Gut Check

I swear to you that I didn't plan on having such a stupid pun for a blog entry title, but honestly, the kind of weekend I had was the kind of weekend where a gut check was required, and I'm not even talking about my appointments at UCSF on Friday.

It's often said that the true character and nature of people shows when the going gets tough. and my going's been getting tougher since the end of June. The further into this I've gotten, the blood and the water have become increasingly more separated. Take that how you want. It's a reference to people, places, situations, activities, and life plans. It's amazing to see how much time you wasted when you had every opportunity not to waste time while you're in a position where all you can do is waste time because you're too fucked to do anything else. That sounded like some shitty Modest Mouse lyric, didn't it? Its probably a grammatical nightmare and isn't making UCSC look like any less of a party school than it already does, but I don't really give a shit anymore.

Not to sound like an asshole (but I'm going to), but I realized something yesterday while I was playing jams at Eli's for hours. I'm a great dude. Don't be confused, I'm not perfect, without flaws, and not necessarily better than anyone else, but all things considered, I'm smart, talented, decent-looking, and a good friend. I wouldn't call the time spent up to my being sick a waste or a mistake or anything like that at all, but I realized that I've been wasting myself. Selling myself short on opportunities, settling for less than acceptable, and not getting the most out of my time.

I'm fucking done with that.

I float around Oakland, struggling to get by, and the majority of the people I love I don't even see. I get caught up in a rat race of social politics and nuances that when I stop and think about, I could give two shits about. However, because I am an idiot, I've let that be something that took the reigns over my own satisfaction, my own creativity, my own art, my own comfort, and my own happiness. No more.

As some of you may or may not know, I have been applying to and planning on attending USF to get a Masters in education, and eventually become a teacher. After a solid gut check this weekend, the playing field is wide open. I plan on applying to schools in Southern California and Austin, Texas. I'm always going to be a Bay Area dude, but, as someone so often texts me at random, "these days, the people I love are spread so far apart".

I want to excel at school, write more, be "Marr and Marr", be the best sketchy uncle ever, talk punk rock with the Captain, get drunk with Collin O Brian, and push myself to move the way I want to and need to move. Oakland, I love you, and we've had some great times, but my days are numbered. Time to get on to the next thing, and hopefully return to some of the greatest people I've ever met.

When life flattens you out, and you realize you have a shot and rising again, you need to rise as high up as you can. Don't put it off, let's start today.

PS - The other day, Adrian asked me if I ever had a weird Ouija Board story, and I totally do, but it was too long to text. Adrian, here's your story.

I was in early high school, and my brother and I, like every other kid I know, had a Ouija Board. One night, he, myself, and two of our friends decide to turn all the lights off in our room (yeah, my brother and I shared a room, until I graduated from high school, annoying right?), and get all creepy with the Ouija Board. We were in the middle of the room, no less than ten feet from my dresser which had a globe on top of it. We start fucking around with the board, and all of the sudden, out of nowhere, the globe starts spinning and falls off the dresser. No one was close enough to touch the dresser or the globe, and all four people in the room had their hands on the board. SKETCHY AS FUCK. I don't necessarily believe in ghosts, but I know something fucked with us that night, and that Ouija Boards are no joke.