Monday, June 6, 2016

Finite Hours, Finite Choices

Quote of the Day:
It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, 
far more than our abilities.
~J.K. Rowling~
"Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets"

Current Local Weather: 
Rain. Let it f-ing rain. There's nothing else left for the 
weather or my heart to do, so let it rain.

Currently on my iTunes:
"Waiting on My Real Life to Begin"
Man At Work
Colin Hay

Dear Family, Friends and my Family of Friends...

I was once handed a smidgeon of advice...I was told that when you love someone, you are making a choice to love them every single day. Some days there won't be love that is obvious, but to love them is a decision that has to be made daily.  But the second you decide, whether consciously or not, that you're not in love with the person, the condition of the relationship deteriorates rapidly and it moves on to a state of one-sided denial along with one-sided "feelings." The hours you are to spend with this person then becomes finite and your various stages of grief kick in. 

I believe that love, in every form has its own one-sided, ill-reciprocating version. Even self-love. There comes a time in all of our lives, even if its fleeting, where we find ourselves having fallen out of love with who we are, or thought we were. Some people call it depression. I call it a normalization period of the human condition. Maybe your life was too overwhelming. Maybe you were wearing too many hats and Dr. Seuss called you out on your game. However, when this period of life happens, no matter how short or long, it steals your capacity to do, to be and to love others. You begin to realize that the hours you have with your true self are finite. You've been betrayed, hurt and the change that comes from that betrayal takes time to fit into your actual self in "real time." Once it hits you, the soloistic love syndrome can appear again any time.

Unfortunately/Fortunately, I've been trapped in this one-sided solo love/hate syndrome for quite some time. Last year, when I was first diagnosed with Leukemia, I had not a thought in my head as to how/when I would succumb to it. I was told I had a favorable "type" and that once in remission it would be YEARS, if ever, until it came back. Regardless of how hard it was to maintain face for the friends and family that knew me best, I started to believe that they were right. I wanted nothing more than to go on with my life. Live it with purpose. Be happy. Find normalcy. Spend the finite hours I had with my kiddos and realize that I had been given a second chance. I WAS FINE...DAMMIT. Fuck the doctors, fuck the cancer. I'm going to live. I began to love who I was, warts and all, in a whole way, again. I began to fight to get back what had once been mine but was lost in the breakup with myself. I sought out a divorce lawyer for the sicko-side of my life and regained my rightful property. Talk about glorious. I rekindled relationships and sought out new ones. I had no idea what was coming...

It was a mere three and three-quarter months later that this new relationship I had with myself began to unravel. Headaches. Pain. Exhaustion. Arguments that lasted all-night long were omnipresent. I finally went to the doctor to expel my paranoia/hypochondraic ways and was admitted to the oncology ward the next day. At first I was told that my small bowel was up in arms, twisted in on itself and rebelling. Easy enough of a fix. Then I was told that my bloodwork was..."off." I was sent home to rest and get better. Within a week, I was worse. My better half had consciously chosen not to love me anymore. My blood work was worse and the oncologist suggested a biopsy. 

Fuckin' A. 

Later that day, I woke up from the sedation of the biopsy to see my doc sitting next to me. People were everywhere. My room was buzzing with nurses and a couple of bumbling paramedics that were ready to take me to University of Colorado Hospital in Denver. Immediately. Doc looked at me and said, Cicily...I don't know what to say other than to tell you that the cancer is back. 

So much for the years and years of time. 

Now...I had finite hours to decide what steps to take next. 

The only coping mechanism I knew to employ was to break things off. I had to consciously make a choice to no longer love myself. Especially the half of myself that was betraying me in the most hurtful and rude way possible. 

As humans we know that no one gets out of this life alive. As a 38 year old woman who has seen more than her fair share of meltdowns and breakups, I realized that not only were my hours more finite than I'd like to admit to, but my choices had to become finite as well. The choice to be happy would have to be finite and immediate. The choice to count my hours was dashed. We've all got finite hours. It's not that aspect of this tale that makes it noteworthy. It's the choice I made, in my right mind and with the right support at my side, that brings this story to its close. 

The part of me that was still alive in my body (a.k.a. my mind) heard these words: I am not a candidate for transplant. My friend who received a transplant relapsed the same time I did, anyway. There's not much else that could be done. Do I want quality or quantity? We could do some treatments but you'd be most likely living out your days in a hospital bed.

