ghost

 

Homeless in Nashville Pt. 1

This post will be about how I almost didn't make it to- and subsequently almost didn't make it back from- Nashville about four months ago. But before you read, you must know that everything you read might not be true. Also know that I might have only said that so I can deny any specific part if my parents read this, and that everything you read is actually true.

Homeless in Nashville

The whole thing started when my friend Matt told me about a sweet deal; he worked for a small airline in Athens and could get me a free round trip to Nashville using his buddy pass. I could get up to two tickets each ride, allowing me to bring another person along with me. I mention that part because looking back, this whole upcoming thing would have been avoided if anyone at all had come with me. But, I didn't search very hard and ended up having to go alone, which was fine. It was going to be the adventure I'd always pictured in my mind: me going out and battling the world, surviving with just my wits, finding peace both within nature and myself. I was going to conquer Nashville. 

First, I had to call the airline and reserve my seat. A nice lady answered and asked my name. "Billy," I told her.

"I'm going to need your last name, too," was the reply.

"Hentenaar...H-E-N," I began. No one can ever spell my last name when they hear it or say my last name when they see it, so I usually just start spelling it right away.

"Whoa, slow down," she cut me off. "Hene-..Henetar?" she asked, using the most common and frustrating pronunciation.

"No, it's Hentenaar..H-E-N-T.." I tried again. She cut me off.

"Oh, okay... Hen-ten-...aar?" She pronounced it like it was offending and confusing her senses at the same time. For this moment, I had a clear picture of her facial expression just from the tone of her voice.

Something like this.

"Yes."

"..and how do you spell that?"

Once that was over with, I made my first attempt at reserving a flight for the next day- Friday. It went well until right before everything was finalized and she realized that she hadn't actually checked to see if there was still room for me. Although it was a small airline that hardly anyone used, the planes only sat nine people. It turned out that I would have been a tenth, so I made my flight for Saturday at 7:00 AM instead and planned to return Sunday at 11:00 AM.

"Alright Billy, your seat is reserved and we'll print your ticket when you arrive in the morning," she nicely told me before hanging up.

The Preparation:

As much as I wanted to take on Nashville armed with nothing but tenacity, I realized that that wasn't a very good plan and begrudgingly spent about half an hour packing for my adventure Friday night around 11:00 PM. I wasn't exactly sure what the limitations were for baggage on this plane, but I figured I would be able to fit everything I needed for a day in an old book bag. By the time I was done packing, the bag was crammed full of things I for some reason deemed completely necessary. I think this might actually be the most embarrassing part for me out of all of this-

• a change of clothes
• four small bottles of water
• pajama pants
• jeans 
• two shirts
• toothbrush and toothpaste
• extra pair of contacts
• a blanket

So far, it seems like a well planned list. I think at this point I was just really tired, because the next items were-

• a Frisbee
• nail clippers
• koozie

I don't know what I was thinking for those three; I wasn't planning on making friends there, and I had already cut my nails the day before. There were also a couple of Xbox controllers- but that's just because I forgot to check one of the pockets on my book bag.

Feeling fully equipped, I went to bed around 1 AM, ready to get up in five hours and head to the airport.

The Day I Became the Weird One

My roommate walks through the door into our apartment. I always hear him before I see him; he is constantly mumbling to himself. It is loud enough for me to hear, but rarely is it intelligible. He walks through the living room with his usual brisk pace. I look up at him, but he blows by, not making any eye contact with me. He can't- at least not anymore. And that is understandable.

He walks through the adjoining bathroom area into his room. I can still hear his low mumbles- erratic, bumbling words and jumbled sentence fragments. Even with his door shut, it's audible. It's kind of like the hum of traffic. After a while, you just get used to the noise and tune it out. All of the various sounds, once unique and meaningful words, become the ambient background noise of my apartment. 

He comes out of his room barely twenty seconds later and my eyes follow him as he storms into the kitchen. He yanks open the refrigerator and, just,.. stares. No movement, except from his mouth.

"Mmuubmebumeuhmbmeh," he sweetly whispers to what I can only assume was his yogurt. 

Ten seconds later and he is on the move again, back to his room. I barely have enough time to digest what just happened before he is back out again, this time with a phone pressed to his head. Normally, I would think something to myself along the lines of, "You're not fooling anyone by pretending to be talking to someone on the phone. At this point we all know you talk to yourself, man." But I don't think I have the right to criticize anything he does. Not anymore. 

Still at his furious pace, he rushes into the kitchen. "Hmm.." he ponders, again looking inside the refrigerator. This loop happens two more times- each with a brief pause for more private mumbling in his room- before he is finally settled. I noticed that each time he walked by me, he avoided any eye contact. I can't blame him. And even if he did look at me, there's no way that he could see me in the same way as he used to after what happened this morning.

