No! It’s NOT propaganda! It’s a correction!

((And I must be a terrorist…))

More Potential Goes to Waste?

Or could I, should I actually make something of it?

I went into the head office of my old company today. The doctor & CEO of the company and I had a long assed talk which ended in him pretty much making me an offer no sane person would refuse.

’We’ll be partners. You don’t have to put any capital in it. You will work side-by-side with me. And you will have to work. You are so talented, but you don’t focus your talent. You don’t communicate well with people you dislike. Someone like you needs to work for yourself and not under someone else. When you’re ready to go out on your own, you will hopefully be set for life.’

To which I replied, “Alright, give me the product information I need. Tell me what you want from me exactly and I will think it over.”

’No. I will not give you a thing. You will go home, sleep on it and think about it. If you decide that you’re ready to work for yourself, then I’ll give you all the information. You can do so much and you’ve got all the right contacts here. You just need to decide that you want to do it for yourself first. You need to want to work.'

I sipped on my coffee wondering why this conversation seemed to be going in circles before I said, “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

’Do you understand what I’m saying, here? I know you. I know you’re multi-talented and that’s such a gift from God. But you waste it. You waste it by refusing to deal with people you don’t like; by communicating only with people you care about. If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly; that hot cappuccino you’re drinking would be out of your hand and in my face.’

I couldn’t help but laugh because he was right on two accounts; 1) the cappuccino was way too hot and; 2) it probably would have been all over him.

He gave me a few new collagen products to try, asked me if I was taking my vitamins because I look pretty worn and sent me on my way, before saying, “I’ll be expecting you’re call. And I mean it. Tomorrow, a week from now, a year from now, when you’re ready and you let me know that you’re ready, this offer will always be valid.”

Now I’m a bit of a skeptic when it comes to something like this. It seems so easy, so perfect. I know him and I know he’s not thinking anything nasty. I know the products, well most of them since they’ve added a few since I resigned. I worked under him for 6 months before I left to take over the Abu Dhabi office – with the owner from hell. I believe in the products and he’s promised me far more than what’s just listed with the main company. He’s promised me a place in his personal company. It seems like it’s all up to me. All I have to do is decide. Do I want this?

What exactly is it, though? Are the details of this proposal clear to you? It kind of feels to me like I need to decide that I want to be his business partner before I learn what the details of my position will actually imply.

On a similar note, I haven’t touched the editing I’m supposed to be working on, for a few days now. It almost feels like I’m letting another opportunity slip away from my hands. Can we count how many I’ve let slip in this lifetime? Do I dare even attempt?

I can’t help but think about murdering her. I hate the cunt. I really… Truly… Hate the fat fucking cunt. It’d almost be worth the punishment.

If I didn’t fear God, she’d be dead.

God, spare me these thoughts.

American’s are Rude!

I found something online and I wanted to order the same. Their site mentioned that they do entertain international orders and shipping amounts vary. They would contact me with the approximate amount. Instead of wasting time (because I hate wasting time when I want something), I decided to call them. Here’s how the conversation went:

USA: Thank you for calling blah, blah, blah… How can I help you?

Me: Good morning! How are you?

USA: (shock, horror, dismay – someone’s being polite?) long pause, Umm I’m good, thanks? Yes, it was a question!

Me: Good to know! I found something on your site and I’m interested in purchasing it, but I’ve got a few questions about payment and shipping. I’d like to know what the shipping costs with be approximately and whether or not I can give you my credit-card details and order by phone?

USA: You’re calling from the Middle East? Where in the Middle East?

Me: The United Arab Emirates.

USA: Where?

Me: The United Arab Emirates, Dubai?

USA: Silence

Me: You know, Dubai. The Burj Al Arab – the world’s most famous hotel?

USA: Where? She’s almost sounding obnoxious.

Me: You must know Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates! It’s always on American news!

USA: I can’t understand YOU!

’What language am I speaking bitch?’ At least that’s what I was thinking.

Me: Uniiitted A-rab Emiiirates, Duuubaaay.

USA: Anyway, you’ll have to pay by money order and in advance. We don’t accept credit cards from the Middle East. And the shipping cost is half the value of your purchase.

Me: But your site says Paypal, Credit Card or COD.

USA: We only accept money orders in advance from the Middle East.

Me: I’m looking at something that costs $100, shipping will cost $50?

USA: Yes. You have to make a money order out to us and send it in advance.

Me: And how do you ship your products?

USA: Airmail.

Me: Your site says FedEx is also an option. I don’t trust the local post office much. Is it possible?

