**** Note to Readers/Self: This Volume feels like the most challenging to write so far. If Volume 2 was stretching an entire year of my life across 12 chapters, Volume 3 I’m only giving each year a single post. And one of the downsides to this is it feels like I’m barely able to dive into things in depth. This section is feeling like skipping stones across the water where the rock just barely touches the surface multiple times before sinking below.

There is so much happening in my life during these years and in the struggles with deconstruction and mental illness and LifePartners that I feel like I’m probably gonna have to do multiple passes on this section and add in everything I’m leaving out for the second draft.

As well, a core concern I have is the privacy of my family members who– while they are supportive of my efforts here– deserve their anonymity and how to talk about these things… I haven’t fully fleshed out in my mind and the process is happening on the page in real time. And so I am inclined to defer to writing less rather than writing more when it comes to my family as best as possible. Err on the side of caution and privacy.

So, I expect this to be a messy Volume/Draft. If there are narratives that are unclear, if I’m not making sense or skipping through stuff too fast and it’s difficult to follow, please let me know in the comments. There’s dozens of narratives occurring and overlapping and what’s clear and easy to understand in my head doesn’t always pan out for the readers. Notes are helpful for future drafts!****

As 1999 morphs into 2000, I would graduate from the Academy of Radio Broadcasting, and due to my proficiency in production and sound design, The Academy would hire me as one of the day counselors to be the go-to support staffer for all the students who are learning how to edit.

Oh… and halfway into my time at ARB a new-fangled contraption appeared in every production studio: A COMPUTER!

And now we’re learning how to edit digitally on the very first sound editing programs. This process was so slow that I actually edited faster by hand using a razor blade than waiting for the computer to process each edit.

Modern tech has entered the room! And this will lead to the democratization of audio art… which I may or may not cover later.

Point being… the times they are a-changing right at the cusp of the 21st Century.

***I don’t know how to write this next bit so I’m just gonna flow and if it doesn’t make sense IT’S A ROUGH DRAFT….***

In late ’99, multiple issues are colliding in my life. I have a LifePartner™ who lives in Orange County. I am living back with my folks who live in LA County. Half of my life is split between these two regions. My FutureSpouse™ is in school full time 45 miles away from where I live. I am going to school/working in Huntington Beach every day and trying to see my girlfriend for 5 minutes before heading back up to my folk’s house an hour away– this is Southern California. Everyone who lives in the “Inland Empire” drives at least 45 mins one way to get anywhere. It’s 45 minutes to LA. 45 Minutes to Anaheim.

As a result, the budding romance of our hero is suffering. Our two love birds are so busy in school and work and they live so far apart… and the internet exists but it’s slow dial up and so communicating was difficult.

Inevitably, the only time we can get together is late at night. Either she would drive up to my house, or I’d stop by her dorm on the way home from HB. There’s geography here that doesn’t really matter to anyone.

As a result of this conundrum, often either one of us would be too tired to drive the 45 minutes back to our respective homes. And her dorm wouldn’t allow me to stay over, so she’d end up coming to my home and often would crash the night in my room while I chastely slept on the sofa in the living room. This begins causing problems in my relationship with Religious Parent™ who has instituted a series of conditions for my being allowed to live there again after being kicked out at 18-19.

These conditions are becoming more unrealistic as I’m 21-22 and not a teenager/high-schooler anymore. The more my life is entering adulthood, the more draconian the efforts to control my time and behavior were. Fucking Evangelicals™ always see their offspring as perpetually children. I think it’s part of the OCD side of The Church™.

At some point, around the time that my cluster headaches are exploding behind my eyeballs and causing panic attacks, an ultimatum is given to me: No more girlfriends staying the night irregardless of how tired we are. Unmarried couples aren’t supposed to be sleeping under the same roof.

This ultimatum occurs right at the time LifePartner™ finishes college and only has one summer left to live on campus before being thrust into the real world.

I’m struggling with the intense parentification of Religious Parent’s™ Rules & Regulations right at the time that my partner needs to find a paying roommate.

