I think I started this on Tuesday

My mp3 player and headphones are gone. My phone is broken. I have to choose between two shows I really want to do because they are literally at the same time. I can’t perform with Black Actor’s Guild because their shows conflict with Essential Theatre shows. I don’t have any customers. I don’t have any money. My net check hasn’t been sent out. In fact, my tuition hasn’t been paid. I don’t have a ride to FTC. I slept through a math class today. The department is less excited about me. My peers never vote for me. I have no transportation. I can’t audition for Orchesis. I don’t have a computer…
This is not me having a bad day; although the past couple of days have been low for me. This is my life. This is what my life looks like. Sometimes good things happen, like being cast in a show or getting approval to go to a theatre conference. But every glimpse of silver is eventually obstructed by clouds that accumulate and get heavy until they flood the senses and all I can do is keep pushing to stay afloat. That’s all I can do. So that’s all I do.
I never blogged about Vector. That was one of the things that had my head so full I couldn’t manage to organize my thoughts enough to drill them out on a keyboard. I have one particular recollection that I go back to whenever I think of working with them; indeed, whenever I think of any struggle at all.
I couldn’t get a ride to the office, so I walked. That’s it in a nutshell. Doesn’t sound too substantial, does it? But when you have to walk close to seven miles in GA during the day in the summer after being sick all day without even a little music to distract you…you have some time to think. So I thought about myself and my life for two hours and many of my thoughts stayed with me. It was a pretty big deal cognitively, for a trip to the office.
Covington is not a place for pedestrians. There are roads, and there is grass. There are no sidewalks unless you get to a small strip of commercial property where you have to readjust to the feel of concrete under your feet but mostly, it’s unmanicured grass that provides a home for such delightful creatures as prairie dogs (those little rat things) and rabbits. Because it was so hot and I knew that I had such a long way to go, I bravely set aside my ever-present fear of Lyme disease and chose to wear shorts for my journey. Along with a couple of bottles of water, my notebook and a towel (and my phone, of course, which is now broken), I gathered my armor, braided my hair and set forth against the semi-suburban formerly rural streets of Covington. There are a lot of decisions to make when walking that you never think about in a car. For instance, what side of the road to use. If you use the left side, it’s easier to tell when a car is coming at you, but it’s also less likely to run into someone you know who can give you a lift. If you use the right side, it’s easier to take advantage of the traffic devices, but it’s also easier to cause an accident when a car veers into the middle of the street to avoid the girl who’s afraid to walk in the grass. I ended up choosing the right side until I had to cross the street, when I switched to the left because I wasn’t used to walking there. I should mention that although I had never made this particular trek before, I had formerly walked a shorter distance to the QT so in my mind, I was walking to QT only later in the day…and without the expectation of a reward. I was able to keep that charade in my head for a good mile before the heat clouded my optimism and I turned down a residential street. Looking at all these houses on my left and my right, I couldn’t help but think how opportune it would be for someone to be outside and ask me where I was walking. Maybe someone would be kind enough to offer me a bottle of water and agree to make an appointment with me. Maybe that person would know lots of people in their neighborhood or, even better, closer to my neighborhood so I could have a few more weeks of work to look forward to. It was a foolish thought, but it kept me going and I was grateful for my own foolishness for awhile. There were some people outside, working or sitting on the porch while their children played. None who cared enough about the melting stranger to say hello though. They seemed more concerned about whether I’d mess up their grass when I passed their houses. Then there was that long strip where there were no houses on one side and there was land that had to belong to a rancher on the other side. I bet the owner of that home could afford some fancy cutlery. But of course they didn’t come out or say hello. I like to have my music because then I can push a little harder; walk a little faster without listening to my heavily my breath comes or feel my bag slapping against my side. Since I didn’t have my music, I listened for cars. It seemed like there were cars everywhere, which made sense, since I was on a public street. But I was momentarily baffled to think that there were so many cars going in the same direction that I was, and not one of them would carry me. It wouldn’t hurt them any. It would be very little inconvenience to stop for the minute it would take to let me into the car coupled with the time to get out once they were no longer going my way. My legs were tired, my ankles were swollen and my stomach was churning…and all they had to do was let their feet rest on the pedals. Maybe occasionally apply a little pressure to the gas or the breaks. It didn’t seem right. It was equally disheartening to realize that even if someone did stop and ask me for a ride, I’d probably have to turn it down. My job depends on the kindness of other people, often strangers, to make money, but that dependence doesn’t translate to trust. Trust is somehow out of the realm of kindness that guarantees me a livelihood. So I was expected to succeed because of these very people, but I wouldn’t’ be expected to trust them. I suppose the strength of my legs, the friends and family, the six years I’d spent in that neighborhood, were supposed to be my base. But fifteen dollars only go so far. I kept walking.
