Rooster

The interior lighting of Rooster’s small office flashed blue. He froze. A single breath escaped before being choking to a close. A single bead of sweat began its decent from his brow, trekking past his eye, and finally plunging to the floor from his chin. The lights returned to their soft yellow hum before returning to blue once more. There was no mistaking it. Phoebe, one of the hotel cleaning staff, was standing right outside his door.

Rooster had programmed the load cell in the floor outside to trigger corresponding lights within his office to alert him whenever staff approached his office. Discovering each individual staff’s correct weight had been a challenge.  It’d required persuading security to lend him hours of CCTV footage of each unwitting person engaged in their mundane work around the hotel. He then filtered it through Chinese facial recognition software he’d “borrowed” from the MSS.  Although none of the hotels staff or occupants were in the database, it still allowed him to calculate each person’s weight and dimensions.

“Show me,” he spoke to the room.

The lights returned to their normal hue, then dimmed as his monitor automatically brought a live feed from a biometric security camera he’d hidden in a fake shrub placed strategically across the hall from the door to his office. Standing impatiently outside his door was none other than Phoebe, holding a brown paper bag with unmistakable golden double arches.

“You know Rooster, I am happy to do this for you but it’d be nice if you’d let me hand it to you face-to-face,” she spoke good-naturedly. Rooster did not respond.

“I have half a mind to go enjoy this in the lounge,” she continued, opening the bag slightly to spy its contents.

“No!” he said almost shouting, then quickly quieting. “No,” he spoke again much calmer.

He arose from his chair and crossed the short distance to the door and cracked it open an inch or two. A bright smile greeted him through the crack. Phoebe’s red curls danced up and down as she impatiently fidgeted, waiting for the door open further.

“Who delivered it?” he asked calmly.

“He was a short guy, Italian I think, great smile,” she began but was quickly cut off.

“A name Phoebe, I need a name,” he said sharply.

The hurt quickly registered on her face. She forced a smile to return.

“I don’t remember his name,” she said impishly, tilting her head to the side pouting her lips.

The shock quickly registered on his face. He made as if to close the door but Pheobe bravely stuck her index and pointer finger in the door.

“Suburu,” she blurted. “His name was Suburu.”

Rooster just stared at the buxom maid.

“Malibu? Jujitsu?”

“Tulumeu?” offered Rooster.

“Yes, that was it. Tulubu. Are you going to let me in or not?” she asked, placing hands on ample hips.

“Where are my manners?” he apologized, opening the door nearly a foot. Pheobe bumped the door the rest of the way open with her buttocks and stepped inside.

Rooster quickly mumbled, “retreat” and instantly his four monitors went black, several digital documents blinked out of existence on his touch screen desk. To an outside observer the cramped office appeared no different than one might imagine a maintenance office in a large hotel.

Rooster quickly snatched the bag out of Phoebe’s hands and retreated back to the comfort of his desk. The door had shut itself automatically.

“I don’t understand why you insist on ordering Uber Eats when you get free room service. Room service that I might add could be brought to your office by someone whose job it actually is to deliver food.”

Rooster briefly looked up and locked eyes with Phoebe before opening the bag and hungrily tearing into a Double Quarter Pounder. Phoebe took a few steps forward and bent over his desk, still staring intently at him.

“You also might consider inviting someone to dine with you from time to time,” she said proactively. From his angle, had he been looking up, he would have spied the beginnings of cleavage and a wry smile on her face. Instead, he reached into his pocket and blindly held out a $20 bill.

She quickly stood erect whilst snatching up the bill and placing in her pocket. She sniffed and proceeded to storm of the office. The second the door clicked shut, Rooster spat the chewed up burger into a waste bin. He reached back into the bag and underneath a second Quarter Pounder and an apple pie he retrieved an odd looking pistol. It was matted black, with a purple orb in its stalk and a silver array on the muzzle.

Just as he was admiring the alien craftsmanship, an alert flashed on his screen. A message from the Night Auditor glared at him. 