It all started with a headache. Actually, I guess it technically started with me waking up, but I had a headache when I woke up. And the headache is important, so that's what it all started with.

So, I woke up with a headache, which upon review seems to be a much smoother way to start this part of the story (what is editing?). It was a pretty painful one, too: the kind that is sensitive to light. I looked at my phone for the time- 10:00 AM. This was good news, as my roommate is usually not at the apartment at this time. I wouldn't have to worry about sharing the bathroom or shower. I walk out of my room with my towel, go past the sinks, and into the bathroom. So far, I had been fortunate enough to not have to suffer through any unnecessarily bright lights; I have a blackout curtain for the window in my room.

Unfortunately, The U decided to put the Sun in our bathroom. My head instantly throbbed as I turned the light on. After about five seconds, I concluded that I would not be able last very long with the light on and decided to take my shower in the dark. 

I turned the water on and had to adjust the shower head from all the way up and to the right, which is another weird thing my roommate does, to a normal position. Near the end of my shower, I thought I heard something that sounded a lot like a door opening and closing. I disregarded it, however, because usually no one comes back to our apartment around this time. I figured it was coming from the apartment below us. As I turn the water off, I heard a series of noises that kind of sounded like footsteps, but again I didn't pay attention. I reached out for my towel and wrapped it around my shoulders as I began to dry my upper body, and that is when things changed between me and my roommate forever. 

Several factors had lead up to this moment. Anything from my roommate deciding to not mumble at all this one time in his life, the fact that The U is a shithole and can't even provide bathroom doors that shut completely (the doorknob doesn't line up with the hole in the frame), my headache, to the weird change in my roommate's schedule can take partial blame. But whatever the factors were or who/what should take the blame, we nevertheless ended up at this moment, with my roommate barging into the bathroom, turning on the light, and standing face-to-face with me, standing soaking wet, squinting and shivering, all the unimportant parts covered with my towel, all the important parts completely exposed. 

"Uh.." I said.

"Whoa," he replied. 

"What are you doing?"

"What are YOU doing?!"

"sorry"

He closed the door uneasily, walked to his room, and hasn't looked at me since. I frantically dried off, threw some clothes on, and haven't yet figured out a way to make things better. He left me feeling scared, shocked, and shriveled. I left him broken and bewildered. 

Looking back on this now, almost a day later, am I happy that this happened? Absolutely not.

But, am I embarrassed? ...Yeah.

But, have I learned anything from this experience? Sure.

But, will I take preventative measures to make sure he never sees me naked again? Well, yeah..

But, will I do the same for any future roommates? Of course I will.

Being "the weird one" is completely relative. Before, it was my roommate, but now it's me. Because even with his constant mumblings to himself and other odd quirks my roommate has, I was still the one who was caught standing soaking wet and naked with the shower curtain open, facing and staring the door in the dark for an unknown amount of time. 

And that's what makes me the weird one.

Cursing in Disguise

I'm wondering if, deep down, there is something in every person that they hate. Like, on fundamental levels. Something that makes a person who they are, yet they wish it wasn't part of them. 

I really want the answer to be yes, but the truth is that I have no idea. I don't even know if that is true about myself, which makes me extremely unqualified to determine if it's in other people. But I'm going to write this under the statement of: I have no clue whether I'm right or wrong or if this is even something worth wondering about, so don't look too much into this. I'm just writing what comes to mind about this, and it's really just more of a checkpoint to see where I am as of 4:45 AM on 12/29/13. 

As of right now, it's all I can wonder about. Even though I might be completely wrong, I think I could see it within myself to hate something so fundamentally, but I'm not sure if that's right or not. I also think I can see it in other people- some a lot more obvious than others. But I don't think I see it in everyone, although I might just not be looking closely enough. I really would like someone to say something as a comment to this because I'm so curious. Is there something that you, deep down, that you hate on the most basic level? 

I think I might, but it constantly goes back and forth. Sometimes I can see it being the root of all of my problems, but other times I think I'm just being dramatic about it and it's not actually that big of a deal. 

There is a big but often overlooked difference between being pleased and satisfied. I'm not exactly sure of how to describe it, but they're two different words for a reason. Maybe you can look at is as "pleased" is more superficial and "satisfied" is more fundamental (this word might pop up a lot). I think I see it as more of the length of time that each feeling lasts, with "pleased" being more glancing or fleeting than "satisfied." 

I think that people don't really take that difference into account and just lump the two together. I know I did until I started writing this post. But it's understandable; both emotions elicit the same basic responses: laughs, smiles, etc. But again, there is an important difference between the two, and I think this is where my problem comes in.