And since The Church™ already believes I’m an apostate, and since I’m a Prodigal™ anyway… if I can’t have my partner stay the evening at Religious Parent’s™ home (a rule they have every right to enforce), well the easy answer here is to move in together!

Religious Parent™ does. not. like. this. one. bit.

It strains an already-strained relationship.

I would observe in later years, when I finally meet the fans, that this is a rather common occurrence for Fucking Evangelicals™. A LOT of young evangelicals get married IMMEDIATELY after graduating college. It’s one of the easiest ways to get away from your abusive parent’s environment and it usually coincides with people having their FirstAdultRelationship™. Often getting hooked up permanently is a way to solve the temporary problem of how to get the fuck out of your parent’s house.

Raise your hands if you did that!!!

I see you over there.

Though it would be years before I’d see there was a pattern there, here is where I finally make the decision on my own to move out of my childhood home and start my life with FutureSpouse™.

A question readers may ask:

Why didn’t you just get married?

Oof.

That is a whole entry all unto itself.

But If I were to sum it up in one paragraph, I was struggling with one foot in Evangelicaltopia™ and one foot in SecularApostateWorld™. And this would show up in often counterintuitive and contradictory ways. I had been raised to believe that the man in the relationship should be “The Provider™” and since I was unable to afford my own apartment or be financially secure on any level– residuals would have helped here, assholes– I didn’t feel like I was capable of a full lifetime commitment.

And even though LifePartner™ was the first person I had ever said the words “I am mentally ill” to… and that didn’t make her run screaming into the hills to get as far away from me as possible… I still felt unworthy of being someone who somebody else would want to marry.

Also, being pushed out of The Church™ had me feeling I was a sinning Prodigal™ so… what more harm can occur? I’m already an attempted self-murderer. Surely, living with my LifePartner™ is a lesser sin than murder, right? And if I’m going to hell for my suicides, then I may as well enjoy the rest of my life the way I want.

My budding deconstruction during this time is often contradictory. As much as I’m straining against the chains of my family religion, I’m terrified of leaving the safety of it. But, it’s clear that my life path has shifted away from The Puritanical Model of Courtship.

I’m certain that many devout Fucking Evangelical™ readers are already tsk-tsking the hell out of my life story at this point.

Cigarettes? Living in Sin™? Suicides? Self-harm?

See, Dave… by not following Jesus to the letter you’ve set yourself up for all this pain to come.

But, I would argue I was doing everything asked of me when it all fell apart. And when the institutions that always guaranteed me they would be there failed to do so… who was the hypocrite?

The 17-18-19-20 year old who is shut out of the world I knew?

Or The Church™ that doesn’t actually give a fuck about people like me?

Is the problem that I’m a sinner?

Or that I’ve been pushed into situations where I end up sinning?

And now that The Church™ can declare me a sinner they don’t have to help me.

And so… where the hell do you go?

Being adrift in my evangelical world, I found more of a home in my secular world.

A subject I have not discussed much, cause I don’t know how to execute it better, is the issue of Self Harm™.

For some reason, telling the world about suicide bothers me less than discussing the issue of Self Harm™. And considering how I really do NOT want the world to know about my suicides… imagine how harder this other thing is to write about.

During the 6 years between 1994 and 2000, I struggle with the reality of the shittiness of my situation. Can’t go to college like all my friends. Failure left and right. And while I am having successes… I don’t really register positive things in my brain.

I am still filled with self hatred.

To the world, I’m the guy that wants to hear all about your life story and politely defers when asked about myself. In private, I struggle to understand why my life fell apart. And why I was unable to prevent these things from happening.

I’m smart. I’m talented. I’m good at solving problems.

Why can’t I fix this problem?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why am I so shitty?

Why do I suck so much?

My Depression Brain is still lurking in the background. And the meds never really made the Depression Brain any better. Every set back is proof that I suck and am a Loser. Every failure confirms the reasons why I should have never been born.

