Casual Entropy

Tag: life

  • Destroy after Reading

    Your on the clock. Your lawyer or friend or someone calls you and tells you, you have 3 hours before the police come to your door to arrest you for a crime either you’ve committed or not, but there is a very solid chance you might not get a moment outside of prison ever again. What do you do?

    Sure I was high and in the middle of taking a piss that felt amazing, but my brain made mention of this mid stream as some cop show was on tv talking about “so and so going away fpr life” and I just went ‘okay, start the clock’. I then proceeded to do all the things I knew I could in 3-ish hours. And not just the regular stuff. All the things that mattered to me knowing there is a chance I would not be able to do those things again.

    And for good reason. This isn’t something you could plan. You wouldn’t have the chance to let people know this is happening except for in the 4 hour marker (I avoided this step so as to not alarm those in my life), and what you have realistically in reach is what is there. Sure, I guess one could get to an airport and buy a ticket and fly but my mind said no to that option, I did not want to actually purchase a ticket to “flee”. Again, mindset was ‘do what matters most to you right now before you can not have it again.

    I started by turning the tv off and putting on some music. I love music, always have, but this time around, knowing there would be a chance I would be deprived of music once “brought in”, it was just easy. Some playlist I normally play, but to me it didn’t matter. Just having it on in the background I knew would be nice. Next, it was off to the kitchen. It was early evening and I had yet to eat and knew I needed to make dinner. Considering I love cooking my brain knew that this was a love. but I had of course only what I had previously bought that week and was near the end of my shopping supply. Not much was in the fridge and not much was in dry storage but that felt strangely nice and somehow wonderful. Sometimes when after a large grocery shopping trip to set myself up for many weeks, I can get overwhelmed with what to cook myself or that sometimes plans might not go accordingly. For instance getting a whole chicken from a local butcher and realizing the night I wanted to spend a couple hours to cook it, a friend of mine would invite me over for games or food; ultimately putting off my chicken being roasted.

    I found 3/4’s of a packet of fettuccine noodles in dry storage and two frozen sausages in my freezer from a butcher near by. Grabbing garlic, red pepper flakes, olive oil and the last of a tube of anchovy paste I had in the fridge I did my self up a quick Italian pasta dish. I think the high end chorizo sausage links might have made any true Italian turn their nose up at me, but the garlic and pepper flakes were true to the pan sauce I made and it was lovely. Platting my food, looking at my timer, I had a little less than 2 and a half hours left. Not bad. I proceeded to sit in my favorite chair at my table, yes I think most people have one spot or a couple in their houses or rooms where it is undeniably your favorite to be. My brain thought, well there is a bottle of wine I had been saving for a special occasion, so I headed quickly to my storage room in the basement of my condo complex, and I pulled it out. No better time than now after all. Drinking my bottle of wine and eating that meal, music in the background I was loving every moment.

    But I was realizing something I would have also loved to have there. I would consider myself an extrovert to an extent. And genuinely I knew that if I were to be taken into custody on a specific day, the cops would show up to an out of control party where I would have had to been shuffled away from family and friends. But living by my own set rules, I did not have time to contact anyone. Sure I think if it were a real situation a few phone calls would have some people swing by for a meal and some wine. I just had to make a mental note that I do enjoy people in my life and the company and hosting.

    So I settled for the closet I could get. I wrote a letter. One that could be read that highlighted those in my life that I loved and wanted to let them know their importance to me. I truly was having a hard time writing down each and every person and it got me thinking about those who do their wills. How do you tell people in your life how much they impacted you. I know that is not what wills are meant for, really, but I guess how does one go about telling each person who has helped shape their lives how much they mean. I would hope those who have passed through mine know, and maybe I should be better at letting them know now so they don’t ever question what influence they had.

    After my letter and food, with half a bottle of wine left, and an hour and twenty-ish minutes left, I cleaned my apartment. And I mean I did everything. I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen immediately, I picked up the living room and watered the plants, I even did a load of laundry and put new sheets on the bed. I didn’t want to leave my apartment dirty. Not for my roommate or even family if they came over after I was taken. I was never one to keep a spotless room, still am not, but my mind could not handle the idea of leaving anyone else my or even just a mess to clean up. And I guess that speaks as to who I am on a deeper level. If anything I don’t want to leave other people my mess in any instance. I have spent time cleaning up others messes, and I don’t mind it, sure I do not prefer it. But its just something I don’t want to do to others.

    I finished off the bottle of wine while showering and cleaning myself finally, in a newly clean apartment, and listening to an Oscar Peterson Trio album I put on. I spent the last 5 minutes sitting on my couch, a solid buzz between the weed and the wine, and just took in my apartment. I truly loved the way my apartment looked, smelled, its temperature, and its contents. I realized I have over the years curated a place I truly feel I belong and am comfortable in. Sure, I thought about how I should have gone outside and walked around a little, after all I love the outdoors and walking, but the cleaning took more time than I was hoping and I really wanted to ensure that was done.

