Architect of your very own happy ending.

Architect of your very own happy ending!

Awwwwwwww that feels good!!!
I am finally sitting, well actually laying, in front of my computer doing what I always do after getting home from what my family would consider to be the preparation for my future. What future?
Every night I get back from work, my mondane job. Don’t misunderstand me, I am a strong beleiver in routine, it keeps us pro-active, it keeps us productive, but why on earth does it have to be so damn boring so; “routinely the same”? Wouldn’t “routinely innovative” sound much better? No? Okay how about “routinely exotic”? I bet that hits the spot!
Anyways, on the drive home I always find myself with a head full of half late remarks; the ones that are brilliant in every way except timing. Remarks so witty and so chic that if said at the right time, in the right way, could open up the doors to any life worth making an effort for. Unfortunatly, the only ones that come to mind are those thought of on the way home from work after serving another unsatissfiable nouveu-rich prick and his “I’m so vain, let me take out my pocket mirror” companion.
Yes it’s a good wine, and no you shouldn’t decant it you fake over-wieght cash machine! Oh excuse me sir, my head wandered off. You want to decant it? Certainly, wise suggestion sir!
Why is it that I always leave with a head full of witt?
I remember my head wondering off again, as I was pouring the wine into an unnecessarily used 300 dollar decanter, trying to remember how on earth I got there. I was young, maybe too young.
With one of my epiphanous moments in one hand and an extremely insecure and self-loathing motive in the other, I decided years ago that I would sit down, raise my hands to my temples, elbows on knees, and think of what I want for my future; such a tough thing to do. But its time son; time to get your life-train moving; time to pick a track.
For a 13 year old, mouth full of braces, hair parted to the sides and a face filled with unhidable freckles covering and unhideable second chin, facing highschool is scary enough to want to have to throw college and life into the mesh. What do you mean pick a track? What the hell is a life-train?
I ended up picking the exctiting and socially emergent life of restaurants. WOW, doesn’t the image just come to mind? A classy décor, dim lighting, drinks being served across a perfectly polished bar, being spilt on a beautiful seductresses cocktail dress as she leans over and whispers something along the lines of “either get me another cosmo or get me out of this wet dress.” Sort of a Steve Stiffler meats Humpfrey Bogart sort of life-style. Unfortunately, fantasies and dreams are best taken as what they are…fantasies and dreams; and decsisons…life looooooong decisions should be taken as what they are aswell… serious. Lets face it, that decision, which has driven the stages of my life up to this moment was not exactly taken seriously. The only time a 13 year old is serious is when he’s being punished for doing something not serious.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want this written attempt at organizing an otherwise tamless and undirected mind to sound negative; just truthful.
You see the decision to go into the restaurant business was squeezed into my pre-pubescent, acceptance yearning gnoggin that day by many reasons, two of which, as I mentioned, were in each of my hands; which at this moment feel sweaty and heavy from just writing and accepting such a harsh personal truth. I find myself 12 years later, after an awkward and quite comical high school stage, together with a self-enlightening and self accepting college phase, here, with my computer, my thoughts, and eventually you, the reader, thinking god knows what and making god knows what judgements while you finish the very FIRST page of this log. HA!! How judgmental do you feel right now!!
So anyways, as my thoughts begin to dissipate and my head wonders off to thoughts of a life of which this so called preparation knows jack, my stomach clenches and I start feeling confused. Which lately is okay; just starting to feel anything is better than feeling nothing, feeling mondane, feeling “routine”… anyways I don’t know the exact word as I am not what you would call a full on writer. However I am kind of introverted and rebellious, which means I can pretty much always find extravagant and sometimes illogical ways of explaining to myself that what I’m feeling and thinking is completely normal. So… as my stomach begins to tighten, my eyes begin to moisten and my head fills up with dreams and images of things past and possible that somehow seem so far away, I do the one thing that always takes all of that away… I go and live somebody elses life.