The problem with being extremely easy to please is that I feel like it draws people in under false pretenses. (This applies to more than relationships with people, but it's just most noticeable in these cases). It's no secret that I laugh at pretty much anything- joke or not- or that I smile pretty much any time I interact with someone. I do this because I am genuinely getting enjoyment out of it; I am pleased. The feelings of happy and content are really there. But am I satisfied?

I don't think so. And the fact that I don't know for sure leads me to believe that I "no" is probably the correct answer.

But, I don't think that neither I nor the other person sees this. It's a fundamental miscommunication with everyone involved- them with me, and me with myself. Since we both unintentionally lump "pleased" and "satisfied" together, no one really catches on. And the closer the relationship gets, the more pronounced this miscommunication becomes; they assume I'm satisfied because I'm pleased, as do I. (This is where it's getting into the realm of girlfriends and the like)

And then I begin to notice the difference- subconsciously, I think. I slowly begin to realize what's happened, and it feels like I've tricked them. It feels like a relationship of lies and misdirection. I begin to feel like an ass who manipulates people, but I'm not.

I think a good test to see whether or not you're pleased vs. satisfied is this:
Just ask yourself- am I happy with this person? 

Do I enjoy playing this instrument?

Am I satisfied with my job?

I think that is what I started doing at those points when I slowly began to realize the gap between what I thought I had and reality. I would subconsciously ask myself these questions and answer them with "yes, but..." And that's how I began to realize that while I was pleased, I wasn't satisfied. I believe that unless you can unequivocally answer "Yes" without the ", but.." then you are truly satisfied. 

Because I also believe that ", but..." is just shorthand for a question you don't want to ask yourself: ", but will I always be?" It's a tough question because I've gotten to the point where I want the answer to be yes, but the fact that I don't know for sure leads me to believe that "no" is probably the correct answer. The "Yes" indicates that you are pleased, the lack of ", but..." indicates satisfaction. 

And that is what I think I would hate about myself if my opening paragraph is correct. There is nothing I hate more than hurting other people, and the irony is that a basic, fundamental part of me can draw people in so closely and under such false pretenses- even to myself- that I end up hurting them on such a deep, emotional level. 

But, like I said, my thoughts on this are constantly going back and forth. This post ended up like this because I picked one train of thought and just followed it all the way through; I'm sure the next time I think this through, I'll come up with a conclusion entirely different than this one. It also doesn't mean that I'm unhappy or that I hate myself, I'm just sorting through possibilities. 

Teachers Hate Him! Local Schoolboy Finds Easy Way to Write Essays with this One Weird Trick!

The trick to writing an essay in which you only have one point to make is to write the same thing multiple times, creating the illusion of content while saying nothing at all. To do this, all you need to do is take the content that you wrote earlier in the essay, re-word it, and then just type it in. This convinces the reader that they are taking in much more information than they actually are. Sometimes I take a couple of lines to translate the same idea, even though I have nothing to add. After that, all it takes is some clever rephrasing in words or style- you can even include a change in style of punctuation. Changing the tone of voice can also work!

What this does is it makes the reader feel like you've really covered your point, like you really know what you're talking about. They've just read your point so many times-each time from a different angle- that it seems like everything you are saying is leading somewhere. However, this is misdirection; what's really happening is usually only seen by the writer, who knows that while it may seem like they have a lot to say, it could really just be boiled down into a few sentences. But each point seems unique because of the new, fresh syntax of each sentence, so the reader just goes along with it.

Doing this really fills out your paper. You've only spent just a couple of minutes rehashing an idea, and suddenly you've got half a page! Okay, maybe it is just filler, but you must ask yourself: Is there anything more I can say? The answer is usually "no," so you continue on, hoping that your readers don't notice. You try everything: changing syntax, studiously delving into your thesaurus in anticipation of commencing an inquisition of a myriad of dissimilar synonyms, and changing your tone of voice. Maybe you can try a narrative section. You still write down your point over and over, but this time you use your voice to change the reader's perspective. You think, you write, you communicate, but you're giving a different point of view now, giving the false sense of new points to the reader.

The passive voice can be used to make it sound like you are saying something new. The reader is tricked by many things, including how actively or passively the paper was written. Ideas are presented, but it is not realized that they have been used before. Suddenly, the essay is perceived as having many points, rather than one. Quotes by other people are often used to fortify your point. "The illusion of content" is created, even if none has been added.