One way this manifested in my day to day life–

fuck this is not something I want to write about—

I struggled with mirrors during this time of my life and for many years afterwards.

Mirrors, Dave?

Yes.

Reflections of myself.

I hated looking at myself.

I hated seeing this shitty person that can’t get their fucking life together.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT CAN’T GET BACK TO YOUR ACTING CAREER?

WHY CAN’T YOU MAKE ENOUGH OF A LIVING TO SUPPORT A LIFEPARTNER™?

WHY CAN’T YOU FINISH COLLEGE LIKE EVERYONE YOU KNOW?

WHY DO YOU SUCK SO MUCH?

Every milestone that happened in the peers around me would amplify my failures and the depression would be infused with new fuel and burn ever-hotter.

This is hidden from the world. I have promised myself and God– who I still mostly believe in– that I would not try to kill myself ever again.

The massive attempt in ’94… if I failed there, then the message was clear:

I. Am. Not. Going. To. Kill. Myself.

Because I failed at it.

Thrice.

No point trying again.

There are rules I have violated in the Natural Order of Things and since suicide is no longer an option, what do I do with these horrific feelings of self hatred?

I developed a terrible habit of– ugh– every time I would see myself in the mirror…

I would tell my reflection, “I hate you.”

This is so gross to write for public consumption.

Dear Fans,
Please understand how much I love you– and am terrified by you– to debase myself like this for your education.

May you please find some Fucking Empathy™.

“I hate you!”

Verbally.

Out loud.

And I meant every fucking word of it.

It’s embarrassing as hell to admit, but it is a Truth of my life. For years, I would avoid looking at myself in mirrors. There are no pictures of myself in my home. It’s hard for me over the years to actually look at myself without feeling an intense, brutal revulsion.

This isn’t fake.

It’s very real.

My greatest enemy in my life… was me.

I hated me more than anybody else on earth could ever possibly hate me.

You think I suck? Wait til you hear much I think I suck!

Often the feelings of self-hatred are so intense, and my OCD brain won’t stop Ruminating and repeating these mantras of self-hatred…. And what do you do when your brain won’t stop yelling at you about how much you hate yourself?

Well, remember how I said I punched things in the Year From Hell Volume 2? Windows, doors, bed frames…

*sigh*

Eventually, I hit my head.

And I start punching the ever-loving shit out of myself when I can’t get my brain to stop. Keep in mind, now that I’m an adult… I have no quality health insurance because all of my jobs are part time and don’t provide it and the ACA doesn’t exist yet.

So I can’t afford therapy to deal with all the undealt-with trauma I experienced during those years. All that was neatly tucked away into my noggin that I beat the shit out of regularly to try to knock myself out so I don’t have to have rumination destroying my sense of self.

It wasn’t every day… but often, behind closed doors… in the privacy of my room, having just seen my reflection… I would beat the shit out of my head in an attempt to knock myself unconscious because I hated myself with a passion that is impossible to find words for.

I can’t believe I’m actually writing this.

But we gotta talk about these things.

1999 was the year one of my grandparents died and my parents would inherit a portion of her estate. Since my partner and I were already living together, and Religious Parent™ had largely chilled-out about it after a year… an opportunity arises where they need to put some money into an investment and since The One™ and I are in need of housing after our roommate has ousted us because my mental health issues/self mutilation problems were becoming too much to bear.

And my folks, seeing that our relationship was pretty solidly committed despite a ring, made the decision to purchase a condo for us to live in.

There was enough money for a downpayment so long as LifePartner™ and I and one of my BFFs and his partner paid the mortgage note. Two young couples living under one roof. The two men are BFFs who happen to work at the same job together for the DJ company.

I do not recommend living with your best friend who is also your coworker when you have unresolved mental health issues.

I was not always the best roommate.

The condo was purchased in a corner of Ontario, California in a planned subdivision called “Creekside”.

It is called “Tweekside™” by the people who live there.

Tweekside™ looks like a lovely AnchorBabySuburbanBubble™ neighborhood, but that’s only because it has an HOA and a pool and lovely mowed public spaces which lulls you into thinking this is Suburbtopia™.

