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Day in and day out, we struggle with whatever tedious challenges that stand before us.   We often tell ourselves that life isn’t worth the paycheck we earn to feed and shelter ourselves.  Amongst the oft painful story of daily routine, we lose ourselves in a sea of darkness.  We succumb to our insecurities and inadequacies and tell ourselves that life will never get better.

Yet, every so often, we’re met with moments that change everything.  Moments that reach out to those buried emotions and help you realize that life is more than just money, possessions and jobs.  Moments that make you fall in love with life all over again.  When these moments are shared, they’re all the more powerful and captivating.

I was in a dark place.  Swimming blindly in a sea of self-pity and hurt.   To carry on was to be levied with ball and chain. 

Suddenly, there you were, before me like a blessed angel emerging from the unknown.  When the words in my mind wouldn’t reach my lips, I thought that I was under a spell.  You were beautiful.  More beautiful then I could’ve ever hoped.  You smiled and something inside of me awakened.  It was a smile that I could only dream of before this day.  You didn’t know it, but that’s all you had to do.  You saved me.  You’ll never know it, but you did.  All the hopelessness, callousness and sorrow flipped.  Suddenly I was alive.  Something was telling me that there was a reason to move on, a reason to fight.  The future was holding the most precious of miracles and no amount of demonic torture would keep me from seeing that smile again.

That glorious smile continued and I felt as if I was the only one that could make her smile that way.  She’ll never know it, but that smile was everything.  A light in the dark.  A distinct path to a glorious future. 

I’m holding on to that memory now.  A simple smile that sparked an everlasting light.  A kind gesture that, to her, was nothing but a normal reaction.  To me, it was the creation of a whole new world. 

If beauty like this exists, then I have to see what tomorrow holds. 

In an instant, my mind was made up.  I would do anything to see that smile one more time.  Though she may never be mine, I would battle armies, battle monsters in the ocean and stand up to the devil himself just to see her smile because of me.

Maybe one day I’ll have the opportunity to tell her this, but for now I’m just taking it one day at a time.  Hoping quietly that fate brings us together.

I invite you all to find that light, that spark that keeps you ticking.  When life seems to be tipping against you, rediscover it and fall in love all over again.

There are three things I love most about Christmas.  Three things that I look forward to every time December nears the 25th.  And yes, I’m going to list them.

1. Wrapping Christmas presents.  Because I’m so good at it.

2. Driving through mall parking lots for hours to find a parking spot and the looks and swears I get while doing so.

3. Walking through that very same mall for hours in a sea of annoyed, bitter people searching for a gift or gifts for people who probably won’t even appreciate them in the first place.

And that my friends is a little bit of Christmas sarcasm.

For most of December that’s what Christmas feels like.  The consumer-driven fury of gift shopping.  When business owners are giddy with the anticipation of cash registers ringing and children singing on Christmas Day about their fancy new Xbox’s or tablets or Tickle-Me Elmo’s.  We battle through malls and department stores, swimming through mobs of frustrated patrons with the good intentions to spend money to give gifts to those we care about. 

Apparently that’s what defines Christmas these days.  Gift giving.  And for some, the more expensive the gift, the more kind and giving you are.

That’s not Christmas.

Let me remind everyone that we didn’t always have malls.  We weren’t always part of a well-to-do society that will spend billions on that gift exchange.  There are people out there who can’t get their children what they want, who can’t see their families in other countries or provinces, who have lost those loved ones forever or who just can’t afford it. Then there are those who just give out a bit of cash and are done with it.  Those who only take part in it because society says it’s the right thing to do.  *cough* Dad *cough*

Personally, I can’t afford much.  I never could.  I can’t waltz into Future Shop and buy all my friends 80 inch plasma TV’s and I probably never will.  But if I could, I would in a heartbeat.

So this nagging question dawns on me as I’m watching a co-worker unwrap a trick-wrapped gift I got her for her Secret Santa Gift: “Is this Christmas?  Is that what’s happening right now?”

But then she turned to me and said “Thank you Adam, this means so much to me” and my head and heart both stood up and said “There it is!  This is Christmas!”  I was overjoyed.  I had made her so happy and that made me feel…well…the Christmas Spirit.