    And then my phones alarm went off, cutting off the middle of a song I love, and I got anxious as I looked immediately at my door. Waiting for the sound of a fist to pound against the door asking to open up so I could be taken into custody. After all, I had spent the last three hours living in the world where this was supposed to happen.

    But it didn’t happen. Nothing happened except my phones alarm still making noise over my speakers. I silenced the alarm, the song came back on, and I still stared at the door, just waiting.

    I don’t think I could actually every be ready. nor do I think most people should try this. I would especially suggest against it if you are prone to any form of anxiety. But of course when I was at a developmental age I heard an Allen Watts lecture on Death and how individuals should imagine their own deaths. In doing so when the individual realizes they are in fact not dead but alive, that thought process brings new renewed energy back to oneself. Of course I am paraphrasing here but he used the terms that the thought process can act as a fertilizer to ones garden of life. So why wouldn’t I try something similar.

    It took me about 30 more minutes to calm down. And really calm down. I must have opened and closed the door two to three times to make sure no one was actually on the other side. And I am sure the edible high and bottle of wine did me no favors. And I took that walk. It was dark and cold, a late fall night. But I made sure I put in several blocks that night. The cool air had a relaxing effect I think some people can say they too have experienced. Whether your body is hot or your mind, cool dry air does something magical to the blood.

    I don’t think I learned anything profound by this little thought and physical experiment. I did what I do most nights. Except that I did not use my phone or TV the way I sometimes do. I didn’t even use books as a distraction. I did some things to me that were the most important. I wine and dined myself, tried to let others know how much I loved them and how much they meant to me, and cleaned to make sure I was not a burden on others.

    Maybe next time I do something I wouldn’t normally do. Maybe next time I make sure not to get high before.

    *I forgot about the letter I wrote until a couple days later when I was putting away clothes in my room. I was smart in at least putting it away because re-reading it a couple days later, I could see how given a random friend or roommate might think it has the makings of a suicide letter. Course missing all the parts of wanting to die or not being happy, but more of thanking those in my life for allowing my the happiness I have had in it. What surpsied me was I forgot I wrote on the front of the envelope, “do not throw, please read”.

  • One of Us

    Really it started when I was 14, working my first construction job. I was building playgrounds and there was a level of dirtiness that came with the work. My own parents told me I would end up having to pay for my own clothes if I continued to wear my nice shirts and pants to work. Fair, I can understand that coming home with oil and concrete cooked into my jeans was not reasonable. Moving on into my late teens and early twenties, when buying my own clothing was my responsibility, I understood this even more. Buying a (at the time 60 dollar pair of Levis) to then have them covered in stains and grime less than a week into their life spans, I decided to opt for the 15 dollar a pair jeans from off brand stores, and would by my shirts in the 3 packs, setting a standard for construction jobs for years to come.

    the thing about 15 dollar jeans if that they end up falling a part very quickly, when really any abrasiveness comes against them. Zippers skip, hems come undone, rivets pop at the slightest stress, fast fashion at its finest. On top of that, do take into mind, on a construction hourly wage, the idea of purchasing nice clothing was also not in the budget. The nicest articles of clothing I owned was my boots and nice wool socks. Everything else would get purchased, used and abused, and then thrown away in the span of two to three months depending on the project.

    fast forward to 2017 and I am in back home in Denver working for 14 dollars an hour building high end furniture with one other individual. We were installing tables and benches we were furnishing for a restaurant located in Capital Hill. I was probably two months into my clothing. Where now individuals are scratching holes in their shirts and jeans for the whole “worker/ work wear, carpenters look”, I would have been crowned by the local community now as their king given my overall disheveled look. But in 2017, this was not the look. Far from it I would say. In my mind, with my stained hands and arms, cut up and bruised from the work itself, destroyed baseball cap, ripped jeans and boots with holes burned into them from the metal grinders spitting off sparks, a t-shirt that was more stains and dried glue than fabric at this point, and a look in my eyes as though I had not slept in weeks (this probably was true and realistic), I felt like one of the men in the famous painting, “Lunch Atop a Skyscraper”. A living embodiment of the hard working American working towards the American Dream. Hard at work and with a sense of pride in my work.

    During lunch time at the restaurant we were doing a load in at, I decided I would sit outside in the sidewalk so as to enjoy the first of springs warm sunlight, and grab some well needed warmth after a long winter, while my boss at the time headed off for his 5th 2 liter soda and 3rd cheeseburger of the day.

    I still remember what an outrageously beautiful day it was sitting there enjoying a literal brown bagged lunch I had brought from my home; made simply of a sandwich and some flaming hot Cheetos I had packed, and thankfully the restaurant let me take a large paper cup I was able to fill with some stale coffee they had laying around from a morning meeting. Sitting there eating I was feeling those moments of ‘quite peace’ I could only imagine at the time is lost for a lot of individuals who work in offices.