But Tweekside™ is actually GhettoLite™.

I don’t know this yet, because I’m so busy working that I never had much time to spend in the neighborhood. I’d come home from work, hang out with The One™ and BFF & HisOne™. Go to sleep– when my brain let me– and get up do it all over again.

And the Tweekside™ narrative arrives next post… but the main thing to know about my set up is that I’m living in a condo, owned by my parents, that I and 3 other roommates are contributing to cover the mortgage payments as rent.

My day jobs during the week, in the mornings I work for the DJ/Events company as an office manager, and in the afternoons I’d drive down to Huntington Beach and clock in at The Academy. Weekends I’m still a performer DJ. Easy money.

And while these jobs are ok and they pay the bills, they don’t really satisfy that Unusual Itch™ that’s been lingering in my brain since I heard Hal’s Voice. The Academy did have me close enough to the sound design world that I could at least get a taste of the career I can’t have… but it came up short. It’s like being a roadie for a band when what you want to do is be on stage. I don’t mind stage managing… I’m willing to do my part… but where I shine is in the spotlight. And working effectively 2 office jobs is not scratching that itch.

As the months of 2000 scroll by, I’m spending enough time at the Academy as an employee that I’m getting to know some of the regular lecturers that are brought in to teach various industry concepts. And these regular lecturers were industry professionals. ARB was very serious about creating a system of job placement after graduating and they took educating their students very seriously. Bringing in industry pros was a core part of that education.

It was a practical education and not a theoretical/academic one.

One week, they had a lecture on the voice-over industry. The person who taught it?

Hal Smith’s god-daughter.

Even here he’s still an influence!

One of those regular guest-lecturers was a Programming Director at a popular local radio station. And as I got to know him, one day he mentioned that he was starting up an acting workshop to teach acting for cinema– radio was his day job.

His Unusual Itch™ was that he was an actor trying to break into the cinematic world just like everybody else. This is very common in Southern California. People have day jobs but are secretly actors and recording artists and everyone is trying to break into the local Industry of Hollyweird™.

“Oh nice… I used to act…”, said the Former Child Actor™

“Wanna join us?”

The Acting Dealer/Supplier asked so nicely

The Unusual Itch™ can finally be scratched.

And like a recovering alcoholic/drug addict who has had a number of years of sobriety under their belt and thinks they’ve worked their way out of their dependency of the chemicals that destroy their dopamine receptors… I thought to myself…

“What’s the harm in going one time?”

You Fucking Fool

It becomes clear to me in my first professional-style acting class that this is a very different methodology of acting than I had learned at the Christian Theater and in schools and colleges and community theaters where actual technique isn’t something that’s taught or attempted. It’s Acting 101 stuff. How to project. Basic stage movement. Maybe some stage fighting technique. But, not much on character building or relationships.

In this acting class I will discover The Meisner… System? Technique? Process? Dunno what to call it. Philosophy?

By the year 2000 I had effectively Quit Acting™ for 6 years. It was too painful. This thing I loved to do and all the local theater stuff and college level… it was just too amateurish for somebody who had spent 7 years working with seasoned pros. I’m not an amateur. It’s not bragging, it’s just reality. As a result, my Itch not being scratched in those environments, I told myself my acting days are behind me.

But, here in this class… we’re shooting on camera, whole scenes that require blocking and multiple takes. And he’s giving a basic level understanding of the Meisner Philosophy.

^ explains it better than I will.

I had always hated most theatrical style acting because they always felt overly forced and abstract. How stylized the performance is. What I loved about AIO was that the character work was more realistic and not stagey. And that appealed to me as someone who is an empathic person. Relationships. People. Putting your attention on the other person in a scene instead of just waiting for your turn to say your line. Actively listening to your scene partner. Recognizing that half your performance comes from them. It’s a very codependent form of the art. You absolutely are depending on your scene partners to show up because your performance requires their performance to happen. We’re not two people on stage spitting memorized lines out, we’re two people engaging with each other, listening to each other. This isn’t some Stanislavsky-style antiquated theory of yesteryear. Nobody is trying to find their inner animal or trying to remember how it felt when grandma died so we can squeeze out a tear.

