I had immediately went back into my volunteer work with the theater, though it was clear things had changed, either already in how they viewed me, or how I was starting to view them. The following is from a post that I did after spending most of two full days getting things ready for a Free Thanksgiving Dinner for Veterans Event at the theater. It turned out to be a wonderful evening, with some surprise speakers from the military on our behalf for thinking of them outside of the standard holidays that honor them.
November 27th, 2013
I am not an optimist, I have seen enough to know the pit falls of being one and the worst is a naivety that is ill afforded. This does not mean I do not hope for the best, it just means I don’t expect it. I am not a pessimist, I have seen enough to know the pitfalls of that as well. It is all too easy to look at things as they are and use it as a scapegoat for apathy, but hey if that Doc Martin knock-off fits, shop at Hot Topics. I seek the Grey area, I’ll bitch and say “I’ll believe it when me shit turns purple and smells like rainbow sherbet.” But am not beyond making a personal sacrifice of blood sweat and tears, just to give you the chance to prove me wrong, because sometimes people do prove me wrong. I may seem like a conundrum, but ask yourself would I be, if people weren’t so damn dead set on viewing things as it’s either Black or it’s White? Hell I know I’m crazy but can you really not find “crazy” in everyone if you hunt for it? Am I really any more so than anyone else? Or is it just that I’m a little more honest and upfront about mine? There is method to my madness, it’s real simple. I know what is, I don’t believe in what can be, I know what can be, and I know the only thing standing between the two is a matter of choice and the will to act. I will give people hell and then run myself into the ground volunteering for people in general, the first is because the people I give hell ask for it, the second is because it means more than spoken words. I will be stupid and take a medication on the word of a clinic that I know for a fact has a body count and wind up on suicide watch, and then write a poem making light of it. The first is because I am human and as such am just as prone to fucking up as everyone else, the second is because whatever that shit was to me on that night, today it ain’t shit. That’s called survivors right. And just as the old saying goes, shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up first, if you think what I say means anywhere near as much as what I do, that’s not saying much about you. In short. It’s not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.
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