When a middle-aged man stopped me and my friend as we were walking into a pub for a quick drink and gave us 10 dollars and said “the first drink is on me - Merry Christmas”, my head and heart stood up once again and said “There it is!  This is Christmas!”  When I walked out of the mall in a bitter tizzy and a young boy held the door open for me and quietly chimed “Merry Christmas” much to his Mother’s delight, my head and heart stood up once again and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Santa has something special for you, I’m sure.” I replied, smiling at his Mother - and the same boyish smile pasted on my face erupted onto his face like the 4th of July.

“There it is.  That’s Christmas.  That’s the spirit,” something said to me and I was so excited for that boy.

Sometimes we get so wrapped up in all of the hullabaloo of this commercial Christmas that we forget why Christmas exists in the first place.  And while that ageless gift exchange has its merits (and quite frankly I selfishly love it - as do we all, I’m sure), there’s just so much more to it than that.

So when you’re out there battling through that quest of finding the right gifts for those you love, just remember that the Christmas Spirit isn’t far away.  Just look to the person beside you, in front of you, behind you - no matter where you are, or who it is you’re looking at - and two words with a big, beautiful smile will help guide you right back to it.

“Merry Christmas!”

The NHL pre-season has begun and the proud members of Leafs Nation and their unrelenting haters have arisen from their summer comas.

So, I gotta ask.  What’s up with the hate?

The Leafs have drawn direct comparisons to MLB’s New York Yankees.  Yes, I can see the similarities considering both have a die hard following and both make butt loads of cash.

But as a Leafs fan, being compared to the Yankees is an insult.  I’m certainly not one to condone hating any team (aside from the Senators), but I hate the Yankees and I’m sure a lot of you are with me.  But hating on the Leafs and comparing them to the Yankees is both ridiculous and ignorant.

First of all, the Yankees are on overpaid, overpriced bunch of sell-outs who stack their team with some of the MLB’s best by throwing wads of cash at them.  Thanks to Jay-Z, their baseball caps alone probably make ka-trillions.  They’re a goddamn monopoly on a sport that I used to live, love and play.  Sure the Leafs make crap loads of money, too, but…it’s sort of hard to put into play when the NHL has a salary cap. 

By the way, the highest paid player on the Leafs is Dion Phaneuf at 6.5 million a season.  The highest paid player on the Yankees is Alex Rodriguez at 32 million a season, plus 40 virgins a month and 5 human sacrifices a year.  There’s a bit of a gap there, so don’t hate on Dion when some Dominican-American is swinging a stick and making enough money to get Canada out of debt.

On top of that, since 1996 the New York Yankees have 5 (FIVE!) World Series Titles, the latest being 2009.  That is to say, as overpaid as they are, they are a good baseball team.  The Leafs, on the other hand, haven’t even made the playoffs since 2005-2006.  That is to say, they are not a good hockey team.

The comparison here is a little strained.

I’ve been around this country of ours.  I’ve met Habs fans, Oilers fans, Flames fans, Canucks fans, Senators fans…and you know what they all have in common?  They all hate the Leafs.

But I think I finally figured it out.  Like the Yankees’ fans, Leafs fans have something the rest of the league’s fans don’t have. 

It’s called love. 

A love that will see Leafs Nation stand by their team through thick and thin.  A devotion that will find patience in understanding after years of crap records and defensive play.  An understanding that breeds appreciation for the smallest of Leaf victories.

Nobody hurts like a Leafs fan does when they miss the playoffs.  Nobody curses like a Leafs fan does when they give up a 2 goal lead.  Nobody rolls their eyes as much as a Leafs fan when their newly acquired forward gets hammered into the boards and misses the rest of the season with a concussion. 

We stick to our team.  It’s like a marriage.  And no matter how bad things get - we’re still there backing them up.

That must really bother you people.  So, instead of spending your energy and time hating the Leafs, maybe you should focus your attention on your own teams?  Oh wait, that’s right.  Nobody gives a crap about your team.