USA: No. To the Middle East we only send by US Airmail.

Me: Your mailing address isn’t on your site.

USA: It’s P.O. box blah, blah, blah…

Me: So, I send a money order out to your company with a printed form stating what I want and that’s it?

USA: Yes.

Me: What’s my guarantee?

USA: You don’t have one.

Me: Thank you very much, bub-bye.

I’m pretty darn certain, I won’t be ordering from this place. I won’t be ordering from any place that pretty obviously discriminates against the Middle East and is down-right-out RUDE to their customers.

I have wasted another day. The most I’ve done is gone out to buy smokes and water. I didn’t touch the book I’m supposed to be editing. I didn’t even read the papers. I spent the entire day doing fuck all. I’ve barely even watched the television that’s been playing the background since I woke up. I did skim a couple of blogs and I did reply to a few emails.

I find it amusing how many bloggers think they’re brilliant for figuring out who ‘potential waste’ is. Fucking Einstein’s! The lot of them! Each and every one of you deserves a fucking cookie, now. For future reference, if you’d asked in private, you’d have probably been given the answer plus a detailed explanation as to why.

I never figured myself for hiding. I never even attempted to put on a fake persona for the sake of veiling the inevitable. I didn’t even fail to disclose the telling details about who I am in my profile.

Brilliant people, I tell you.

No. I’m still me and no matter what name I choose to use in blogger, it seems I’ve got that damn personality that sticks out. Good to know, I guess. I’m original, and you’re not. Bite me.

He said he wasn’t feeling well. He said he was a little depressed; a little nervous. I suggested two things;

1) Go to Deirah and hit on all the pretty women, so long as he doesn’t give them any real contact details or take any of them home. That’ll defiantly make him feel better!

Or…

2) We’ll both go to some trashy part of town where I’ll hide in the back-seat, behind the tinted windows and he’ll hit on all the ugly girls, giving them one of his friend’s phone number and insisting they call. Not only will he laugh tonight because he’s doing something evil … But he’ll laugh when his friend starts bragging about all the women calling, because he already knows they’re disgusting women.

He refused both. I don’t think he was lying when he said he was depressed.

I decided that if my writing was going to get me in trouble, I might as well make royalties from it.

I’ve had a couple of online journals, now. One them goes back as long as five or six years. It’s on an American based site, in a tight-knit online community. That journal has followed me through some of the most chaotic times in my life. Upon learning about my autobiography being confiscated, I logged into that site with the intentions of deleting everything. I couldn’t do it.

There were a couple of emails from a small publishing house based in New Zealand, inviting me to publish my journals. They’d already invited me in the past, at which time I blatantly accused them of being a fraud. Something didn’t match up to me. Upon reading their latest emails and their rationalization of seemingly unprofessional ways I decided to give it a go.

I started taking the entries off-line, copying and pasting them one by one into a word document, and editing for any spelling or typing errors. I’m still in the process of doing this. Reading those old journal entries made me realize a number of things. A lot of it made me feel sick to stomach and a lot of it has forced memories to flash back. Most of it has made me question myself, ’who the fuck did I think I was kidding?’

Either I was lying to myself and the rest of the world, or a hell of a lot has changed and I’ve done a hell of a lot of growing. Or, I’m purely psychotic suffering multiple personalities and I don’t even know it.

Drama follows me. Or I create it subconsciously. I don’t know, but it’s almost always there.

And I thrive off of it.

I just killed a face. But she’s not dead. She was real, but not the real I care to emphasize anymore. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I was going to do; kill her. But drama showed her ugly face and I was left without a choice, really. I’m trying to prevent it this time. My efforts will do me no good, thanks to Google cached, and the fact that all my details are already in the hands of the wrong person, should they decide to pursue it.

I write. And I write a lot. I’ve always kept journals, blogs, and the like. I write fiction and reality, I write poetry and stories. I started writing an autobiography. I never completed it because I realized the consequences of publishing that book would be far too big for me to deal with. The uncompleted version was left in the hands of an aspiring, American author, wishing to write about the relationships between Westerners and Arabs in the United Arab Emirates. The authorities caught up with him. They confiscated all his files before requesting he leave the Emirates and never return. He’s gone now. But my writings, contact details, name and everything else is now with them.

But I can’t stop writing. So here I start again.

This time there are no comments. This time, I don’t want your rash thoughts or opinions. This time, if you have something to say to me, concerning something I’ve written, you can email me. Maybe this time, before your words reach me, you’ll have the chance to think about what you want to say.

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