I'm Going To Be Honest . . . With You. I . . . HATE This Place

"What was it like when Shannon left?" asked Marley.


The question confused me. "Why would you ask me that? She's in past, I was over that a long time ago, you know that."

"I know," she said, "I'm not asking because of you, it's for my latest assignment. It's a guy who went through a breakup. I've never had my heart broken, I think it might help to know what it's like."

"Like you even need any help," I answered. Nervously, I continued, "And . . . forgive me if it, you know, offends you, but . . . I know you've been hurt."

With a calm detachment, she said, "Oh sure, but I was abused. Not heartbroken. It's not the same."

I took that in, and said, "Well, misery kind of defines you. As positive or upbeat as you try to be, it doesn't change the place you're in, and as long as you're there, no escape can ever completely take you out of there. Smile all you want, people can tell, because when you're stuck in that place, you're a different person. It was like, I wished so badly to be out of there, because I knew it was ruining my life, and I didn't want to be that person. But I was trapped. And still, I kept thinking, 'This is where I'm supposed to be right now, I guess 'cause I figured you belong there after a breakup. Looking back, I can't believe I tried to justify things like that."

"I remember," she said. "I recognized your turmoil when I first saw you."

"You recognize everyone's everything."

"This was different. Even though you were being so nice to me, I could tell that you weren't quite you. Yeah, I just knew you were sad about something, but there was something else. You were friendly but you didn't smile. Something didn't add up. You know, you can have the best intentions of turning things around and still fail, and it's not your fault. Even though people might tell you it's a matter of personal strength, it's usually not. They might say 'get over it,' like there's a switch you just won't bother to flip. But even if there was, if you're stuck in the bad place, it's like, the switch isn't there, it's somewhere else. How do you get there?"

"An angel takes you," I said.

"Sometimes. Hopefully."

"Was I helpful?"

"Yes," she said, "even though, in a way, I wish you weren't."

On Death: Splung For Me

Words cannot begin to express how much happier a person I am. My life was filled with so much misery that I don’t think it was a very good person to be around. I feel like I’m a little more uplifting, which is good, considering I’m an Angel, that tends to be a good quality in those meant to inspire the living. Are there really unhappy Angels? I know that I used to be, at least when I was a trainee. I suppose I could have just as easily been an unhappy person and continue being an angel. I mean, after all, I was miserable when I passed my final exam. I know that I was good at my job so I think that’s what the difference was. Then again, I would have been a soul in Heaven who hated his job, if you’re going to have that kind of existence in heaven what would the fucking be point anyway?

I think I’m beginning to veer off topic. The thing that I was really wondering, was about how this epiphany, or attitude adjustment, or, I don’t know, just general exhilaration, only came with death. Sometimes I wonder, is it ironic or pathetic, that in order to achieve this mental turnaround I had to die? I had a look at the last phase of my existence, when I was in a state of misery, and the fact that it ended when my life ended, or at least a little bit after, it seems kind of unfair, both to me, and people who were alive. First of all, why wasn’t I allowed to have a good life? I think that’s part of the reason I had such issues with becoming an angel in the first place. I also think it's kind of offensive to the living, the idea that life should be defined by such misery, at least by me. And my way out was by ending it. I mean, that’s not what I intended to do, but it’s what happened. Does the fact that I finally achieved fulfillment in existence with the end of my life lived condone the idea that life is only a temporary existence and that the afterlife is what you really need to strive for?

Then I remember what God said to me, that the true reward is the challenge of creating the positive existence for yourself without everything being handed to you. I felt like my life was terrible because nothing was handed to me. And sometimes that makes me wonder, does being given nothing actually mean you’re being given everything to achieve happiness?, And maybe I wasn’t up for it?

Sometimes I think “My life so much better now.” And then I remember, oh wait, I’m fuckin’ dead. Don’t get me wrong, I really love being an angel, and sometimes I can look at it like I just got a new job and changed locations. I found a career I love. And what’s wrong with that? I asked Marley about this the other day, and she said “Death was my drug rehab,” and she seems okay with that. Maybe I’m just over thinking this, and that’s what really got me in trouble down there in the first place.

I also asked Sashial about this too. She said “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

Naturally, I answered, “I love you too.”

Oh, Are We Fighting? Sorry, Didn't Notice

The White Sox are in town, so Suzanne came in and she, Marley and I went out to dinner the other day.