We know, one day, it’ll happen.  The Leafs will win the Stanley Cup.  And when that day comes…it’s going to be so sweet to shove it in all your scrunching hater faces.  So no matter what the standings say or what you haters say, I’m going to be screaming “GO LEAFS GO!” until the day I die….

Because I’ve got love for the Leafs.

Now, for the love of all things good and true, could you guys PLEASE make the playoffs this year so I don’t look like a complete tool?

Oh, Hey World.

It’s Shmiggens.  Remember me?  No?  Oh…

Well, I’m writing you from the fucking bottom of the barrel here.  I just wanted to send you an update on where I’m at.

I’m trying to write you an incredible story about demons and murder and betrayal, but you keep fucking with me and taking from me. 

First, you took my Mom from me - and I understand that that’s a part of life, but I was 26.  Now my Mom will never see me successful, so thanks for that. 

After that you took my sanity.  And I wanted so badly to get the fuck away from you and the rest of the mindless, hopeless zombies that parade on top of you, droning about in their stupid, uninspired lives.  You made me want to die.

Then you deceived me, sent me across the country and back again on some senseless trip that got me nothing but debt and heartbreaking depression.

Then you targeted my independence.  Slowly and carefully slipping money from between my fingers with carefully timed vehicle sabotage, expensive prescriptions and an unfinished kitchen that forces me to eat out every single night.

Now you enjoy dangling opportunities before my eyes like cheese on a string to a mouse.  I chase them but I can never catch them.  You tease me and give me false hope.  And there’s nothing more crushing than realizing your hope was misplaced.

These days I can’t even talk about these things without tears coming to my eyes.  I’m embarrassed to even see my friends and family.  I shake with fear when someone asks me ‘what are you doing for money?’ because I don’t have an answer.  You know what I had for breakfast yesterday?  Peanut butter.  No bread, no fucking bagel - just peanut butter…and I didn’t even have a spoon to fish it out of the jar with.  I can’t even walk into William’s anymore with $3.14 in my bank account for a large iced cappuccino.

So this is me telling you that I don’t have anything else you can take from me.  I’m running on empty. 

I am eternally grateful for the roof over my head, the comfortable bed I sleep in, the Xbox that keeps my mind from straying into that miserable abyss that I’ve become so fond of, but I am doing everything in my power to make something work…and you’re not helping. 

This is me telling you enough is enough.  I’m still here, I’m still holding on as my tattoo suggests.  I’ve been muscling through these obstacles and playing the cards that are dealt to me as best I can. 

Now it’s your turn.  It’s time you showed me the beauty you’re rumoured to possess.  It’s time I watched the flop with pocket aces because I don’t know what to do anymore.

Show me the path and I’ll walk it.

Another Mother’s Day approaches and I am left with only memories.

Here is something I wrote last year shortly after her passing.

There was a part of me that thought all of this would be easy. There was a part of me that was honestly happy to see her go - selfish, inconsiderate reasons. Having her off my back, and no longer feeling the responsibility and guilt of looking after or not looking after an endlessly ill Mother.
I can recall a time when I was younger, asking the powers that be to take her. I said it was because she was suffering, but deep down, I just didn’t want to live a life with half a Mother any more. One that could barely walk down the street, let alone come see where I work, or come see me play hockey. It’s funny how something so simple can become impossible. I see people around me becoming embarrassed or annoyed with their parents’ questioning or their parents’ supposed interference with their lives. And while if I had seen this 2 years ago, I would agree with them. Back off Mom and Dad…this is my life, you’ve had yours.
But now, I would give almost anything to hear my Mother ask how I am. I would tell her that her passing has left me lost. Has left me questioning what happiness is. Has left me searching for something, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what.
I would ask her to put her arms around me and I would ask her to tell me everything will be okay. No, I would beg her.
This world she has left me alone in bombards me with constant reminders. I could drown out the emotions with video games, weed and fancy laptops with wireless connections to the rest of the world…but for those of us who balance the weight of the world on our shoulders, running will only get you so far.
We are the emotional fugitives, fleeing like a guilty prisoner. The world has its eyes and ears open, and will not allow refuge.
Words escape me as easily as grains of sand through fingers. Emotions rattle through me like flashes of electricity.
I long for simpler times when Xbox and QEW traffic were my biggest obstacles. How did I end up here? When did life get so out-of-hand?