The broken half of my spirit then asked the questions. A very wise man/Best father of all time named Jamie Beasley once told me not to ask questions I didn't want answers to...Well, Jamie...I had to ask them anyway.

Me: What does the future look like?
Doc P: We can do more chemo but the chances that it'll kill you, and given this is your third "try" its risk is much higher than the benefits.
Me: Without it, what does life look like?
Doc P: You've got...months to live.
Me: What does that look like?
Doc P: When you relapse again, it'll only take a week or two.
Me: What does that look like?
Doc P: You'll get weaker and more and more tired and eventually you'll go to sleep and won't wake up. Pain may or may not be there. (Little did he know, the pain, the real pain in this life, the kind that breaks every organ into an oblivion, had already reached its "10.")

At this point I heard nothing else. He could have said...KIDDING! Joke's on us. You're fine.
I didn't hear those words either. Every doc, NP and PA that entered the room from that moment on was then quizzed as to if they knew if I heard it right. I had completely broken up with myself and the self that was left was deaf, dumb and blind. Love is suffering. LOVE is SUFFERING.

In the immortal words of John Mayer in his tune, "Shadow Days": "It sucks to be honest and it hurts to be real." 

But as your friend, whether in this life or only in the confines of the internet, I can tell you that this is as real as it gets and I have the feeling that although I want to love more and be in love with who I am/ finite hours are actually coming to a close. So, I'm going to spend an infinity's worth of time with the best kids on the planet, help others beyond their own abilities to help themselves and even if its one-sided, I'm going to attempt to feel whole and invincible again. But Lord I pray that this is all just a bad mood I'm in and that it's just a dream. Life, after all, is but a dream.

I ask myself everyday...Is the doctor right? Lord, I hope not. Only God knows when I'll be whole again. Only God knows when I'll be able to gather my things and trade my tired legs in for wings. And you better believe that I'll be back. I'll be the notes in your solos, the spring in my daughter's steps as they walk down the aisle to meet the man of their dreams and the airbag that catches your beautiful face when life throws you an icy highway.

I've made my finite choice. Suffering has been my theme for years and I'm finally changing it. So many have asked how they can help me...Please come to see me as I cannot travel to you. Hold my hand. Binge watch The Office and Nurse Jackie. Don't question my choices, unless it's a food choice. Send me your music. Call me. Skype me.  Hug me. Hell, forget me. Hug your loved ones. Hold hands with your children. Sing them good night. Read stories and share your actual stories so that when they grow sad, you'll be able to catch them when they fall. I can only say thank you to everyone that's been here and there and everywhere for me. I want to offer more for all who have held me up as the words seem suddenly daft and wrong.

Yours in Choices, Last Chances and Choking Back the Tears,


Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Foghorn in the Night

Quote of the Day:
There are two mistakes one can make 
along the road to truth....
not going all the way and not starting.

Current Local Weather:
Just warm enough to forget the coldness of 
my life and start over.

Currently on my iTunes:
"Into the Mystic"
Van Morrison

Dear Friends, Family and my Family of Friends, 

      A bit of news. 
       I recently kicked some ass. 
      The ass I speak of is Acute Myeloid Leukemia. I'm in remission. If I'm being honest with you, I have to say I didn't, at least at first, expect to make it to the other side of cancer. But I did. I did it with a massive outpouring of love, medicine, poisonous chemotherapy and prayers/healing energy. I am still writing thank you notes...I've been writing them for months now.  what? 
      I have this thing called recovery that I have to tend to everyday. It's a bitch, too. I want to go outside and play but my body is still very slow to's like a car out of gas in the middle of winter. I sleep a lot, text a lot with my lovely BFF Lisa and occasionally get up and out to see a doctor.

      Then what? Work. I'm continuing to read manuscripts and edit. But there is something else I want to do. I want to live more purposefully. I want to live with more truth and honesty than not. I want to LIVE. I want to finish this life game with glitter guns shooting in the air not because I had the most friends or money (although some would be nice...) but because I did everything with love and purpose. I want to sail into the Mystic, just as Van Morrison is singing in my ears, with the foghorn blowing as I come home. But this isn't just a home, it's heaven. 


I have no more fears as everything I've ever feared, other than the occasional spider, has dissipated. I am going to rock more days than not and face life with a renewed spirit and greater love for those in my life. 