It was really hot. I don’t know if it was the heat wave or my dehydration from being sick all day, but it seemed much hotter at four in the afternoon than it usually did at ten with the sun high in the sky. My body, was trying its best to release the heat as quickly as it could, but only succeeded in making me feel sticky as well as hot. I had no idea how close I was or how far I’d gone (I really didn’t want to think about it) when I tilted my head back to take a drink and realized I was out of water. Diligent as my body had been in maintaining homeostasis, I was very thirsty and there didn’t seem to be any sort of public entity anywhere in sight. I kept walking. What else could I do? I kept walking, still wistfully looking at the homes on either side of me, but now wondering if, in the case I chanced to knock on a door, someone would be kind enough to fill my bottle for me. Would it make me late if I stopped and tried? Did I want to chance getting a door slammed on my face? Would the knowledge of the attempt really be worth it? I hadn’t yet made my decision, when I came across a daycare. I was happy about this for two reasons: 1) they were bound to have a water fountain in there and 2) this daycare was one of the first landmarks I was used to passing on my way home from the office. I was a fool. The place didn’t have a water fountain. I don’t know what their children drank, but it didn’t come from anything that someone from outside could use. They did have sinks and faucets, the outside one of which was out of order, so I had to wait in the air conditioned lobby while the nice receptionist went into the back and filled my bottle for me. I am learning to hate AC. It confuses the body to go from such heat to such coolness so quickly and I resented the place for offering this bit of relief, knowing that it would only be temporary. In the time that it took for her to go to the faucets, fill my water and come back, my body cooled considerably; so considerably that it was a struggle to move apace when I got back outside into the blistering heat. What’s more, apparently, I should have kept moving while I was inside because now when I tried to take a drink of water, a knot would form and tighten in my stomach. I got my water; not my relief. It wasn’t worth it. It ended up hurting too much to drink and I ended up giving up after a few painful sips. When I reached the light at the end of the road (that isn’t a metaphor…), I realized that I was a fool or a second reason: the better part of the final leg of my journey was uphill; the kind of hill that truckers talk about when they justify higher speed limits. It was not an obtuse incline. I could not see the top from the bottom. Had I had the energy, I would have been angry. As it was, I saved my strength for walking. It wasn’t as though it would be easier to turn back. So I walked up this impressive hill, noticing for the first time how steep it was and how long it took before the land became level and, once again, I couldn’t help but turn my attention to the cars at my right, coasting leisurely by. They saw this hill and pressed their foot on the gas a little harder; maybe eased off of the breaks knowing that they wouldn’t need much help to slow down because they would have gravity on their side. It looked so…easy for them. Did they know how steep this hill was? Could they tell how hot it was? Had they any inkling of how still the air was or how much energy it cost to get to the top of this hill? They were using as much as I was. They had to; they couldn’t reach the top without it. But unlike me, they had a vehicle of their own. They didn’t have to shoot for their destination based on their power alone. They were supported on all sides with protection and control and when they got to their destination, they would be calm and at ease, while I would be spent. I was putting everything I had into putting one foot in front of the other; into keeping straight; into resisting the gravity that strengthened with the incline. They were still beating me. They were so far ahead of me, I had raced dozens of them before I could even see the finish line. They could literally ride circles around me and I would be powerless to even gain on them. It was a sobering realization how often I find myself in a similar predicament; at a disadvantage with everyone else around me. I kept walking, of course. I always do. I even got there eventually. But I wasn’t satisfied when I got there. I wasn’t proud or even relieved. I was just tired. It seems like I’m always tired.
