Every morning for three weeks, I stumbled to the mouth of the big-bellied, bulbous, green beast. It waited patiently overnight. Not moved a sliver of an inch. And in its omniscient, evil way, it knew it would feed again.
The monster with no eyes was able to blend into the most mundane of domestic environments, among beds and couches and tables. It knew me because it knows humans. Pesky people of routine regularity. Creatures of habit afraid to escape the box. And its prey for today; me. Partially-digested me; a meal of many leftovers.
Like Jabba the Hutt, a privileged crime boss, a royal pain in the butt who found wiggly, breathing humanity the most tasty of morsels. And he waited. Waited. Waited. Waited. It’s mere appearance was the trap. It did not prepare, train, change appearances. It was soft, inside and out. Not a typical warrior, but vile, destructive and venomous, nonetheless.
The morning sun slid through the slats of my window blinds. It tapped my crusty eyelids, softly, warmly. “Wake up. Forget breakfast, for your are the breakfast.” The sun was part of the conspiracy of slow death that for three weeks attacked me. Its glowing fingers pointed the way to the foot of the beast.
I followed my sunny shepherd, once again attempting a feeble resistance. I tried to go off path. Downstairs. A morning walk. Soaking in the morning sun on the back porch. Oh, heck, grabbing my Bible and starting off on a spiritual note. Maybe sit at my desk and plan my day. Thoughts, though, with no meaning as they came without action. The monster stood in my path. I should have shoved it to another part of the house many weeks ago. What stopped me from even considering it? Routine. Linear thinking.
But, surely it could be different today. It’s a new day! The past is gone. Dream on. And again, its plump, soft arms welcomed me. “Come to me, my son. You’re doing well. One more day. Just give me one more day, and my strength will be all yours along with the world’s wisdom. You will launch from my being like Thor’s hammer. A streak of brilliant light ready to battle the fiercest of life’s dragons.”
But had anything changed? Had I routinely deceived myself? Had I, like the Pied Piper’s victims, followed the enchanted music of this masterful, bulbous slug?
Defeated. My resistance too weakened. It’s short, thick neck promised a quick descent to its belly. I just had to trust. Trust I would find paradise while slowly being digested by the toxic, dark goo of nothingness.
I picked up my phone next to the monster. I was ready. Take me to your meaning of paradise most fat, wondrous guru of pompous pitifulness. Surely, he would let me go before noon. But while in the beast, I would pass the time crushing digital candies. “I’m melting.”
Goodbye cruel world. I slid deeper and deeper into the cushy comfort of my big, green chair. I assured myself, this time that I would win. Two games of Candy Crush. That’s it! Just enough to allow myself time to awaken to face the day. Then I would climb out of the creature and be off to conquer worlds unknown.
About 15 games later, I started to get tired. Just one more. I’ll be victorious this time. I wasn’t that far from my bed. Maybe just an hour more sleep. Man, conquering candies is an eye strain. Surely, it involved some deep thinking and strategy. Mental tiredness is the worst kind.
The green beast’s stomach acids were dissolving me, and I melted slowly into this falsely promised paradise of laze and haze. I tried to climb out. One more push away from its ravenous belly juices to achieve the upright position. But no. I was becoming the invisible man; the elimination of all focus and motivation and form. My superpower was turning into a blur. Could my weakness become a superpower? Call me The Blur. Unseen, I could accomplish things in obscurity. Like the Invisible Man. But a distracting blur to confuse and obfuscate the enemies of freedom.
If you’re an actor like myself, you know from whence I speak. Although no other kind of work compares to the film world, in my opinion, it’s still gig work. And a three-week, unexpected hiatus was slowly morphing me into the flabby fecal matter of the big belly blob monster.
I called to God to save me. Then a thought. What? Was God speaking ? Was I being rescued? A memory. Should I let it play out? I felt some refreshment bubble from within. I had done it before, and it worked. Could it be duplicated?
I said yes. But then logic tried to talk me out of it. But I wasn’t listening. I didn’t need others to set my course in Y’allywood. To preapprove me for success. I could mount and ride. Charge south in my metal steed, battling Friday traffic tyrants. Sliding by the towers of the city in my rubber-wheeled chariot. Alas, there was an energy source to battle the funk. To open up some clogged rivers of creativity.