I am not going to tell you again Rooster. Fix the AC unit in room 111. The guest is wondering why it’s taking so long and quite frankly I am wondering that myself. Get it done. NOW

Rooster looked at the door to his office. His breath caught while his chest seized at the thought of exiting his room. It had been 2 weeks since he’d last left the office. This was evidenced by the disorderly couch brown couched crammed inside the room behind his desk and the discarded personal belongings on the floor. Rooster looked up towards his only shelf and stared at the seven sealed Snapple bottles that contained his urine.

Sighing deeply, he typed a response.

On my way.

He longingly stroked the alien armament before opening a desk drawer and reverently placing the item within. It took several more minutes and a dab of cocaine on his gums before he was able to stand before his door. With a final breath he turned the handle and stepped out into the hall.

Spoon

A solitary woman stands at the peak of a mountain, misty gray mountains can be seen afar off on the horizon. 

Persephone:

You were so kind at first. 

Ægir::

You needed kindness.

Persephone:

Couldn't you have left it at that? Why...why the other thing?

Ægir:

You showed potential. 

Persephone:

Potential for what? Murder? I reject your observation.

Ægir:

What you call murder may also be called the will of the Norns.

Persephone:

You know I don't believe that. 

Ægir:

You believe in me.

Persephone:

Yes, but...

Ægir:

So you believe in them. 

Persephone grows agitated, restless, and impatient. She picks up a nearby stone and heaves it away, watching it sail into the sky. She begins to pace, having nowhere to go but down.

Persephone:

You know I could end this. Right?

Ægir:

You won't.

Persephone:

How do you know that? You couldn't possibly know that. I could do it this very minute. 

Ægir:

I know you won't because I know you can't. 

Persephone:

Oh yeah? You don't think I'll drop this rotted spoon?

Persephone walks to the precipice of the peak, withdrawing an ancient looking wooden spoon from within her jacket. The spoon looks carved from black wood, with Old Norse runes are inscribed on the handle.

Persephone:

Nothing to say? Admit your afraid.

Ægir:

I am not afraid because you are not afraid, though you are acting ungrateful. You hold a treasure

more valuable than all the gold in the earth. You hold the power of the ocean. 

Persephone:

All I hold is the last remnants of a forgotten god. A cruel god who deserved to be forgotten.

Ægir:

So then why don't you drop it?

Persephone grows quiet, her hand trembles as she holds the spoon precariously over the edge. 

Ægir:

Is it because you've felt the thrill? The exhilaration of sending mortals to dwell with me in the

ocean depths? You've lusted after what was once theirs and which now belongs to you. You

can't drop it because it IS you. 

Persephone slowly retracts her arm, reverently placing the spoon back into her jacket. She 

reluctantly walks back to the center of the peak and collapses on her knees, sobbing, 

remembering the three yachts and one fishing boat she sank in the previous three months.  

Persephone:

You're right. I can't. 

What do you want from?

Ægir:

Become my herald.

Persephone: 

Does that mean more killing?

Ægir:

Only if you wish it to be so.

Persephone rises from her knees and walks to the edge of the peak, staring at the far off

mountains. 

 Persephone:

Do you know why I carried you here?

Ægir:

You thought my power would lessen being far from the ocean.

Persephone:

Yes

Ægir:

You see that it does not.

Persephone:

Yes

Ægir:

So you will become my herald?

Persephone:

No, but you were right about one thing. I am not afraid…anymore.

Persephone places one foot in front of her, taking a step into the naked air. 

Momentum and gravity take their course as the ground races up to embrace her. 

Acquaintances

ESTABLISHING SHOT of Pine forest covered in freshly fallen snow. Silence permeates the air, muting any sounds of life. A gray haze crests over the sea of trees, a prelude of more snow to come.