If you were one of the people that supported me during my year of hell, bless you for walking into the unknown with your head held high, even if mine wasn't. If you were there holding my hand, especially those that traveled far to be there or physically carried me around, my hand is forever yours and my heart will have your name carved into it. Thank you ALL for giving me a life in which I will live with more purpose and love for everyone that comes into it.

Thanks especially to the following folks: My folks, Wayne, for giving me a sense of normalcy and checking on me more than anyone else; Seamus and Bill, I'll never forget your love and friendship; Tim, I still can't say thank you enough;  Jason and Jen....there are no words sufficient enough; Jessica, you are an angel; Karen...thank you for every second you spent on me;  Lisa...forever your sister and Niki, for traveling for a thousand or so miles to hold my hand for a day or two; Matt for keeping me distracted; Keith &Amy for bringing me a dose of real food and smiles; Heather for knowing and understanding; Shannon for sending love via packages and facetime; My children for being brave and loving me through it all;  Tina, for coming to visit and bringing me fun things to do; CBCI, without you I wouldn't be here.

I'm home to stay for now. I've heard that foghorn and the road is now clear. I can say with great certainty that the sun is shining on us all. 

Yours in Kicking Ass, Living on the other side of a cure and feeling blessed beyond words,


Thursday, October 8, 2015

Presently Dismissed

Quote of the Day: 
Better to be Strong
Than Pretty and Useless.
~Lilith Saintcrow~

Current Local Weather: 
Freezing Heat in the Chicken Coop.

Currently on my iTunes:
Cough Syrup
Young the Giant

Currently Reading: 
Side Effects off of a Chemo Label. Scary. 

Dear Friends and Family and My Family of Friends, 

Has it really been a year and a half or more since my last blog? I guess it has. A lot has happened. A lot. If you want the Reader's Digest version, call me. But this blog, this is in the present moment. This is the first day I've had clarity in a very long time and I'm so very thankful for it. I start my last treatment in this month's round of Chemotherapy. 

So in case you aren't sure how to read that, here's a hint...

I've been diagnosed with CANCER. 

To clarify: It sucks. I have Acute Myeloblastic Leukemia. It's not an easy one. Not that any cancer is easy. But this one particularly sucks. Hard to get rid of. The kind of cancer that likes to park itself all inside your body and doesn't even buy you a drink or dinner before hand.

I have Young the Giant playing in my ears. I love their tune, "Cough Syrup." If you replace the words, Cough Syrup with Cancer, it fits my life, in this moment, perfectly. 
I'm just waiting for this Cancer to come down. I was diagnosed on June 19th. It has turned everything in my world into a swirling sink of cough syrup tinged puke. But I'm ok. Ok with it. Ok with Cancer because it's only a June 19th kinda thing. It's only here for now. Not later. At least I hope so. 

Yesterday, a pastor came to visit me. She was telling me all about her daughter's adventures with St. Baldricks when a friend of hers had cancer in high School and it took a solid two years to grow back her hair to the point where she could push her hair behind her ears. 

I could feel the blood rushing up my very bald head. Ears were hot and tears flowed. I lose my mind easily these days. I started to lose it. Albeit I had thought about the idea of not having hair for a few months, the thought of not having it for several years blew me into a smothering afternoon full of anxiety. It's just hair. I had to ask the question, why did I rely so much on my hair and still rely so much on my hair as part of my identity? Why did I care what others think of me with or without my hair? It's only hair. I fear ugliness. I fear never being kissed again because I'm the weird, pale, funny looking bald chick. I fear not knowing if my fears will come true. I fear dying alone. I fear it all. 

Hair. No hair = Fear. 
What the hell is wrong with me? 

Oh yeah. Cancer. That's what's wrong. 

I hear I look good without it. For all those beautiful people with hair...go suck an egg. 

I beg to differ. 

I'm naked without it. 

My health is next to impossible to survive unless you're me. I was told things, after I burst into tears at the thought of never being me with hair like I used to  have, like...stay in the present. This is temporary. This is only temporary. It's not temporary when it feels like forever. I've been in this bed since August 20th. It's not October. I was in the last bed for two weeks. The one before that for 6 weeks. I've missed Spring, Summer and now, the Fall. 

And I have no hair. 
No job to speak of. 
And a billion friends that love me to pieces on Facebook and in real life. 