Meisner work is based on actually living the circumstances of the scene. Our job is to make real that which is not real.

Living truthfully in imaginary circumstances.

And so the work is less fake.

You can’t say a line until it comes out of you motivated by what your scene partner just said and did.

This is the perfect technique for someone like me who came out of the AIO experience like I did. One of the things that makes AIO such a great show is that the actors are working off each other in real time. We’re in studio together. And my performance is reliant on Hal’s or Katie’s or Will’s… it’s flow, it’s connection. Something that was missing in the community theater worlds.

Professional acting techniques are not taught in schools. You gotta go to the Industry and find legit coaches who understand the professional level of the art form.

The difference between playing softball w/ The Church™ team vs Being a Yankee in Yankee Stadium.

And learning this technique would be the heroin returning to my veins.

PUSH THE NEEDLE DEEPER

I’m finding as the weeks and months go by in this new found acting class that this time… the addiction is so severe it will fundamentally change my relationship with myself.

I am experiencing a high that is bringing a joy to my life that I hadn’t experienced since I’d been in the Lounge of Legends.

It’s not Voice Over I love.

It’s… Acting itself.

For years I had tried to lay to rest the idea that I was an actor. Acting was something I did. Not something I was internally.

I enjoyed it as a kid, but time to put childish things behind us now that I wear BigBoyPants™, right?

After class I would float home with the biggest high, even a bad night of acting was better than the best nights serving up the Y.M.C.A. and conga lines to shitty business people and brides and birthday kids as a DJ.

And where I thought radio might be an adjacent career that could satiate the hunger that gnawed at my insides… I am finding a hunger unlike any other I’ve ever experienced.

And a struggle starts to develop in me.

I remember a solid 6 months during 2000 I was fighting within myself the idea… that I am an Artist.

Artist.

It was a word that didn’t apply to my life.

Artists are <insert every toxic idea about Art that conservative evangelicals have> .

I’m not an Artist. I wear BigBoyPants™!

I’m not an Artist… I have a RealJob™!

But, after years of staring at myself in the mirror and telling myself, “I hate you”…. something new is happening to me.

I’m looking in the mirror… and before I can tell myself awful things… I ask myself:

“So, you think you’re an artist?”

And I would laugh and laugh and mock myself for even considering such a thing.

“You’re so fucking stupid. You’re not an Artist. You’re a failed actor. You’re worthless. You’ll never have a career. Stop wasting your time and go back to your RealJob™.”

And I go to my RealJobs™ and was bored and miserable. And I’d go to class and dive into Meisner Theory and working with cameras and cinematic story telling and I would have such a massive high that drugs weren’t even necessary.

And I couldn’t deny this feeling in me. This joy is returning.

One time I looked in the mirror and said, “So you think you’re an Artist?!?”

And in a reflexive outburst that shook me, my body said:

“Fuck yeah! One of the best, too!”

Like those actual words came out of my mouth without me planning on saying them.

A shift is occurring in my psyche and it’s terrifying me. Being a WorkerBee™ means that you can be happy in just about any RealJob™. Not that people like work, but work is a way to pay rent. And most jobs… it’s just a job. It sucks, but it’s what everyone does.

To admit to oneself that you are an artist– and an Actor of all things– that is terrifying because everyone in my Fucking Evangelical™ world believes Hollyweird™ is PureMoltenEvil™.

And if I commit to this… what is that going to mean for my life?

As the months grind on, I find myself saying “I hate you” less and less.

And I find myself starting to say, “I am an artist” more and more.

At first that word is so unusual to say that it feels weird and I usually laugh at the pretentiousness of it. As a RightWinger™ I believe Artists are pretentious. (btw, I’m still a Republican’t™ at this point in my life although it’s clear my worldview is changing dramatically)

Being an Artist is self-indulgent. It’s damn near calling oneself God.

