Thoughts

"Well," Jackson interposed as he peered from the shore across the opaque, windless sea, "I, for one, won't be taken alive. It's time to hit them where they're strongest: right in the middle of their zombie hive. Who's with me?" Badger, or so they called him because of his insistence on black face camouflage, was the first to assent. "You can't count me in." "It's not likely we'll survive this, Dennis. What will come of the children if we're unsuccessful?" Dr. Weston wasted little breath on trifles, so when he spoke, people tended to listen. This time, however, he was overruled by Jackson. "We're more likely to lose them if we remain here, Weston. I don't think we have a choice." The three of them, the only males left on the island, hastened with pitchforks and stones to battle their undead foes. It was the biological nuclear blast that had left them in this state, with more zombies and less techno

Tony-- we'll call him "Machine"-- opened his front door to face squarely all comers. The first of these was an early morning run. Jabbing first with his left, then swinging wildly with his right, he came out nearly unscathed-- except, of course, for the two beautiful girls who seemed to ignore him as he jogged by, to the great disappointment of the champ. Alas, his record remained in place, if his ego seemed a bit bruised. Not to be outdone by his previous bouts, the Machine stepped next into the ring to take his next-- and equally formidable-- opponent: his 1995, paint-chipped forest green Toyota Camry. If his car was to be presentable, it would need such attention as that given by a mother to her babe. It was here that the Machine had less experience, but more motive, for who knows what cordial well-to-do's might view him driving this, his stallion, his beast. Coming immediately out of his corner with a haymaker, then a surprise left uppercut, The Machine stood prou

At base, I'm afraid of rejection. The manifestations of this fear come in a variety of forms. These include fear of appearing incompetent in front of my students at school, fear of sounding incompetent in front of my peers, and fear of failing to keep up an interesting conversation. There are certainly other fears, but I think this is most prevalent. Unfortunately, it has been this fear that has prevented me from understanding who I am meant to be. I've experienced those halcyon days when I reached my potential and knew exactly what I was made of. Those days, those moments, seem to be oases amid a desert of confusion and forgetfulness as to who I really am. Instead, I find myself hiding-- both literally and figuratively-- from those risks that would allow me to begin growing. To be sure, I would face failure, but the one lesson I would learn, I think, is that this failure is not the leviathan that I think it. What is most discouraging, though perhaps most heartening as well, is