided that I wasn’t going to allow her to make me fail. I didn’t want her having the last laugh. Nobody deserves to get the last laugh except me. So I became determined to pass, of course I was always somewhat determined, but her diligent harassment spurred me on even more. I wanted to be able to assert wholeheartedly that she wasn’t able to faze me at all. So for the next two days, I focused solely on preparing for the exam. I honestly didn’t think about Ms. Restricted at all, except once or twice in the form of a criminal law hypothetical. I imagined what kind of criminal and civil laws she was violating and what kind of arguments were supported by the facts at hand. It was extremely helpful in studying and the bar exam went off without a hitch. I was pretty confident after the final performance test was written and they called time. There was no possible way I could have failed.
On November 19, 2010, I found out that I passed the bar exam. So fuck you stalker! Some might say she gave it a valiant effort but mine was stronger and more impressive. I have since found out Ms. Restricted’s identity though I won’t share on this forum. She was someone that I knew and it was a situation that she blew way out of proportion in her own mind. I never slept with her boyfriend or had even the mildest interest in doing so. To this day I still believe she is an unstable nutjob though she eventually did apologize for the harassment and I accepted it graciously. Regardless, I take a certain amount of solace in the fact that while she did make me uneasy and slightly more paranoid than I’m accustomed to during a time in my life where I needed anything but that, in the long run she wasted a lot of her own time and energy on a futile endeavor – harassing me – and that’s time she will never be able to recover. It turns out there really was a woman out there (potentially more than one in fact), who was sleeping with her boyfriend. All that time she spent stalking me, she could have spent stalking the other woman. When we finally spoke and all things were revealed, it was that little fact that she expressed the most regret over.
In closing, I am telling this story now only because the upcoming bar exam has reminded me about it. Also, it was a very odd thing in my life that has further awakened me to the craziness of people in this world. But despite the certainly large number of nuts out there, in the year since this all happened, I can honestly say with a straight face that her disgracefulness is thus far unrivaled.
The End...at least so I hope.
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