CUT TO OVER THE SHOULDER SHOT of Figure #1 standing, overlooking a frozen river. River stones are covered in several inches of snow, giving the impression of a procession of giant white mushrooms. Figure #1 can be seen breathing heavily. Plumes of smoke escape his lips, keeping time with the beat of his heavy breaths.  The man is wearing an assortment of thick animal skins, suitable for keeping out the cold winter air.

ZOOM TO CLOSE UP of Figure #2 Emerging from the tree line ahead. Figure #2 saunters from cover, aiming a standard rolling block Remington at Figure #1. The man is younger and clean shaven, except for a neatly waxed handle bar mustache. This contrasts his quarry’s thick, ice frosted full beard. His dress is typical of a Texas State Marshal, replete with leather coat, hat, and pants topped off by a thick woolen duster. A marshal’s badge gleams on his chest, despite the winter gloom.

CUT TO MEDIUM SHOT of Figure #1

               Figure # 1

Breathing heavily, clutching a dark red stain on his lower abdomen. Blood soaking the fur around it

What…what do you want?

CUT TO EXTREME CLOSE UP of Figure #2

Figure # 2

I aim to finish what I started.

Bring you to justice for your many earthly sins.

PAN TO WIDE ANGLE SHOT of both figures, 10 meters between them.

          

                Beleaguered, raspy breathing

Figure #1

Why Marshall, I was not aware that you had found the good

 Lord during your mortal sojourn.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of FIGURE #2 cocking rifle, taking several strides in the direction of Figure #1

Figure #2

Don’t need to be righteous to know when a fallen

creature needs to be sent back to hell.

EXTREME CLOSE UP of Figure #1. Blue of eyes of a monster, beckoning the Marshall.

PAN TO EXTREME CLOSE UP of Figure #1’s teeth. Yellow and rotting, several teeth can be seen missing from the mouth.

Figure #1

Best you bring me there yourself then.

*Raspy laughing

CUT TO HIGH ANGLE SHOT of both figures. Figure #1 uses free hand to reach for stolen Colt .45 Peacemaker from within the folds of his winter skin coat. Figure #2 takes aim.

CUT TO ARIAL SHOT of Pine forest. Silence is broken by the sound of gunshot, followed by a staggered second gunshot. A group of birds take flight from a nearby tree, disturbed by the noise.

CUT TO HIGH ANGLE SHOT of both figures.

CUT TO OVER THE SHOULDER SHOT of Figure #2, smoke plume erupting from center chest of Figure 1# followed by several lines of blood. Figure 1# collapses to the ground, falling on back.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of Figure #2’s Face. Stoic and unsmiling, Figure #2 stares down at Figure #1 lying in his gore.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of Figure #2’s boots. At first nothing, then several thick lines of blood trail down the right pant leg staining the snow below, slowly pooling at his feet.

PAN UP TO FIGURE #2’s pelvis. Bright red blood gushes from a freshly smoking wound just above his crouch. Figure #2 crumples to the snow. Several seconds pass in silence.

CUT TO HIGH ANGLE SHOT of Figure #2 falling to his knees then collapsing on his stomach. Figure #2 drags himself towards Figure #1 until he his laying next to him.  

CUT TO CLOSE UP of Figure #1

Figure #1

Tell me Marshall. As I am not long for this world

I would like to learn the name of the man who finally cast me to the dirt.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of Figure #2, continuing to stare into the sky with a forlorn expression.

Figure #2

Glint. Marshall Glint.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of Figure #1

Coughing up blood that stains his chin and dribbles down either side of his face, pooling in his ears, Figure #1 struggles to breath.

Figure #1

Please to make your acquaintance Marshall Glint.

*Coughs up more blood then exhaling deeply.

My name is Clayton Cook.

*Long pause

But my friends call me, “Heavy”

             END SCENE

Rouge One: The Star Wars Expansion Pack

Rouge One Review: The Expansion Pack

Spoilers Ahead! 