Ahhh Spring!

The sun is shining, the breeze is nice and cool, cocky dudes are outside raking the leaves in shorts and slowly but surely the cute girls are starting to come out of hibernation.

Some of them wear those skin-tight pants that show off every contour and shape of their bumbs.  I know the dudes know what I’m talking about.  The kind of pants that you can’t help but stare at when they cross the street in front of you as you wait for the red light to turn green.

Thanks Spring!

But more importantly Spring is the season for blossoming love.  Or so I’ve been told.  The rabbits and squirrels and bears and skunks are all coming out of their dirty holes in the ground to bang each other and have dozens of squealing babies.

For humans, I think this is the time of the year where our radar kind of perks up. 

Well…the single types anyhow.  Unfortunately at my age, those single types are few and far between.  So my radar has to be razor sharp.  I have to be very careful as to who’s bumb I’m checking out, know’m sayn?

Along with a radar, all of us are equipped with a filter.  A filter that allows only those who meet our standards of date material to slip through.

When you’re young, you’ll pretty much let anyone pass through the filter so long as you’re willing to bang them.

But as you get older and you go through relationship after relationship, that filter of yours shrinks and shrinks until you’ve pretty much tailored your ideal mate to a tee.  So instead of just being willing to bang them, they have to be blond, blue-eyed, like dogs, vegan, bisexual and willing to wait for you for an entire life sentence should you murder your boss.

Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass.  But we’ve been through enough shit to know what it is we want.  So fuck it.  Don’t settle.  There’s MILLIONS of people out there, and if you can’t find what you’re looking for…maybe you’re gay?

Now get out there, check out some bumbs and find what you’re lookin’ for.

Boredom strikes like an angry cold.  Often I’ll try to fend it off and cure it by sitting at home in my bed with the TV on.

When you’re unemployed you try so hard to stay in denial of boredom.  You tell yourself over and over again that you’d rather be where you are then behind the desk in some office somewhere writing for someone else.

But let’s face it - I’m bored.

Naturally I’ll revert to the classic methods of battling the boredom beast.  Video games, movies, random blog entries, harassing my friends while they work, more video games or perhaps long walks throughout town.

Unfortunately April’s showers (which, evidently, are in the process of bringing us May’s flowers) are sprinkling on my outdoor hopes and dreams.

Oh, I see.  It’s one of those days.

So it’s high time I mixed two of my favorite pass times (no pun intended).  Marijuana and romanticizing - yeah, romanticizing. 

I think it’s fair to say that every human being wants to have their own romantic tale.  Maybe it’s not a dude hanging from a Ferris Wheel and asking the girl out for a date, or obsessing over a vampire in high school…but you know…it’s something that’s going to be significant to the individual.

For me, it was always something heroic.  But then I think of what I could possibly stand up to and save a girl from and nothing comes to mind.  Maybe if a chick were being attacked by a midget I could stomp in and punt him away.  Then the typical ‘oh you’re my hero’ speak would ensue, followed by passionate kissing and groping.

I think that my personality would have to show though.  So instead, I’d meet the girl by fluke somehow - maybe in the line at William’s - at which time we’d exchange witty banter after bumping into each other. 

I’d say “Whoa, it’s not a race Sporty Spice.”  Then she’d say something like “Maybe not for you - but I bet you’re used to coming in second.”

And I would be dumbfounded and speechless because she’s pretty AND witty!  My fav. 

Of course, later that day she would be abducted by midget aliens - and the only one that can stop them and save her is me for a specific reason that I haven’t quite decided upon yet…

When I broke into their secret lair and found her bound to an operating table, she would say something like “Oh - it’s you!  You came for me!”  And I would say “They don’t call me Spiderman for nothing!” And she would say “You’re not Spiderman.” And I would say “Yeah - but the midget aliens don’t know that.”

And we’d escape and make-out.

But I kinda want my first kiss with the girl of my dreams to be under a streetlight on a foggy night for some reason.