So what's the big deal? 

I'm waiting on the Cough Syrup to come down. This is no way to live life. So I try to think of the future. The future where I'm off this Cancer high and down into the reality I want so very badly. But living in anything other than the room that contains the poison for my veins and mind, is a very bad idea. There are no plans for the future. There are no plans for the past that have worked out and currently, I have lost my ability to dream. So I'm living with the short end of the stick in my hand and praying daily for mercy, grace and a cure. 

I fully believe that now, living in the now, is the only way to go. All of my worries put in the actions and reactions of the past serve no one but my nerves and living in a future I can no longer see is blinding. 

Today. This is all I have to give and all I need. Today. If breathing is the only thing I accomplish in a day and that's ok. My fortune is in my friends and family that hold me solidly in their web of love. 

I have about two to three more chemo rounds to go until I'm "done." And that's if this persistence of molecular level leukemia cells vacates this crack house of a body in the very near future. If not...well, again, that's in the future and I have no desire to plan for it. Only for today. 

If you have any desire to help me and others, I ask that you give what you can to the following: 

The first two are beneficial and come with perks for music lovers. The last one helps me directly to pay the bills that are very in the present tense in my life. Cancer Sucks in that way, too. 

Thank you all for living in the present with me. I love you all and will update you as I can. Never dismiss your present for anything other than the greatness it is, for better or worse, because you never know when you'll have to deal with a June 19th. 

Love in Light, Laughs and Losing your Mind/Hair..., 


Friday, June 27, 2014

#MyWritingProcess Blog Tour: Everyday Demons

Quote of the Day:
Most folks are as happy 
as they make up their minds to be.
~Abraham Lincoln~

Current Local Weather:
Damp heat, dank thoughts 
and a strong potential for the thunderous roar of
forgetfulness to cleanse the palate before
night falls...

Currently on my iTunes:
Loma Vista
Family of the Year
**I can't stop listening to this...**

Currently Reading:

Michael Pollan

Dear Friends, Family and My Family of Friends, 

My client, Allison Gruber, tagged me in the #MyWritingProcess blog tour. This wonderful idea stemmed from other writers, readers and envious folks of the bookish ones in society to get the backstory to the story. 

Let me give you the backstory on Allison, first. 

Allison is one of my most favoritest clients. Not because of all the money she garnered both of us as a first-time autobiographical essayist...(hey, don't judge. She really did get paid..) but because of her creative beauty. She's truly a light in the world. And just as I tend to do with my writerly-type clients, I fell in love with her from sentence one and will be so from infinity and beyond. 

Who needs marriage when you have clients that don't dirty up the bathtub, throw wet towels on the floor and cause a mess...instead they cleanse the mind...

Clients who never leave your head too early and always stay for as long as you need, just when you need them most? Who needs romance when every time they send you a book you get the privilege of falling deep head-over-bookmark in that lusty bibliophilish phase of love that only a true book lover can know? 

This is why I do what I do.

Her first book, "You're Not Edith," started out as nothing but Trouble. (Sorry Allison, couldn't help myself) PLEASE ORDER YOURS NOW! Click the link on the title!

She has a unique and insightful take on the #Writing process. I hope you'll take a moment to go read her "audio" blog for this series. Thank you, Allison, for giving me this opportunity to talk about #MyWritingProcess. 

This concept consists of writers answering four questions about their process. Who am I to debunk the system? So here's mine: 

1) What are you working on now? 

"Deprivation" It's about a narcoleptic pilot that figured out a way to get by the FFA with his disease only to have it come back to bite him after having an affair with a "sky waitress." 

It's a comedic look at the hazards of chronic traveling and high-altitude scheming. Deprivation combines the wit of "Airplane," the absurdity of "Fight Club" and rounds it off with a bit of "Fatal Attraction."

This is absolutely a "fun" project amidst all of my "serious" ones. Not that all of them aren't fun, but this one just suits the mood I'm in more than not. 

I'm also working on a new oral history titled, "Lost and Found: The American Dream and its Greatest Faults." That one is still taking subjects. If you've lost your way and found your dreams in the process of finding yourself, call me, ASAP. 

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre? 

This is a hard question to answer, even when coming from an agent that has to lecture clients about comp titles...