It was so hard to say that word and believe it. It took a long time before it felt natural. And I realized that one of my bits of cognitive dissonance in this internal fight and exploration of who I am… is that I was saying the word with a capital “A”.

Artist.

And that felt fraudulent to me.

I’m not an Artist, yet!

But maybe… maybe I’m a little “a”.

*looks in mirror*

“I am an artist.”

Huh.

That wasn’t so bad.

It almost feels… accurate.

Growing within me is a realization that I can no longer avoid/ignore/dodge.

I. Am. An. artist.

Fuck. Now what do I do?

A problem here is becoming clear to me that I’m at a crossroads. The more I am admitting to myself that I am an artist, the more I realize I either have to turn away completely from this for the rest of my life– like an actual addict that has to put down the substance that is killing them.

OR I have to admit what I am and the life that this calls me to: unsteady paychecks, probably shouldn’t have a family, years of toil and struggle which would be fine except I have this new LifePartner™ and how is she gonna feel about my new artistic life calling? (fortunately she was a dancer and understood the addiction)

Only one way to find out which thing to do: Give it a try.

So I start auditioning for films.

I land the lead of my first audition.

MY FIRST FILM YAY!!!

Blew the AIO experience out of the water. And this was a student film! Imagine how epic it’ll be once I work my way up to the industry.

PUSH THE NEEDLE DEEPER

As I’m injecting myself with more and more acting, my mental health is still pretty awful and my substance abuse starts to take a toll on those around me.

I had grown frustrated with my DJ company job. After being Employee of the Year the prior year and receiving a whopping $100 bonus for committing myself to someone else’s company, my belief that corporate America would shower me with success was dwindling fast.

Focus treated me like shit.

Disney treated me like shit.

DJ company… *sigh*

I lose my motivation and end up quitting the job right as I was being fired.

I am now down to only OneJob™

As well, my BFF and his partner could no longer tolerate living with me so we lose our roommates and pressure is put on us to pay the full amount of rent/mortgage. This causes some disruption and strain now that I’ve ditched my DJ job that was nice easy money on the weekends (I got paid better for 4 hours of DJing than I ever got for doing a session of AIO)

As the Autumn of 2000 is rolling around and jobs are being quit and roommates and friend-groups are shattering, I had booked my very first student film.

One of the actors I worked with on that film, was a professional extra as his day job and he hooked me up with a gig for a film called Phone Booth.

I’m getting very serious about my craft now that I’m an “artist” and it’s time to get onto my first real film set. Working as an extra will be a perfect way to get comfortable at that level.

It was the greatest experience of being an extra that any of the professional extras had ever had.

I get told this every day we shoot for two weeks.

I will learn there is a whole cadre of professional extras. Some are retired folk looking for some fun and $$. Others are doing this work to work their way up and “pay dues”. All of them tell me that the experience that Director Joel Schumacher had provided the extras during the filming of Phone Booth was the best extra experience they had ever had.

And I hated it.

I don’t enjoy being a human prop with no character history to dive into.

I’m not “too good” or “above doing” the work… I’m just utterly bored by it.

At the conclusion of 2 weeks of shooting, Director Schumacher held a Wrap Party that all the extras were invited to. This is unheard of for extras. They were in awe that they were allowed to join Colin Farrell and Forest Whitaker and Ron Eldard– oh, btw, the original bad guy in the film was played by an actor named Ron Eldard.

I know this because originally I was in the final shot of the film with him. His character exits into a subway and my character enters that same subway entrance 2 steps in front of him.

In between takes, I being the sort of person who has no fear of asking powerful/famous/celebrated peoples for things because I grew up around them all my life, I asked Ron if I could have a word with him at the end of the day’s shooting to ask about career advice.

And Ron Eldard being a cool as fuck actor– remember this story is also about how Actors are some of the kindest, most empathetic people you’ll ever meet– remembered my request as we were leaving the Wrap Party for a film he will eventually be cut out of and replaced with Kiefer Sutherland.

