(2:24AM) Nicholas: Play Message

At exactly 12AM on August 23rd an unidentified woman deemed it necessary to leave me a message on my voicemail that consisted solely of her saying the word "penis" in a crowded room before hanging up.

About a month before this, Gabriel called from the Greek restaurant I had been working at for several days to tell me the batshit crazy woman who ran the place had decided to hire someone else and didn't plan on paying me for my work because she considered it "unpaid training". I didn't pick up because I already knew.

Two months prior, Daniel called from the airport to set up what we would do when he got home from California, and I would have picked up if I hadn't polished off two bottles of wine with his roommate.

Last night the messages were about safe rides home, Disney movies, and the end of a 4-month sex drought.

Does anyone save my messages?

Working the Double Shift

Today's theme for lunch appeared to be Christianity. I saw three women actually pray in the dining room (ending by making the sign of the cross), and overheard a man discussing the second coming of Jesus. I do little to hide the fact that Christianity and organized religion in general absolutely terrify me, and I can only wonder if any of my guests saw my eyes widen and bulge and my jaw drop at these occurrences.

The theme for dinner? ANGER. Well, no, not quite, but for some reason every server (including myself) had something awful happen to them today and was not in the mood to take care of others. Oddly enough, being in a terrible mood makes me a much better server. Being cheerful and attentive to my tables when I'm in a good mood is taxing because it detracts from my good mood. Acting cheerful and attentive because I'd rather be drinking in bed means I'm trying much harder than usual.

But at the end of the day, after I've formulated countless calculated last words designed to emotionally cripple my foes with the full fury of my vengeance, the only thing I can bring myself to say is:

"I understand."

And I think I'm OK with that.

Reversal

Oof, I got it wrong. Be willful. Be strong and defiant and pigheaded, even when you're in doubt. Stand tall and act with swift certainty. Plow through and evaluate the damages later, or else you'll be the slippery, wet noodle that writhes in discontentment.

I am a discontented noodle.

Few men can tap this floppy, wriggly inner demon of mine; two of them managed to in one day. One with the slightest action, the other with dubious inaction. How quickly I topple and fall from my mountain of self-esteem--just this weekend I received compliments ranging from, "You seem so independent," to, "I find you fascinating." But I'm not looking for compliments, I'm looking for closure and clarification. Spell it out for me. Draw me a timeline. Carve it into my eyeballs.

I'm not going to lie; I feel pretty lost. I have goals, but I've purposely distanced myself from them because I want time and space to feel things out before I set off down a road I might not want to be taking five years from now. I can't tell if that's helpful or harmful. Am I growing or stagnating? What does that even look like? The smoking and drinking and hopeless romances aren't boring by any means, but I feel like I'm fragmenting into various habits without anything to really bundle them together. Like the sudden evolution of my name amongst coworkers and friends--where once "Nicholas" was the standard, "Nickelbag", "Nick Arrojo", and poor English-as-a-second-language-Rico's unsettling and unnecessary addition of five randomly chosen syllables to the end of "Nicholas" have sprouted. It's as if they don't have a grip on who I am, either.

Or maybe I'm just loopy because I woke up at 4AM for absolutely no reason this morning.