So after we had escaped, I’d be walking her home in a world that was obviously completely oblivious to the near catastrophic midget-alien invasion that I single-handedly thwarted.  We’d stop under the streetlight by her house and she would turn to me, look up at me with her beautiful eyes and say “Muck face with me, stud.” 

And we’d do it.

What?  It could happen.  I don’t think I’m asking too much.

So…does romance even exist anymore?

Dad and I live across the street from an elementary school.  As such we are privy to the common excited shouts, screams and nonsense of childish wonder. 

But long ago, back before the days of Blackberry Messenger and status updates, there was a different type of haunting scream.

It was the banshee cry of a beast whose name shall not be mentioned.  The “FNRK” as I call it.

It lived in the corner house just down the road from our place.  During random periods of the day it could often be heard shouting and groaning from its backyard or front porch, and for the longest time I would stop what I was doing and listen.

What the furry fuckity is that fucking noise??

It was a hallow groan that seemed to be driving forward by a powerful engine but with no one behind the wheel.  It would spatter the silence for short intervals like a cuckoo clock, but die off suddenly as if someone had blown that clock off the wall with a shotgun before it could finish.

For weeks this nameless sound would terrorize me and the entire realm.

Until one fateful day…

Stepping out of the house and into the warm sunshine of the summer, I noticed a few bodies on the front yard of the corner house.  A woman and a rather overweight boy.

Paying it no mind, I moved for my car.  I looked down and opened the passenger side door to toss my bag in when the summer silence was broken.  It was the cry of the FNRK – and it was so close and so pronounced.

I looked up, and sure enough that boy that I had seen earlier was standing on his front porch barking and calling out as if he were defending the ring bearer from the Balrog itself. 

His loud moans continued as I got into my car and drove down the street passed his house.  As I did, I noticed that this overweight boy had made a decision to only wear shorts on this particular day.  Lucky for me because his boy-boobs were flip-flapping away as he hollered at the sun and beat his chest with his fists like an upset orangutan. 

And thus the legend of the FNRK was born.

This was only one of several encounters with the creature.  But it was always exciting to see the creature in his natural habitat.  At times he would run and dance around the pool in his backyard, waving his skipping-rope arms with his hands flapping at the wrists this way and that.  He would skip and laugh like a drunk, horny priest in a boys’ change room. 

Watching from a distance was safe.  I had monitored him for several weeks now and was ready to make contact.

On a late afternoon I was walking home from an early shift at what was then Brantford’s premiere Blockbuster Video.  To get home I would cut through that very same schoolyard that was across the street from my house.  In the distance, stemming from inside the FNRK’s backyard I could see a long, blue stick reaching out to whack at something on the ground.

As I drew closer I could that that something was a cat, the stick was actually a long pool scoop and the FNRK was reaching over his backyard’s fence to nab the cat with the scoop’s net.

He was having little luck.

The cat, perched at a safe distance from the scoop, simply stared at the FNRK with a taunting look.  Often is would lick its paws carelessly and yawn as if an FNRK wasn’t clawing at it.

The FNRK however had the struggles of the world on its shoulders.  He grunted and spat in frustration, straining himself like he had never done before.

That’s when the cat noticed me and bolted.  The FNRK took one last swipe and the pool scoop slipped from his grasp and clacked off the school’s parking lot pavement.

Perfect.  My moment for contact.

FNRK simply stared at the pool scoop on the ground.  He didn’t reach for it or even seem concerned. 

I approached gracefully with all the intentions of a stereotypical do-gooder.  I picked up the scoop, raised it above his wooden fence and handed it back to him.

“There you go,” I said with a warm mile.

He grabbed it from me quickly, barely even acknowledging my existence until he took it in both hands and swiped at me like it was a two-handed bastard sword.

I yelped as the moist net back caught my left shoulder and part of my gelled hair.

He went for another attack but I had jumped back to a defensive stance.  I was at a certain cat’s distance now, so the scoop flew through the summer air and back into FNRK’s backyard.

He chuckled with his mouth open, dropped the scoop and wobbled his way back into his house quickly, the whole way palming his belly with audible smacks.

The cat watched me stomp home sullenly with an invisible smirk.

