My Many Identities

• Tragically In Debt

It all started with a credit card. I thought I could handle it; I was wrong. At first I was responsible, paying off my debt every month. But then one of my friends suggested that it was OK to spend more than I had. Isn’t that why I got the credit card in the first place? Talk about a deal with the devil. It’s one of my biggest regrets. I started putting more and more on my cards--TVs, a washing machine, a king size bed, furniture, my back tattoo, car repairs... before I knew it, I was $20,000 in debt. And that wasn’t even counting the medical bills for my eye surgery, my car loans, or my student loans.

When I was younger, they told me money doesn’t buy happiness. This, I have learned, is only half-true. Money doesn’t buy happiness, but not having enough money can cause a lot of stress and unhappiness. That’s the only thing I regret about my career choice--I wish I could be financially stable. I’m working at slowly chipping away at my debt, but it has changed my view of the world and of myself.

I have this huge fear of dying in debt, of owing the world something. It’s why I’m always hustling, working second jobs and doing little things to make a buck. Someday I’ll be debt free, and maybe then I can truly enjoy life again.

• Too Scared to Publish

How can I teach writing if I don’t publish something? I should at least have a poem in a magazine or something. But I never get to the publishing of what I’ve written. There’s always an excuse. I’m too busy with school. I’m working on a new story, so I don’t have time to revise the other one. I’ll get to it next week, after I’ve cleaned the toilet. The excuses just seem to stack up, but I know, deep down, the real reason I haven’t published something: I’m scared.

Fear is natural in humans, and fear of rejection is all too natural for a human like me. I’m afraid if I send something off to be published--something I’ve poured my heart and soul or my blood sweat and tears or even my time into--I’m afraid I will be told it isn’t good enough. And isn’t that my whole life? Wanting to prove myself to be good enough? I’ve always felt like there was something wrong with me, like I didn’t deserve anything, like I’d never do something important even though I knew I was capable.

I’m working on overcoming my fears and excuses. It was my dream as Kel Alexis to be a famous author, and I am telling myself that after I finish NaNo this year I really will commit to revising, editing, and PUBLISHING my new novel, High Stakes.

• Too Many Ideas at Once

My mind is full of ideas and they bounce around like ping pong balls in a wind tunnel ricocheting off walls and fan blades, going pop pop one into the next until my entire field of vision is a white blur and I can’t remember what I was thinking about because a new idea comes into my head and I know whatever was there before was important but now I can only focus on this one thing I’m thinking about now and it’s like the ideas are tiny explosions each louder than the one before and each demanding attention. There was a time I could focus on one thing or even multi-task on many but now it just seems like I can’t ever finish what I start because there are just too many things and it’s easier to bounce from one to the next than to do the thing that really matters, to look deeply at myself and my world and really see any real truth. I guess that’s why i never finish what I

• Overbooked and Confused

When I was in college, I kept an agenda so that I could keep track of all my classes and activities. Somehow, when I graduated, my ability to use a calendar dissipated. I tried keeping a day planner and even a Google Calendar, but I always forgot to write down my appointments and due dates. And even when I remembered to write down important events, I often forgot to check my calendar. So I just started trying to keep it all in my good old brain, which used to be so reliable.

Now I have to depend on my friends to tell me if I have game duty or special events. I commit too much of my time to various activities and end up not being able to do everything. As a result, I rush through life and never sleep. It’s self-destructive, I know, but what do I do that isn’t?

• Mr. Talks-to-Himself

I constantly talk to myself. Whether I’m watching reality TV, working on a writing project, or cooking dinner, I’m kept company by the sound of my own voice. I suppose I keep myself from being lonely. Sometimes, talking to myself helps me think through all the scattered ideas in my brain. But most of the time I suppose it’s pathetic self-stimulation, an attempt to communicate with the only person who is always able to listen and often the only one gives half a care.

• Chronic Crybaby

I cry. I cry over stupid things. Mostly I cry at the end of movies and books. It doesn’t matter if it’s a happy ending, or sad, or even corny. Something about an ending triggers a Pavlovian response in my brain, and the tear ducts just activate.

It’s not very often I cry at real life. Once in a rare while, something will catch me off guard. But most of my tears are leaked out on fantasy.

When I was at the Vertical Horizon concert, Matt played an acoustic version of The Man Who Would Be Santa and I randomly started crying. I guess I was thinking about my dad.

They say that crying is cathartic, that it purifies the soul and purges negative feelings. I wish that my crying would do that for me; usually it just leaves me feeling very tired, and mildly wet.