"The thing I love about New York," Suzanne said, "is how everyone has such an attitude."

That confused me. "You love that about New York?"

"Oh yeah! It's a swagger. Like confidence. You think you're all so superior."

Still not getting it. "Again, this is the thing you like?"

"Totally! There's no hatred! Everyone has this idea about New York, like you look down on everyone."

"Well, we kinda do," I had to admit.

"Yes," she said, "but not in a bad way. Everyone else has this us against them mentality. They see New York as the enemy. Like, people in Chicago, we have this attitude that we're the best of both worlds, because we're a major city in the mid-west. We combine the pure, old-fashioned, rootsy heartland American ideals with modern, industrialized city life. But we have this bitterness that we don't get credit for that because we're still not as big and recognized as New York City. Chicagoans pretty much hate New York. But let me ask you this, what's you're opinion of Chicago?"

"Well, I like you."

She laughed. "Oh, you are SO sweet! But seriously, not what you think of me, what you think of the city of Chicago."

I though for a second and said, "It's alright, I guess. I don't know, I don't really think about it."

"Exactly! This rivalry, this hatred, it doesn't really exist on your end, it's not something that matters to you. It's a much bigger deal to us, we're the ones who are, like, all negative. You know, there's a lot of hatred in this world. So much of it comes from people being just, like, insecure. If more people had faith in themselves, maybe there'd be less pain everywhere."

Then Marley said, "And that's where the angels come in. Partly, anyway."

Suzanne nodded. "Yeah. I just hope I can help enough people see that."

"You can see it's a problem," said Marley. "That's what makes you a good angel, that's why you'll help plenty of people."

Suzanne smiled and looked like she was gonna cry for a second. But collectedly, she looked at me and said, "I love this girl."

Who wouldn't?

Angels In The ISI

Inspiration comes from many forms and sources. There's positive ones, like simple joy: maybe things are going well, you feel refreshed and energetic. You're at your best, most productive, and whatever line you're in, your work is not a chore because you're bringing a positive energy to what you do. The less you feel like you're actually laboring, the easier it is to labor. In some ways, it seems a little unfair, because you're not really conscious of how effective you're being. That's why it's better to just let it happen, look back later, and who knows, you might end up surprising yourself with what you've done.

Or, and some would argue this is the more likely scenario, you're in a negative place and your labor is your escape. Now, I'm not just talking about art; many will assume this falls into the whole "true art comes from pain" bulls--- that leads to pseudo-intellectual self-aggrandizing critical ramblings and rationals to engage in over-indulgence. But how often do you also hear about people throwing themselves into their jobs because their personal lives are in shambles? In some respects, artistic creativity and corporate business diligence are not all that different. People from all walks of life need a distraction, whether it's a work or at home.

This begs the question, why does everyone need to be distracted? If a human's natural state is the very thing they need to escape from, what does that say about the purpose of human existence? If someone is having a good life, we often say they're "living the dream." And there's the problem. Maybe happiness shouldn't be the dream, maybe it should be the standard.

The issue there is, without a goal, with nothing to strive for, humans are never truly happy. I've talked about this before, it's aiding in the journey towards joy and self-fulfillment that drives the angels' existence. So are we actually positive or negative? We're like emotional medication, but, are we the curing indication found within or unfortunate side-effects listed on the label?

Either way, doing it makes me happy, god knows my job on Earth didn't make me feel this way, or anything for that matter. I was going to ask Marley what she thought, but pontificating on a drug metaphor is probably not what you want to ask of a former heroin addict. I asked Lira, and she said, "Do you honestly believe if there was a concrete answer, I would tell you?"

"No, you'd tell me to figure it out for myself or I'd never learn anything."

"Good boy. Keep it going, I have faith that your IQ will hit the century mark someday."

I coughed a sarcastic laugh, "Thanks for believing in me."

"No problem. Take eternity if you have to. And you probably will."

You've got to love her.

That's Not Quite How Michael Kay Would Phrase It

"Burnett's a question mark," said Sashial. "He's a fucking mental case. The Yankees need him to live up to his talent, he's never gonna do that if he doesn't learn to grow the fuck up and stop being a emotional little bitch."

I said, "That's funny, I heard one of the sportswriters from the New York Times say the same thing on ESPN." She laughed. "Get the fuck out of here, you wiseass!"

"You know, you're sounding more human every day."

She didn't seem to like that. "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm a fucking archangel."