Shortly after that the FNRK vanished.  But be ready people.  Somewhere out there an overweight, under-clothed kid with a knack for shout-groaning and belly-slapping could be trying to club your cat with a pool scoop.

True story.

We meet people all the time. There are so many of us out there that it’s nearly impossible to not at least see someone new every day.

Right now I’m staring at a room full of people I’ve never seen before.

It’s a lot like a sprouting tree starting at the root which is your parents and immediately family, then spreading out and reaching into the sky as our limbs grow and we step out of the fresh Earth that is our home and experience the rest of the world.

For some of us meeting new people is exciting and stimulating.

For others it’s nerve-wracking and down right painful.

Frankly the more people I meet, the more I realize how much of an individual I am.  Often when I speak my mind these days I find fewer and fewer people agree with what I’m saying and scrunch their face in confused disapproval. Even the closest parts of my family make me feel like an outcast.

That’s fine.  I have some pretty fucked up ideas and beliefs.  But I like it that way.

The older I get, the more set in my ways I get and the less likely I am to alter those beliefs just to please someone else.

I’m not here for your enjoyment - I’m here for my enjoyment.  I’m not here to do anybody any favours or live for anyone else. 

It’s taken me 28 years of sorrow, pain, suffering, self-loathing and unstable family life to finally be able to look in the mirror, smile and say:

“I’m fucking awesome.”

Why am I so awesome?  Cuz I’m not you.  You don’t think like me, you don’t act like me, you’re not as witty as me and you’re not my Mother’s son.

This isn’t vanity or my inflating ego, this is acceptance.  This is me loving myself.  And this is MY blog - so if you didn’t want to read about me, then why the fuck did you click on this link in the first fucking place?

This is me turning back to all those people in the past that I tried SO hard to mold myself for and adjust for JUST to be accepted, flipping them the bird and saying “I don’t need or care for your acceptance.  I never had it in the first place and I don’t want it.”

I’m an understanding guy, but I’ll swear your ears off.  I’m not into heavy drugs, but I’ll light a joint with my boys on any occasion.  I’m very patient, but if you step out of line, I’ll put you in your place.  I love my friends and family and accept them for who they are, but if you fuck around or don’t show me that same love and respect, I’ll drop you like a hot potato. 

I’m twenty-fucking-eight.  And what makes me happy is being that guy in the corner of Williams’, writing feverishly, listening to the Deftones, throwing out sarcastic, witty comments at the wait staff and sipping on my half-coffee-half-hot-chocolate. I’m not making any compromises anymore.  I’m not ‘settling’.  No more needless adventures.  No more ‘test runs’.  No more experiments.  It’s not about anybody but me.

I don’t ask for much.  Just the opportunity to be myself.  I’m passionate about that and will defend it with everything I can throw at you.  If you’ve ever seen me passionate you know how fucking psycho I can get.

I’m crazy.  And when someone calls me that, I take it as a compliment.  And if I call you that, that’s me giving you a compliment.

One of my own favourite quotes to one of my exes was: “You’re new flowers booming gracefully in the warm summer breeze; I’m clean, polished gravestones standing tall under the pale moonlight.”

If you think that statement is ‘bad’ or ‘horrible’, then think again because I LOVE that line.  That’s how I feel, I LIKE to think that way.  So if you can’t accept that or if you have a problem with it…then there’s something wrong with YOU, not ME.

If I could wish for anything it would be for EVERYONE to realize this kind of love and acceptance. Because if you’re not cool with you - you won’t be cool with anyone or anything.

Miggidy-make yourself, or briggidy-break yourself, asshole.

Now stop fucking blog-stalking me and go do something you love to do.

The mind is indeed a powerful thing.  You wanna hear a song, just think about it.  You wanna score the goal that wins the Stanley Cup, just use your imagination.  Left your laptop at home while you’re on a trip across the country and can’t find anything good to beat off to, just picture your grade one teacher all greased up and horny.  Don’t feel like having a healthy night’s sleep, just put your life’s worries, complications, frustrations and inadequacies on repeat and there won’t be a lot of rest happening any time soon.