I believe each work has a lifeline of its own. But all of what I do differs from others in that it doesn't stoop to or rise against any expectations or boundaries. It's offensive and deep and deeply defensive as to the faults that seep out of yours, mine and our skin on a daily basis. 

3) Why do I write what I write?  

 I always write with the theme of humanity.  Just like you, I'm trying to figure out the meaning of our commonness, our existence and our demise. Writing about it just helps, it's the only thing that helps me as a matter-of-fact. It's the cheapest and most invaluable therapy there is to get rid of my everyday demons...

Those demons can be muses in disguise. I would recommend that if you're thinking about writing, entertain and host your demons to the party on the page. Blank pages are as good as the infamous "Proton Packs" used on Ghostbusters for exhausting the "Stay-Puff Man" in your life that's haunting you. 

4) What does my writing process look like? 

I should correct this question to read, "What does it sound like?" 

I'm completely lopsided when it comes to my sensory experiences. Sound, the making of and the listening to, inspires me. So the first thing I do when I write is to listen to the character's voice. Then I find their playlist and create it to sing to me when I write. I then take off with whatever they want me to do. I'm their pawn. Always. Whether it be in the oral-history format or my favorite fictional asshole pilot in Deprivation...I'm their only chance to have a voice. 

John, the pilot, he listens to Dead Milkmen when no one is around and Miles Davis when a woman asks and flies...soars to Johnny Cash. He's a lot like me in that respect...Eclectic. So when I write in his voice, I have to have him in his full form to write him down. 

When I was working on my book, "The New Face of Jazz," I listened to a lot guessed it...jazz. But while doing edits for the book I listened to a lot of R&B, Gospel and even, dare I say...classical. 

As far as the tangible process: I'm a quiet writer. I can't be around chaos, I can't be too hot but I can be cold and I definitely can't be in any kind of pain. Pain of any kind is the nemesis of writing. Whether it be emotional, physical or intellectual (as in...the research for this novel/article/living will could potentially kill me!) has to be in balance and in somewhat dissonant harmony with the project I'm working on. 

Thanks again to Allison for tagging me in this! 

Next up in the #MyWritingProcess Blog tour is one of my favorite storytellers. Yes, he's Natty-poo's Papa, but before I knew him as a Papa-type dude, I knew him as a full-blown Texan Storyteller. You can find him on Twitter. 

And, for the record: He's the one that did this to Natty: 

Regardless of his role and its proverbial coat of many colors through the last four plus years I've known Jimmy, I've never grown tired of his stories, his writing or his love for his family. Here's to you, Papa! And thanks for giving a great set of genes to Natty's Daddy and Natty. Sometimes the best storytellers are sitting right in front of you. Time to listen to what they have to say. 

Yours in Writing, Wordsmithing and Wondering About it All, 


Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Negative Assets

Quote of the Day: 
No one is useless in this world that 
lightens the burden of another.
~Charles Dickens~

Current Local Weather: 
Muddied waters are a-comin' due to 
the endless supply of the spring tears.

Currently on my iTunes:
"Waltz of the Nuke Workers"

Currently Reading:
"Big Spoon, Little Spoon"
*haha, I get to read this before anyone else!*

Dear Friends, Family and My Family of Friends, 

To See the World...

This blog is for the writers and artists in my life... and I'm writing this as your mentor, your boss, your agent, your lover, your hopeful liaison to everything you see when you close your eyes.

I just went to see the movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. 

As an unabashed fan of the original short story, I was curious to see how Ben Stiller was going to treat it and more importantly, stretch it into a feature length movie. I ignored and refused to read any criticism or reports on the movie and patiently waited for it to deport from the big guns into the dollar theater. I didn't even sneak a peak and watch the "old" version of the movie or even entertain the idea of bootlegging it. I read it to my girls one night in preparation for going to see it. Their response to the story was...that's it?!?!  But...what happened to that? Was it a dream? Was it real? 

Things Dangerous to Come....

As a budding literary snob, I had those same questions when I read it the first time. I am an American. I WANT EXCESSIVE DETAIL AND SWAG IN EVERYTHING I CONSUME! Dammit. I should have been a Gatsby.

I digress.

I could hardly contain myself during the movie. Ok, that's a partial lie. I couldn't contain myself. I had to get out my cell phone to light up my purse so I could pull out business cards, scraps of paper and gum wrappers to write down my thoughts while I watched. This kind of inspiration doesn't come easy to me. But G*d Dammit....that movie was the very best I've seen in...well, let's just say I feel a bit on this side of greatness having been one of the privileged ones to see it. 