It's all about pacing. Sometimes you just need to start small. Don't reveal what you're about to say right away. Make the reader wait. Spend some time building up to your point. Pretend that the presentation of your idea affects its reception. Let the reader feel some kind of payoff. This is where it becomes a game. A string of short sentences works pretty well, but eventually you will need to combine two separate (but similar!) thoughts. As you get closer to the reveal, your sentences get longer- more "ideas" get strung together. The reader feels a sense of building energy as clauses are added and more words appear throughout the sentence. Throw in more adjectives, add in more flowery verbs, or make a convincing list
that seems to flow with your writing; it makes it seem more dramatic. As the drama and energy build, the reader can feel the growing sense of urgency. It is less about the content and more about the payoff now. They feel the strong desire for resolution, and it moves them to keep reading; there is kinetic energy in the static writing.


And then you present the point again.


It seems different, but it is just separate from the buildup, making it stand out. It's not always about making it stand out, though. Sometimes, if you throw enough words at a reader to dull their awareness to the fact that they are just reading a ton of words and useless verbiage that don't really mean much other than the fact that they are just taking up space in a paper in which you don't have enough to say convincingly, it becomes possible to in some way to casually slip the same thing by them because their eyes are just tired of the seemingly endless wash of words and are just looking for an end to the sentence- hoping for a break, losing track of where they are in the sentence, wondering if they should go back and try to read it again because there's this vague feeling that something important was said somewhere along the way.

The easiest place to say the same thing again is in the conclusion paragraph, because it is basically a summary of the paper. Here, you can just fill up space by paraphrasing what you've been saying the entire time. Usually, you start small by just stating your idea. Then, you make the same point, but in more general terms. Finally, after stumbling through an entire essay with endless rephrasing, repetition, and stalling, you can state your conclusion in its broadest terms: that you've been saying the same thing for 897 words now, just in many different ways.

Crash Test Dummy

Drive. Go fast.

There's something in my head telling me to go fast; I do.

Faster!

"Faster," it says; I go faster.

C'mon, just a little bit more!

It wants more speed; I hesitate, but I push faster.

Faster, Faster! Go!

There's something in me telling me to go way too fast; I begin to move faster.

Then I panic. I see something ahead in front of me, looming in the distance. I am approaching it too fast to think, so I slam on my brakes and the car skids to a halt. I open my eyes and see that I was just a few inches away from hitting a wall. I take a couple breaths, calming myself before I turn around to drive away.

Time passes, and I avoid my car- I want to figure out what happened before I get back in. But time keeps passing, and a car is very convenient. Besides, the urge has subsided. So I get back in.

I drive for a little bit without any problem. Then, something tells me to drive a little faster- and I do. I can't help but to submit to whatever is inside of me, commanding me to speed faster and faster. The scene outside of my windows has become a blur. My foot presses harder on the gas. I begin to see the wall in front of me again, peeking over the horizon. This time, however, I resist the urge to slam on my brakes. I feel a rush of exhilaration as I let go. The wall grows ever larger as I close in on it.

Then I panic. I see something in front of me, rushing towards me. I am approaching it too fast to think, so I yank the wheel and the car swerves past the wall. I open my eyes and see the wall in the rear-view mirror; I must have missed it by inches. I slow to a stop and take a couple of breaths, calming myself before I drive away.

What was that rush of exhilaration? Why am I so insistent on speeding towards the wall? Why am I acting so reckless, even though I know that it will only hurt me in the end?

The excitement was from doing something new- something I had never done before. My whole life to this point had been about self-preservation: put my well-being over danger. Safety over irresponsibility. No regrets.

 But there is a certain excitement in letting go.

I get back in my car.

Now, I am driving faster than ever before. I hear calls of "Faster! Go! Faster!" echoing through my head. I can no longer look any direction but forward; everything else is just blurs. I step harder on the gas until it can't go down any farther. "Faster!" The wall has appeared over the horizon; I move my foot away from the brake. Tunnel vision is setting in, and I can only see the wall. I am rushing toward it- I see it growing larger. "Go, Go! Just a little bit faster!" There is so much excitement rushing through me. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I think about how dumb this is and how this will hurt, but it is too late for that now. "Keep going!" I let go of the steering wheel. I am inches away from the wall. I regret nothing.

And I don't panic. At this point, driving myself towards the wall isn't so much an urge as it is instinct. My actions have become careless, reckless. I know what is in front of me, but how can I know for sure what will happen if I keep going forward unless I do it? I know this is stupid, but I am dumb. I am tired of choosing to avoid the wall. I want to know what happens next.

Because there is a difference between not having any regrets and regretting nothing, yet I want neither; I want my irresponsible, careless behavior to end in ruins. I want the regret.



After all, a Crash Test Dummy can only stay wreckless for so long.

Well,

My biggest fear may be that I don't know or understand myself as much as I think I do..




..And my uncertainty is unsettling.