My quest to live. Somehow I feel like the only way out of this place is to write. As much as I want out of this place, I know I can’t just pray, wish or hope my way out, I must write. No scholarships to big universities and free rides, no big sign-on bonuses or from major publishers to date, I must write.
Not only for the sake of becoming financially free but for my sanity. Insanity to me would be to stay in a place that you no longer belong but sit down and sing the same song that, “No one will come deliver me,” as if you had a desire to be free. Free yourself is what I say or at least participate in the evacuation and rescue mission. At least make it easy to at least be carried. Send up a smoke signal, start a small fire, tap on a wall. Let us know that some form of life still exist down there and more importantly has a desire to rescued. Don’t let me risk my life and place my safety on the line to paw my way down a dark cavern, void of air and light, only to find you there chilling and peaceful. Let a brother know. If you good, I’m good. I promise. Away with saving people who have no desire to be saved.
This is not my story. I am not good. I see better, want better and work for better daily. I would rather lose sleep working on it than close my eyes knowing that I’ve not exhausted every ounce of creativity and ingenuity that rest within me. If I’m empty, I’m empty. I’m cool with that but if my potential meter reads anything other than absolute “E,” I’m working.
My way out is not Hoops, Law or Horticulture. I’m narrowed down to a few and the circle’s getting smaller. It’s important that I tighten the shot group for maximum effect now. I only have a few rounds left in the magazine and one in the chamber. It’s imperative that I be selective in picking my targets. Every shot has to count. Fight or food. If I have to defend myself in life or death or I have to eat to survive. Then I’ll pull the trigger. Other than that, it’s hand to hand combat or the art of negotiation and avoidance. Long gone are the days of getting it on with everyone that crosses my path. It’s your road and you can have it. I no longer fight for turf and territory that don’t belong to neither of us. If she leaves with you, she was never mine. Either you are on the team or off. I’m on my way somewhere.
My engagement skill is up to the level now, that doesn’t even require name exchanging or even speaking. I walk into the room now and say, “Siri, point out my mandatory people to meet!! Activate blinders and noise canceling program!!” Play automatic recordings, “I see,” “You’re right,” and “This makes total sense!!” Of course, Employ the smile and laugh track. The Head nod, Drama detector and the Eye contact feature are always a plus.
I have to stay focused. I have to write.
It feels like steps and rungs to a latter. I must take it one by one. I’m open for the lessons on the way up and out. Once out there is no returning. Therefore, I must write. I must raise the flag, fly the kite, sound the alarm, press the pen to the pad daily.
If God can give the Golden ticket to anyone, HE can give it to me. I’m working to at least be considered and counted trustworthy. Midnight oil and sacrificed sleep patterns are all on the chopping block. I’m up for the challenge I believe. The highs and lows get me periodically. It’s par for the course. I’m working on my short game as well as the long. If you are looking for me, I’m somewhere learning, reading, creating, or writing. Keep me in your prayers as I navigate these last few clicks across the Sahara. The dust clouds continue to swirl and sand gets in my eye, but I’m focused. Thanks for praying. I’ll bring your name up in conversation with the Master as well.
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