To See Behind the Walls...

To treat this itty bitty significant grand... with so much techni-f'in-color wonderfulness was far beyond any expectations I may have had. It's as if Jon Bon Jovi decided to put out his next hard rock album consisting of all Phillip Glass music. 

Draw Closer...

But through all the master cinematography and visual imagery, the AHA moment I walked away with lied simply in Mitty's job. He was the head of Negative Assets. 

Walter Mitty had everything in the world in his dreams and nothing, at least that he could think of, in his waking life. Sure...he has a great mom (Shirley McClaine is A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. as a momma) and a quirky but lovable sister. 

To Find Each Other...

However, every great man deserves a woman. But where, as the E-harmony guy (Paton Oswald...another favorite) points out were his "Been there, done thats?" Surely he had to have ONE....

Alas, Walter Mitty had many in his dreams. Until one man left a message thanking him for his work...

And to feel...

I recently had to conquer a negative asset and figure out how to create assets that ooze positives. So, in my fashion, I started my own company. Janus Artistic Services. 

In an extensive meeting last night all four of us in the company worked out the verbage for the "why..."of the company. 

In very non-eloquent terms, I said that we basically exist to deal with all of the bullshit that no one else wants to do. We are here to serve artists in their every need and want. 

Our company slogan is, We Don't Sleep, So Artists Can Eat. 

The impetus, a.k.a. WHY...behind the company is the wanton need to take care of those that need us most so they can fulfill their dreams. We are here to serve those that are in the fight of their lives to find their true purpose and value. 

And I believe, having worked in this industry for...well, for a long time, that the journey must be done without the awareness of others but with the knowledge that often it's what we want most whether it's to be that star, to be the success we see when we close our eyes, is absolutely not something that needs the "like" button on Facebook. It's something that must be an asset to your character. It has to be DEEP inside of you to reach past the skin on your teeth. 

This life of yours needs to take place for yourself before seeking any kind of approval. You need to be the office, space cadet. You HAVE to be the Walter Mitty in your mind and dream a thousand dreams before you employee someone to listen to you talk about it. Hearing that it CAN'T be done your way or that YOU can't do what you want to do can kill your spirit, your heart and more importantly the invincible will when facing the impossible. 

Shooting down your dreams is like acquiring a manager to those negative assets in your life. 

It's dictionary time, kids! 

Asset (n) is defined as a useful or valuable thing, person, or quality. 

Negative (adj.) is defined as the absence of distinguishing, marked qualities or features, lacking positive attributes (opposite of positive). 

The words or job of someone that is a negative asset manager is a double negative in of itself. 

Whether you're an artist, a budding novelist, or musician with 40 yrs of gigs behind you and only 20 left ahead, your greatest asset is that you're POSITIVE that you've got your dreams in the palm of your hand and your head on your shoulders...and you should be able to rest knowing that what you have to offer the world, even if at the time it's only in your head, it will surely be of great use to others in the human race. Why would anyone with a dream take it...a noun with an adjective that's the most POSITIVE attribute of your core and turn it into a very dark, smellly, damning horse? 

You wouldn't. Never Compromise. Always Realize.

And in the end, Walter Mitty, the most selfless man in the story, had to realize that the hardest work is often done without the intent of recognition. Sometimes the pay you receive is only in knowing that you helped somebody else recognize their positive effects, assets and hidden life in their daydreams. 

The truth, even if only in your head, is tough. You must learn that in order to get the girl, realize your dreams, ignore the "Major Tom Weird Beard Guy" in your office and rid yourself of that negative asset taking up your hard-wired drive, that the truth lies in knowing what it means to be yourself.

And that is exactly what Walter Mitty did. 

He was no longer a dreamer, he was a doer.

And yes, SPOILER ALERT, he got the girl. 

And...he found the cover shot negative that seemingly spoiled his whole world.

Which, ironically, turned out to be a positive. 

I hope that all of you will be true to who you are regardless of your job. 

That you'll realize the "WHY" behind the "WHAT" you do every day and turn your assets away from the negative...

That is the purpose of life...

Yours in Assets, Office Assholes and Acclimating to the Truth,