    Two of what I could only imagine being Colorado’s finest versions of ‘transplant hipster’, were walking down the street, coming from a new, expensive deli down the street. I am talking gauge piercings, tight pants, and tattoos covering each arm, one with the ironic mustache in full waxed beauty. When they walked past, one with a doggy bag dropped it at my feet while the other proceeded to shove a few crumpled dollar bills in my coffee cup (still with liquid in it), one looked at me with a broad teethy smile, while the one with the mustache did a literal “tip of a hat”, mind you having no hat in sight, simply mimicking the gesture as though he had actually brought his favorite flat cap that he left at his house.

    Silent I sat there, of course seeing this all happen in the span of 10 seconds I was unsure as to how to respond besides the whole “hey…um what…?” while looking at the few crumbled bills currently imbibing brown liquid, but looking back and forth between the two new objects in my possession, and the two individuals, I had no option but a tired brain to hold the food back up to the one individual and then reach for the wet dollar bills sitting in now what could be considered as simply a finance bros witches brew.

    “Those are for you man” said the individual who dropped the doggy bag of food in which I responded, “I don’t want it.” The doggy bag man stopped walking while his mustachioed counterpart continued to walk, looking back at me as how could I turn down his generosity. “here take it back” I remember saying as I tossed the bag to his feet. Huffing and with a look that said ‘how dare you’, he grabbed the bag and turned around tossing them with anger into the trash only a few steps up the road, ensuring to say back to me “your loss” before catching up to his friend at the light. It was all of about 30 seconds before I thought to myself, what the hell just happened, when it snapped to me, food and cash, these two thought I was homeless. Not realizing the situtation and from what I looked like from their point of view. A kid in his early twenties sitting outside on the ground in front of an unopened store, clothes ripped and stained, the dirt and grim on my face and hands, boots with holes and a ripped up lunch and coffee looking tired with eyes closed.

    I am not sure many people have been mistaken for homeless. And I get that I am coming from a position of privilege seeing as though I am not homeless, but, it deeply fucks with your brain the first moment. your brain just sits and thinks “have I let myself go so much that others see me as homeless? The thing is though, the second time that it happens, the cognitive dissonance quiets. Because while this moment was a first, it was not the last time. This became a regular occurrence for me up until leaving that first woodshop half a year later. In between that time having no more than a couple dozen individuals offering me food, cash, or even one nice convince store owner bringing me a bottle of water and a loosy, asking if I needed a light. After the 5th/6th time I started to simply stop rejecting and instead thanking the individuals. And I was not turning these people down because I didnt feel deserving of these peoples kindness. It wasn’t because I felt that the kindness was more deserved for actual homeless people. For a moment I recalled even once thinking “who am I to strip these people of the good they will feel, for hopefully even just an hour?”. One time a lady gave me a whole 10 dollars before getting back into her G-Waggon and I thought to myself she will go and tell all her freinds about how she helped out a young homeless man earlier that day while leaving her pilates class in Cherry Creek. Little does she know she probably orders coffee at the very place next door whose furniture I built. But the idea of letting people do good things and feel good inst why I stopped turning people down. Around the 5th/6th time that it happened, the time a person handed me half their burrito bowl from Illegal Pete’s down the street, I simply stopped declining because I was just tired. It was one more thing on my plate in the day I genuinely did not care about. And once the individual turned the corner I tossed their leftovers in the roll off sitting in front of me. These moments consistently happened time and time again, getting to a point where I couldn’t help but think there had to be some reason why and that there must be some lesson I should be learning. Sure clothes had to do something about it this I know of, otherwise I would not have started this post off about my crucial decision to purchase the bottom of the barrel in style. But when taken into account that this would even continue to happen even if I was in new clothing what could it have been. What about the couple of times that while outside a job site while taking a 5 minute phone call or giving my lungs a break while they workers inside smeared noxious compound around, someone would pass me a handful of change from their pocket and later that evening walking into a grocery store, a man would ask if I was able to spare change, not once changing my outfit.

    Still to this day can not understand what it is that I needed to learn or if in fact I did learn anything. Or if anyone should learn from this. Some may say that there is hope behind these individuals actions and that the people of this community will continue to look after those in need. Id suggest maybe taking a solid look at the community and see if you really believe that or if you just want to. Some may say I was in the wrong here but I am not sure how one would go about arguing how I was in the wrong.

    And maybe this strange time in my life of living on a literal threshold between homeless and non-homeless depending on the individual looking at me has no meaning and never meant to have one. Just almost a decade later, I still think about this at times. Maybe one day it will click for me.

    for now, I can say I buy nicer clothes.