I’m failing at keeping up with this blog – why? Because I don’t want to face the reality of my situation: that I’m the one getting in my own way. Fortunately, of all the blogs to fail at, the failure blog is the one on which I should fail – I’m not thrilled with that last sentence. I struggled with stand-up all week, and then yesterday, things went better because I just told the truth. So I’m finding a direct correlation between failure and lying. I was told by a clairvoyant that I lie to myself. So I’m focused, this week, on telling the truth to myself. And telling the truth to everyone else. So this is the week I lose all my friends.
So what’s the truth? The truth is I’m afraid of failure to the point that I’m not doing what I want to do. And what do I want to do? This.
James Nathanson was the kind of reporter who wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions or do what was needed to get the story. He was well built and physically fit, he didn’t have major food allergies, and women stayed with him longer than they should on account of his rugged charm and good looks.
Naturally, this kind of a person would have no problem breaking into the top secret laboratory and stumbling across an alien symbiote that quickly bonded itself to James.
“God… this is amazing. I can actually feel myself able to digest cheese,” a voice inside James said.
“Who said that? Who’s there?”
“I’m really proud of myself for taking the initiative and infecting you. Normally, I’d ask permission. I’m really living outside of my comfort zone today.”
“What’s happening to me?”
“You’re beginning to feel what I feel. We’re bonding.”
“What are you?”
“I’m an alien. I’m from a planet where all parking is permit parking only. It’s a nightmare. My life was going nowhere – I was a copyeditor, but I really wanted to be a novelist.”
“Get out of my body.”
“Listen, I have a lot to offer you. You have a ton of masculine confidence and a tendency towards letting your rage get away from you. I can teach you to hold all that in and die inside while staying in a job that gives you health insurance.”
At that moment, six police officers barged into James’ apartment.
“What’s going on here?”
“You’re under arrest for theft of corporation property.”
“Looks like it’s time for me to go to work,” the symbiote said. At once, James started to cry. “Please don’t. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Calm down,” the officer said.
“I feel totally unfulfilled in my life. I can’t find a meaningful relationship. I’m getting older – and I can feel my body starting to degrade…”
James began transforming in front of the cop’s eyes, growing smaller and smaller. Somehow, out of nowhere, glasses appeared on his face. “This is exactly what I was afraid was going to happen. It’s probably because I’m not drinking enough milk. But the problem is, I’m lactose intolerant, so I should be taking those calcium supplements, but what will that accomplish? I tried that for years, and nothing happened.”
“Wow,” the police officer said. “I think I’ll be able to handle this on my own. Sorry guys, I thought I was going to need backup. You’d better come with me, sir.”
“Are you a Dr. Who fan? Please tell me you are. I just want to talk to somebody about Dr. Who.”
The police officer shook his head. “What are you?”
“We… are… Anxiety.”