The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I’m like a superhero. Minus the powers, secret identity and tights of course. Well, okay, I have tights, but basically I lack all things that make a superhero super. Everything, that is, but the frustration and difference of living two lives.

It’s nothing drastic. It’s not like I have another family in St. Louis that I stay with on “business trips” or I spend my “commute time” in gay massage parlors, not that there is anything wrong with that. No, I suppose the area between my two lives is more grey than black and white, but it sure feels like polar opposites to me.

One one hand, say the right one, I am a working stiff at a dead end job in a hopeless town. I cater to people that assume I am less than equal based on nothing other than I am serving them. I suppose it makes them feel better about themselves.

The thing is, to equal the masses here I would have to be at least 8 textbooks dumber, a dental plan shorter, and a Big Mac fatter. I would have to have a better grasp on NASCAR than politics and hate at least one minority.

I don’t fit in with the status quo. Much like the rumbling, bumbling, and stumbling of Clark Kent pulling a pratfall, I straighten myself up, check my hair in the mirror and pretend to laugh at jokes that are beneath everyone. It is hard to humor.

On the other hand, the left in this scenario, I walk a maze of creative avenues. I write. I am published. I’ve been nominated for serious awards. People actually pay me money. I do readings and sign autographs (well, once with the autograph session, but still, that shit happened).

My company, Limey/Yank Productions, has several scripts floating around with positive possibilities dangling on the horizon. We just found financial backers to make a movie based on one of my short stories. We have a reality show being considered by some cable networks. There is a pilot already filmed that will free me forever if it is picked up. We’re doing stuff.

I act. Granted, I haven’t been on stage in some time, but that is a personal choice. I still receive interest from it, and soon, should the above shows take off, I will be joining my partner Ed for some face time on that little life-sucking box in your living room.

The thing is, I have the life I live and the one that I want to live, and the two are growing closer by the day. I am growing impatient with the wait and angry at the thought of spending another night serving those that think to demean me.

They can’t of course. I’m too strong for that. I’m a superhero.

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