Eating Fried Worms

At some point during Elementary school we read a book called How to Eat Fried Worms. The main character bet his friends $50 he could eat a worm every day for fifteen days. Fearing they’re going to lose, his friends distract him – they take him out for a day, keep him busy, entertain him, and keep his mind off the bet. It almost works; but at the end of the day, lying in bed about to pass through the veil into the realm of dreams, his mind flashes back to his daily cross to bear, and he wastes no time engaging his energies toward eating his daily worm.

This is analogous to how I’ve felt lately. I’ve been eating a worm every day for months and more than months, feeding my ache and misery and giving me license to complain and feel sorry for myself. I’m delighted to say my friends have stepped up and are keeping me distracted. Sometimes with small notes and messages of support, and sometimes with long phone calls. Sometimes with activities – I’ve been hiking in Utica, went to the Brookfield Zoo, sat on a rooftop and pounded back beers for six hours, passed out on a friend’s couch after drinking a few bottles of wine discussing art and politics – and that was just in the last week.

On my own, I’ve been reading a lot. I finished four novels in the last two weeks, and today I bought four more. I’ve been exercising a lot – I recently mapped the exact distance of my jogging routes to discover I run 26 miles a week. I’ve cinched my belt two notches, and out of curiosity I got out a ruler and measured the distance between them to discover I’ve lost 2½ inches off my waist. Including the punching & jump rope routines I do, I’m in better physical shape than I have been in years.

Then there’s the writing. I haven’t expressed this very often, but being a professional writer was my first passion. I tried to write fictional stories once upon a time, but realized I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say. It’s been said one must write from personal experiences, but I never felt I had done anything interesting enough to translate onto a page, whether it be writing pure truth or transposing true experiences to fiction. So I made the decision to lead the most interesting possible life; to take more risks, learn new skills, practice a variety of hobbies, hold a few different jobs. I’m studying acting now because I have a creative beast within that must be fed; but it’s just one more step in the process toward one day creating and telling stories that breed inspiration, education, encouragement, and entertainment.

I blog not because I’m certain people are interested in what I have to say or the stories I have to tell. Don’t get me wrong; I’m an artist who craves an audience, so if you appreciate what I put down, well that’s an extra little thrill. But the main reason I do it is that writing takes the full extent of my concentration, a nicely distracting hobby that takes my mind off the worst parts of my day. I put my best effort into deciding what I want to say and how to order and structure my ideas into a smoothly flowing story. I spend hours choosing which words and phrases will best communicate the emotional and intellectual response I’m aiming for while keeping it all entertaining. One day I’ll think of a story interesting enough to publish and (dare I say) sell. By then my skills will be sharpened by my years of posting here, and I’ll be able to knock that out the way a martial arts student one day finds himself attacked in a dark alley.

But these days it’s all about choosing which worm to eat, and which to be distracted from eating. In the continued spirit of good news/bad news balance, I got a piece of each this week. I found out my last day at the “temp” job is Friday, August 14^th – that’s the good news. I finally get to know exactly how much longer I’ll be there, exactly how many dollars I’ll have to rely on between now and the beginning of school. It’s been a huge question whether I could financially survive the span between my last paycheck and my FAFSA refund, and I now know with certainty that I will – quite possibly without having to touch my savings account to do it.

The bad news this week was an email informing me that my student loan amount has been “revised”. And by revised they mean it got lowered by the amount of my scholarship. It’s a fair thing to do, and I know I’ll appreciate it in the long run when I have several thousand fewer dollars to pay back. But it would have been nice to have this information months ago; I was planning my future living expenses based on a budget $1,200 a month higher than I’m actually going to have. So in short, this week I learned the question of surviving August is now a certainty, but the certainty of surviving the next three years has been called into question. I’m relieved I’ve been stalling on finding a place to live, because I don’t know what I would have done if I’d already signed a lease for a place I cannot possibly afford.

It was at the end of June when I took a smoke break at work and was approached by a man from India, as evidenced by his ethnicity, his accent, and the fact that he told me he was from India. He told me I had a kind aura and that I clearly was the type of person who liked to handle problems on his own without asking for help or support. He guessed my favorite color and number between one and ten. He iterated that at some point during the months of July and/or August I would be very lucky. Then he held out his wallet, asked for a donation, and when I gave him two dollars he asked me if I couldn’t afford ten. I told him I couldn’t, and it was true.

Since then I’ve been pondering what he meant by telling me I would be lucky. Now that July is over the window of opportunity for luck to come into my life has half-closed. And what are the most significant events of July? I got my heart broken by the same woman for the third time since January, but I finally started to figure out how to get through the day without looking for a way to win her back, so in a way I guess that almost balances out. I got short-term financial relief but long term financial insecurity, so that’s a wash. Am I supposed to become lucky in that my circumstances change for the better, or because they fail to get worse? I’ve not won the lottery or fallen in love, but neither have I been hit by a bus or struck by lightning, so I can’t tell which it is.

Of course, he never specified that it would be good luck. I’m going to see if I can keep my fingers crossed for the whole month of August.

Now where’s that worm?

“Every day takes figurin’ out all over again how to fuckin’ live.”