Author's Note: I don't feel particularly adept at doing movie reviews. Oftentimes my feelings towards a movie are complex and ever-changing. There are people who do this professionally. I do it as a hobby. SPOILER WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How do I feel about Rouge One? Conflicted. My cinematic movie experiences are usually two sided; with a light and a dark side. The light side draws strength from the movie's ability to appeal to my inner 13-year old.. The dark side draws strength from the movies ability to appeal to my inner film critic (his age is around 57). The two sides often debate each other, and a movie is truly excellent when they are in consensus. Sometimes the light side breaks rank and declares a movie great despite showing numerous cinematic flaws. (Step Brothers) Sometimes the dark side seizes control and declares a movie good even though I have to admit I had no fun watching it. (There Will Be Blood)

The Light Side

The movie was a LOT of fun! I felt like it was truer to the originals than any Star Wars movie so far. Which is weird because it lacked Jedi, the force, and lightsaber battles. The sequels were just hot CGI messes, and TFA was just a repackaged version of the originals. I liked Rouge One because it introduced us to so many new things. Things we neither expected or demanded. 

The movie gave us to not one, not two, but many planets! (I didn't count how many, I think like 3 or 4 maybe). Each world was unique and contributed to the overarching story in its own way. There was a lot of action in this movie and by spreading it over several planets it gave itself a big enough stage to pull it all off. 

The movie gave us a lot of new characters. After 20 minutes of TFA I just wanted to tell the movie, "I get it. These are the old characters, these are the new ones. They're literally passing the torch. I get it, I get it." A lot of the new characters die and I love that. It means they served their purpose and moved on. They left it all on the field. They were momentary flashes of brilliant light, and once spent, they moved on. Death done correctly in movies can add a lot to the story. 

The movie gave us a number of new ships and vehicles. It even gave us a new harrowing perspective on classic vehicles. All the familiar craft were there as well and it I would say the dogfights were amazing. Yes there were plenty of little crafts that bit it but at one point, two Star Destroyers crash into each other and punch a hole in a planetary shield. Very cool. 

I started writing this right after watching the movie but I didn't finish. It's been too long now for me to continue writing a faithful review. I will tie this one off by just giving it my new rating system for movies.

Story	6 -	It's a side story to a larger one and not super well expanded on.
Character Development	6	- Lot's of characters, too little development. They focus on the star but not enough on the other characters which are oftentimes more interesting.
Cinematography	8 -	Disney's customary polished look.
Acting	8	- It wasn't bad acting, but no chills and no particularly quotable lines.
Fun	9.5 -	Lots of space battles, didn't think it looked too CG.
Score:	7.5

Dear Utah

Dear Utah,

I think it's about time we talk. We've grown too comfortable in our relationship of subtle indifference towards each other. We're not friends but neither are we enemies. I neither hate you or particularly dislike you. I am sure it's mutual.

Where to begin? I suppose it has to do with where we started. I am not your native born son, I am adopted. You had no influence on my creation. Your mountain waters neither helped create me or sustain me. Your lofty mountain peaks did not provide me shelter, or inspire me with their aesthetic beauty. I was an adult before we met truly for the first time. How could we possible have a relationship?

 I've met your children and they are good people. They're hardy stock, salt of the earth type of people. I even married one. They get you. They don't want to leave you. You have an inexplicable power over them, for even if they move they still feel your call. Many who do leave you end up returning. But why? What is it about you that is so attractive?

Is it because they're used to being isolated? That can't be true because I happen to know the vast majority of them speak multiple languages, and have spent long periods of time far away from you. They get around.

Is it because of the weather? Hardly. No offense Utah but you're weather leaves little to the imagination and leaves a lot to be desired. I experienced winters growing up, and yet they seemed so much nicer out east. Throw in your famous inversion habit during the winter and it's a surprise anyone sticks around at all.

You have your mountains, and to many, I guess that's enough of a flower to keep them buzzing around. Best snow on earth you say. I can't dispute that, maybe it is. I however I have no desire to go find out. I see skiing as more of a novelty that locals have adapted to. I've had people explain to me how great it is. I get why they love it. For me though, and only me, it is not appealing.   