On the stucco-encrusted ceiling of my bedroom there was a tiny spider slowly inching his way into a dark corner.  I watched him until he faded into the darkness. 

Merlin, I named him.

I envied Merlin’s simple, miraculous life.  Eat, sleep, fuck, reproduce and survive.  A spider will never stop and wonder if he’s too skinny.  A spider will never fear that he’s turning into his father.  A spider will never become suicidal.  But a spider will defy gravity and crawl on the ceiling.  A spider will spin super strong silk webs in beautiful design to catch its prey.  A spider will bite me and transfer its abilities to me and help me become a super hero.

Okay, that last part is pretty much bullshit.  But I wonder if a spider will ever lose sleep like I do?

I slowly roll to the edge of the bed and let myself teeter off.  I pick myself up and sit on the corner of the bed closest to the now invisible spider.  I look back up at the ceiling to see if I can see him again, but it looks like he’s moved on with his life without me. 

Bastard.  I could’ve killed you, ya know.  I wipe the right side of my face. 

It’s 3:40 am, but thankfully it’s a Saturday.  No early morning tomorrow.

I grumble to my feet and stagger/feel my way towards the hallway, then creep into the bathroom.  I smack the wall on my right a few times to find the light switch.  The light flickers and tears at my eyes like an agonizing memory storming back into my brain.

I stare long and hard at myself in the dirty mirror.  The thick, dark bags under my eyes are a testament to my uncontrolled chaotic mind running rampant like a runaway horse-pulled coach.

An overactive imagination is both a blessing and a curse.

It’s powerful.  Unchecked it can wreak havoc on a young mind. 

If you look in the mirror and see the bones of your ribcage as clear as day, you may tell yourself you’re too skinny, then your imagination will elaborate.  It will force you to wear 3 layers of shirts in the blazing heat of the summer.

If you step on the ice for your first shift of the game and see yourself falling on your ass and missing that one-timer, your imagination will feed off of it.  It will make you fan on your clearing attempt and give the other team’s center a breakaway that leads to the game winning goal.

If you pour your heart and soul into a tale of aliens that invade a man’s central nervous system, re-read it and tell yourself it’s not good enough, then your imagination will agree.  It will agree so readily that it will come back to you and tell you nothing you do is good enough.  Ever.

It will beat you down and create images, scenarios and assumptions that depict you failing.

And who can live like that?

Our reality is bent by our perception.

Yes, we can define our reality by what we see, hear and touch.  But all of those senses are processed by our minds.  And our minds are influenced by our perceptions.  And our perceptions are influenced by our imagination.

If you were to walk down a busy street one day and overhear a story about a man traveling to British Columbia and snowboarding down the hills at Whistler, you might be the type of person that doesn’t give a shit about that sort of thing.

A true story that had absolutely no influence on you what so ever.

If you were in the movie theater watching Indiana Jones propel from a nuclear blast in a lead-lined refrigerator landing unharmed hundreds of yards away, it may have lead you to question whether or not that sort of thing was even possible.

Ten years from now you’re a Nuclear Physicist testing lead-lined refrigerators on some remote island by blowing them up with massive nukes.

That stupid scene drove you to do something incredible.

So what was more real to you?  What had more impact?

This ‘fiction’ has become more of a reality in our minds then some truths.  It shapes us, bends us and warps us to search for the unknown, the mysterious and the unexplainable…because we all hope it exists.

It drives us to move forward.  It helps us create, it helps us to solve problems and it helps us to love one another.

But it is also damning. 

It breeds malicious creatures that lurk in the shadows, anxiously waiting for their opportunity to drain our blood or take our flesh for their own.

It tells us that people who are different are corrupt or evil.

It forms religious beliefs that often damn others.

It creates unfathomable insecurities, jealousies and anguish.

It is what makes us human.  Humans capable of unquestionable good and horrifyingly destructive evil.

So as you read this story, remember to ask yourself what you define as your reality.

This book will generate images and scenarios in your mind that you will not be able to forget.  It will puncture the fabric of good and evil, and twist your mind to match my own.

For what is reality but what we perceive?

And if imagination is what makes us truly human, how much of it are you willing to dismiss?