The meeting…was not worth the trip. It was very much like the water that I had humbled myself to acquire and then could not drink. Deyan didn’t hear me when I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t do what other people were doing. I didn’t use the words “I can’t”. I knew that would be fruitless. I knew that I could always try. But I also knew my limitations. I told him, but he still didn’t get it. I remember very distinctly starting to him during that meeting. He stepped out for a second and when he came back, he had a McDonald’s cup. I could tell that it had soda in it. That did it for me. You bastard, I thought. It hurts me to take a sip of water and you’re in here drinking soda like it’s nothing; pouring acid into your insides without a second thought. I knew then that he wouldn’t understand. No one sitting in a comfy car with the air on and the music blaring knows what it is to walk half that distance on the same route. They can’t. You can’t see what I feel from the other side of your tinted windows. And if you slowed down for me to try to tell you…the explanation would likely get lost in the wind.

I'm in the music annex. Sitting at a table. It's after seven and instead of on the road to Gainesville, I'm here. Doing nothing. Going nowhere. Left behind. Helluva week it's been. I truly feel like I know how poor David After Dentist feels: struggling to maintain some sort of equilibrium; grasping at every piece of solitidy I can muster(I have five fingers); helplessly (and futilely) demanding, "Why is this happening to me??" as my uphill trek takes another downturn. Why did my phone have to break the week communication was severely lacking in the first place and I would need a back-up? Why could I not find a charger for my spare until I could get a replacement? Why could I not fin on person I could count on to drive me to the T-Mobile store and back? Or even to the T-Mobile store and a bus stop? Why was I without transportation during a week I was too sick to walk everywhere? And why isn't anyone helping me? I still feel that same illogical confusion I did on the way to the office walking with the traffic. Is this going to be forever? Always trying, but my very best not being up to snuff.Always pushing but never quite having the strength. Always reaching but without the proper extension. It's not fair, and I'm tired. I AM TIRED. Please, oh God, please, don't let me be normal. I can't take fighting for extraordinary and only coming out mediocre for the rest of my life. I can only take so many steps before I fall.

I bet Stacy thinks I decided not to go. I told her I was going. I swear if she asks me if I decided not to go, I will scream. I don't want to scream. I want to cry. I always want to cry. I wanted to go. I fought to go. I still want to go. But it doesn't matter now. What I want never mater and I always let it hurt me. DAMMIT! How is it that I have absolutely no control over anything and everything that happens is absolutely my fault? It's my fault my phone is broken because I should've taken better care of it. It's my fault I have no computer because I opted for a cheap one. It's my fault I got to Tucker Hall late because I should've anticipated my sickness slowing my stride and planned to leave sooner. It's my fault I didn't turn back when I first got here because I assumed that, since it was before seven, I still had chance. It's my fault I don't have a new phone becuase I didn't suck it up and walk to the store. And there's nothing I can do about any of it now but sing the shoulda-coulda-wouldas and hope for tomorrow. Hope until I fall into despair.

I truly am weary and sick of trying. It's as if with every step I take, the road stretches longer and another cluster of cars whizzes by. They make it look so easy, it seems like I'm not trying at all. But I am. I'm trying so hard and my effort isn't worth even the tears that come when I can't hold them back anymore after I fail. I fail. Over and over I fail. It's exhausting, working so hard to be a failure. Running away from mediocracy within the walls that my circumstances create. All I can do is keep trying, keep hoping, keep running, until (God willing) a door opens.