I think you appeal to, for the lack of a better word, mountain people. I am not one. My question is: Do I have to become one if I am to stick around? I drive a Honda Accord. I really don't have any plans to stop driving a Honda Accord. If I am to believe what I see on your streets you'd prefer I get a truck. I don't haul anything, and I don't have tools I need for work so I don't really see the point myself. Based solely on my own personal observations, I think maybe lots of your children do have a constant need for hauling things and tools around. I would also guess that maybe they're not very good at managing their time, or perhaps they have a LOT of things and tools to haul, because they always seem to be in a terrible hurry.

I do like to hike. However, your idea of hiking and my idea of hiking don't seem like the same thing. I like to hike in nature. Your people like to hike in as little of nature as possible. Also, I like to hike more or less on a horizontal plane; your folks prefer the vertical plane. Rocks and views are great, and I can't deny their appeal. However, I like trees and lots of them. You have them, but they don't seem like as big a priority with you than they are with me.

Your history. Let's talk about your history because at first glance you have none. Impossible you say? Touché, you have a history and it's not a bad one either, just not that interesting...to me. From what I can tell you were unknown wilderness to all but the random tribes of people that wandered through you. It's like you didn't even enjoy having children at first, you were pretty inhospitable. The Spaniards came but they used you more for treasure hunting. On a personal note, I do find this era of your history particularly fascinating. There must be something about being born in Spain that drives one to be excited about gold and treasure. The Spaniards just didn't do much while they were here. Then came the Mormons. You seemed to like them and they seemed to like you. I believe that's when you began enjoying being a state to a lot of people. Now you're a modern metropolis nestled in the mountains. You appeal to both liberal hipsters and conservative traditionalists. Quite the accomplishment. Yet, historically you're pretty vanilla.

(Full disclosure, as a Mormon I have to acknowledge our ties. I am legally obligated to treat you like the Mormon Mecca. I acknowledge and herby give you all due acknowledgement and kudos that you are legally obligated to.)

Maybe by this point you're feeling a little defensive. Who am I to question you? If I don't like you then why don't I just leave? Again, touché. You've provided me with quite the domesticated life here. I can't rightly complain.

I just don't get you. We've been together for some time now. We live together. I just feel other lands a calling. I have wanderlust. You provide no natural remedy to wanderlust. I don't just want to go on vacation and leave you periodically, I want to roam.

No matter how long I live here we're never going to be part of a familial unit. I've never been to a Jazz game, and I've never been to Lagoon. I hope you don't take it personally. I am going to forever feel like a foreigner in your land. I appreciate everything you've done for me so far, and I wish you the best. I don't write this letter to hurt your feelings. I just felt it was time we defined the relationship. It felt time that you understood where I am coming from. I hope we can continue to get along.

Sincerely,

Micah  

Bad Guys: A Post from 2014

Humans, by our very nature, love to categorize the world and everything we find in it. It’s a tool we use to learn. By classifying things we take the wealth of knowledge that is this world and break it down into manageable bits that help us digest and understand it. We especially love to classify ourselves; white and black, tall and short, blood type A and blood type O. Ideally, this would make sure that everyone had a place in this world and everyone belonged in their perspective niche.

Perfect, right?

Well, at one point we came across what are called heroes aka the “good guys”. Paragons of moral fortitude and examples of everything that’s right in this world. Heroes are as old as humans, and as humans we made a category for them. We propped them up, we immortalized their stories, and cemented their place in society. What we did not fully understand at the time was that for every hero we created, we also created a villain. OK, we sort of understood this, most of the time these heroes of legend arose out necessity to stop a villain. We didn't make those particular villains, and occasionally a villain would rise to stop a hero. Either way, we decided as a race that some of us were good guys and some of us were bad guys.