But I remember you, Ron!

And the reason I remember Ron is because he spent 45 minutes talking with me while assistants are demanding he go shoot one last pick up shot and the crew is waiting… and he just talks with me. My concern at that point was that I really hated the best possible experience of being an extra. And how much I really loved being a lead character in the student film I had done. And don’t I need to pay my industry dues? Am I an asshole for realizing that I don’t enjoy this facet of the art form?

And Ron Eldard gives me the most gracious 45 minutes to basically say “There are no rules, kid… follow your heart in this industry”

I will never forget his kindness and generosity.

Did I mention my LifePartner™ was waiting in the Only Car™ we had at the time?

Yes, each morning, we would climb into our Only Car™ and make the 45 mile drive to downtown LA where the film set was. Then, LifePartner™ would drive down to Anaheim (45 miles away to the south) for her day job. Then she would drive back up to the set because I had 12 hour days and she’d wait for me to be done, and then she’d sleep in the car as I drove us home.

And it was on the final drive where, while she’s resting, I’m glowing about this experience I just had with Ron Eldard and his generous time management with me.

I’m twisting over his words in my mind,

“do I really just follow my heart?

Well, I was a lead actor for a decade on a radio show….

maybe I’m meant to be more of a lead/character actor?

Not that this stuff is beneath me–

because nothing is beneath me–

but it’s the art form I enjoy and extra work isn’t really the art form…

it’s adjacent to the art form.

It supports the art form others are doing.

And right as I resolve to myself that extra work may not be for me…

Right as I’m thanking God Almighty™– who I still sorta mostly believe in– for this amazing experience and opportunity and ability to learn who I am…

Right as I’ve found my path in life….

The Unusual Itch™ has been scratched and is bleeding and I must attend to it for the rest of my life now that I am an artist…

Right at God. Al.might.y™’s Per.fect. Co.me.dic Tim.ing™….

!!!!!SMASH!!!!!

It was Slow-and-Go traffic.

The typical rush to get home turns into a slog as 3.2 million Inland Empire residents get on the 10/210/60 arteries that become the world’s most hated freeways every evening.

You’re at a dead stop and then the cars in front of you move and everyone gets up to 40 mph and then the brakes come on and you’re at a dead stop again.

It was right at one of those dead-stop moments.

Juuuuuuust as the car in front of me let off the brakes to roll forward–

!!!!!SMASH!!!!!

I get rear-ended.

HARD.

It was such a hard hit that LifePartner™ who was sleeping in a prone position with the passenger seat leaned all the way back slid forward so hard her knees were severely wounded when she slid into the dashboard. Fortunately, her injuries were relatively minor and healed pretty normally.

But because I was sitting upright…

I did not slide into the dashboard from a reclined position.

Nope.

I got whiplashed hard AF.

On the same spine that I had injured doing the Disneyland parades.

And at first… I feel fiiiiiiiiiine.

I get out of the car to see if the person behind me is ok.

The front of his car was obliterated.

The windshield smithereened™ and spiderwebbed.

When he climbed out of the car he informed me the airbag woke him up.

He was a sushi chef who worked 12 hour shifts and in the moment that we sped up to 40 mph and then slowed to a dead stop– he fell asleep.

And altered the course of my life.

An officer arrived and we got over to the side of the road and statements were taken… I was asked if I was feeling ok and did I need an ambulance?

And… I felt… ok-ish.

Little sore.

Little stiff but I’ll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

Our car was surprisingly undamaged.

In good enough condition we can drive home.

LifePartner™ takes the wheel now that I am noticing I’m feeling a bit more sore than 10 minutes earlier.

And as the drive home commences, my back and neck begin to hurt more

and more

and more

and more.

By the time we get home I’m in agony.

Whatever.

Sleep it off, take an aspirin and I’ll be fine in the morning.

I would NOT be fine in the morning.

Because God Almighty™ hates me.

Because I’m Cursed™.