Now flash forward to 2014. Our race has advanced so far and so fast that we are now starting to expand away from Earth. Our technology, our society, or advances are both stunning and beautiful. We learned and we learned well. Were we not so very flawed, we might have been able to create a utopia by now. Perhaps we still will.

Except…

Except in our brave new world we still have good guys and bad guys.

Now before I continue, I want to explicitly state that I believe in the existence of evil and the existence of good. When light is cast at an object there is light, and the remainder is the absence of light, otherwise known as dark. Heroes do exist and thank goodness they do. There is evil in this world and it’s up to heroes to eliminate it. What I am talking about is a different kind of good guy and bad guy. Perhaps we should call them “feel good guys” and “feel bad guys” as to not get confused. I will explain.

In the movie Wreck-It Ralph we are introduced to the diamond in the rough himself, Ralph. Ralph is a character in a video game where he is the bad guy. His programming dictates that he must routinely destroy a suburban high-rise and terrorize its residents. The game demands his rampages so as to allow the hero of the game, Fix-It Felix Jr, to come in and fix everything, thus saving the day. In this cut and try video game world, everything has a purpose and everyone is in their place.

Except…

Except Ralph as become increasingly dissatisfied with his lot in life. His wanton destruction quickly becomes meaningless to him as he searches for a greater purpose. Ralph is a bad guy; it’s who he is and why he was created. He is publicly ostracized and rejected by society. Yet he wants to experience more, do more, and be more. Except that he can’t, he’s a bad guy. They just don’t do that. Bad guys have to follow the program and wreck things like Ralph does. Ralph is 9 ft tall and weighs a couple of hundred pounds. He has colossal, hulking arms which he uses to destroy things. His appearance is unkempt and everything about him denotes him as a bad guy. So why doesn't he feel like it?

Do you ever feel like a bad guy? Somewhere out there, someone exists just to fix the problems you create. Someone is destined to oppose all your clumsy errors. You look bad; therefore someone out there is looking good. Feel familiar?

It’s because as a society we've created the feel good guys and the feel bad guys. Hollywood is a great example of this. We've taken normal, deeply flawed individuals and turned them into heroes. We immortalize them in movies and tell the world these are our modern day heroes. Everything they then do becomes hero-like behavior. They have finely tuned herculean bodies. They have money, fancy cars, big houses, and extravagant lifestyles. They are sought after, followed, and emulated on every level. Their behavior is our example of perfection.

But…

But what has this done? If these “good guys” are the gold standard for everything that’s right and perfect then I must not be doing anything right at all. I don’t have a fancy car, my body has seen one too many milkshakes, and I live in a condo. Those grievous confessions aren't nearly as bad as my behavior. I do worry about money, I don’t worry too much about going to the gym, and frankly I don’t care what others think of me. I must be a bad guy. Or someone society has covertly tried to convince that they should feel bad. They have to shame me into wanting to be a hero/good guy otherwise if I didn't then their heroes would lose power.

Except I am perfectly happy being a bad guy. Bad guys are awesome as Ralph learns in the movie. Bad guys are sometimes just bad guys because that’s who society has covertly labeled bad by the virtue of them not following what society has marked as good. Again, this is not a morality issue. We’ve just confused our heroes with those valued by the majority.

Listen to Zangeff, a character from the same movie and from the game street fighter.

“I relate to you, Ralph. When I hit bottom, I was crushing man's skull like sparrow's egg, between my thighs... and I think, why you have to be so bad, Zangief? Why can't you be more like good guy? Then I have moment of clarity... if Zangief is good guy, who will crush man's skull like sparrow's eggs between thighs? And I say, Zangief you are bad guy, but this does not mean you are *bad* guy.”

To be clear I am not advocating the crushing of men’s skulls, especially between thighs. However, I do think that Zangief had a genuine moment of clarity. He was crushing men’s skulls but started to feel bad about it because society was making him feel bad for who he was. He realized then that if he changed who he was then there’d be no one like him left. He ultimately decides he is just who he wants to be.

At the end of the movie, Ralph learns this important lesson. Bad guys aren't actually very bad. Bad guys are just bad guys because someone has labeled them that way. What is really important is that Ralph is unique. But in our world we don’t like unique. We crave conformity, we crave being politically correct, and we crave acceptance. Being unpopular=bad. Wrong!

 That’s why I am OK with being a bad guy. Bad guys are creative, bad guys don’t abandon their deeply held beliefs, and bad guys are constantly defeated but never give up. Guess what? You might just be a bad guy too! Don’t let society, or the media, or anyone treat you like less because you don’t blindly seek after what they do. Many of this world’s greatest heroes were bad guys to popular society. Look at Abraham Lincoln, Joseph Smith, Ghandi, Nelson Mandela, most Christians, and most atheists.   These people were labeled as bad guys. Can you imagine this world if they had opted to be popular instead? Understand that society wants you to feel like a bad guy. But be proud of that! It means you are doing something right. If everyone is thinking the same thing then someone is not thinking! Be a bad guy, embrace your inner badiness. Stand up for yourself and be a bad guy to the truly bad people of the world. Before we part ways, please join me in the bad guy affirmation.

I am bad, and that's good.

I will never be good, and that's not bad.

There's no one I'd rather be than me.

I y'am what I y'am

I y'am what I y'am

There exists a pseudoscientific theory about infinite universes, or rather a multiverse. Scientists have actually theorized that unknown universes could exist next to, parallel, or on top of our own. This is largely due to the fact that no one is really sure what the shape of space-time is. We believe it to be infinitely spreading out in one direction like a tunnel, hence the reason we can’t travel back in time. However, it may be that space-time is a bubble or perhaps cyclical.

Another reason another universe could exist is that it technically already does. Approximately 13.7 billion years ago the universe exploded into existence during the event that we call the big bang. That means that matter has had 13.7 billion years to expand away from the epicenter of the bang. The farthest reaches of that matter to the center our universe is what we consider our universe. If the universe is constantly expanding, then there must be space to expand into, and that space is technically its own universe too. This is because we can’t see it, if it exists at all.

Inside this theory is the idea that multiple yous’ mes’ and, hers exist as well. Every infinite possibility that exists in our lifetime is then played out somewhere. Had to choose between wearing red or blue today? You decided red; in your neighbor universe you may have also chosen blue.  I don’t necessarily believe any of it. I’d rather believe that Hogwarts could be real. However, it would be a comforting thought to know that somewhere out there, a version of me was working at the CIA. This version of me would be very physically fit, saved the world multiple times on multiple occasions, and he’d be a world renowned author in his spare time. If the aforementioned theory is correct then somewhere out there I exist like that. It’s science.

The truth is that I am the only me that I’ve got. One lifetime and one me, is all I have to work with. I never realized my dream of joining the CIA, a dream that I’ve had since I was sixteen. Time to despair, right? Nah. I may never join the CIA, and it’s likely that I will not. However, life is more than what we dream it up to be. Life is happening in your footprints, not your horizon.

I like me.

I like my scars. Each one tells a story that is me.

I like my belly fat. Each pound was something delicious I enjoyed.

I like my non 20/20 vision. It’s evidence of the many books I’ve read with suboptimal lighting, and maybe genetics.

I like my unfulfilled dreams; they’re just reflections of how I really view myself.

I like my stress. It’s proof that I care.

I like my heart ache. Each pain was a chance where I got to care so deeply about something, or someone, that it reached my very core.

I like me.

I am easily distracted by others and their dreams. Squirrel! I would be lying if I said I wasn’t usually keeping envy on a slow boil.  But my life is my own, and it’s always been mine. Life (this universe’s version anyway) is just like that raggedy old t-shirt you never want to throw away, it’s still beautiful to you even if in itself it’s not beautiful. I wouldn’t change anything about it. If I deleted a single iota from my past than I might accidently take something I treasure about myself as well.  We all have to reconcile our dreams with reality. However, in reality I am living the dream.