"Yes, but when I met you, you seemed pretty down on the whole human race."

"Bullshit," she answered, "I always had love for you, you know that."

"Oh, nobody knows that better than me," I said, "but you still had a sincere contempt for what we did, it was like you were trying to rescue us from ourselves. I couldn't tell if we did a single thing you found worthy of your attention other than reveal our shortcomings. Look at you now. You love baseball. I know it started because you love heckling from the stands, but you're even talking statistics now, in your own way of course. You've taken enough interest in a human recreational activity to absorb a level of expertise. You would have never done that a year or two ago."

"How the fuck do you know that? Remember, Lira and I were in your head, not the other way around. You've gotten to know us really well over the past couple years, but there's a complexity to us you still couldn't imagine."

"So I'm wrong?" I asked.

She exhaled and tilted her head. "Not exactly. We were created for a specific purpose like the archangels, but we were also fitted to be adaptable. We can develop feelings and interests. Humans are constantly adapting too, I'm sure you know that. Their interests come and go with the generations, much shorter even. These things you think of as fads, we're not immune to them. We've seen so many things come and go, you saw dozens in your lifetime, imagine how many we've seen? It's a constant reminder that the human lifespan is so fleeting, these things define your era. To me, it's like they're gone in a heartbeat. Kind of like humans."

"What does it matter?" I asked. "When their life ends, they end up here."

"Oh FUCK, sometimes I really think you'll never fucking get it. Our goal is to enhance the living existence, to aid the challenge of that, and it goes by so quickly that if you blink and miss it, someone has a miserable life. Overcoming sorrow and desperation in your lifetime is the true reward, not playing video games and eating peanut fucking butter and chocolate cookies for eternity."

"Don't be hattin' on my Tagalongs," I said. "And I do get it. Well, I'm getting it."

She smiled. "I know you are, sweetie. Remember, angels go on for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. You've only been one for a few years. You've got plenty of time to learn."

"You're right. So, you think the Red Sox are really the favorites to win the division?"

She chortled and shook her head. "Fuck them."

How Does He Know? Is He Dead? If He Was, He Wouldn't Be Here

This Glen Beck guy kind of makes me glad I'm dead. I listen to him and think that I wouldn't want to live in a world with that guy, much less one that's raised him to the level of celebrity. I also think that people take him seriously and realize how many people need to be saved.

Then again, it's not my job to save them from what isn't my idea of sensible ideology. Angels are not politicians, personal philosophy is something you have to figure out on your own. Intervening via divine intervention is actually against what we stand for, just like what Michael said to us in angel training class when he was talking about the "events" of the Bible.

But when a guy like that points to a horribly tragic natural disaster and says it may be a message from God, that's just wrong. First of all, he's never met God. Second of all, I have. He's a creator, he doesn't like to intervene, and when he does, he doesn't do it like that.

My own theory is that Glen Beck's entire existence is a message from Satan. He's saying "I exist. How else could you explain this crying buffoon?"

That Hole In The Wall Could Have Been Your Face

It's hard sometimes. You know, when I first became an angel, I think I considered the campaign against sorrow to be my mission. Anyone whose heard what I've been saying for a while knows that I've discovered anger to be an equally prevalent force in the destruction of man's complacency. I think when I died I didn't realize how much a rival to sorrow anger was in the basics of the angel's job because I never realized how angry I was, I only knew I was sad. I don't think my anger prevented me from working my sorrow out, but there was something more subconscious about it that just ate away at me without me knowing it. I think I was just in denial. When you consider yourself sad, you feel more like a victim than if you're angry, something about the visceral force of anger that makes you feel more like an aggressor. You feel less worthy of receiving help, and if you feel that way, chances are you won't get it.

A recent subject, Hershel, recently got into a confrontation with someone he knows, someone he didn't know very long but got along quite well with and considered a friend. "I just keep picturing him in my face, ranting and raving like some kind of fucking insane lunatic. Only he's not insane, he was just hurtful. Fucking ruined Christmas time for me. Every time I picture it I just want to break something, punch a wall, I don't know, shoot a pillow like De Niro did in that movie. And you know what sucks? You know why I hardly spoke back? Because I didn't want to cause a fucking scene."

And there you go again with the rewards of virtue. The high road is lined with the bodies of the malcontents, people who proved they were better and got paid in abuse in return for their honor. What the fuck is wrong with this planet that people do this to each other?

At first, this is why I didn't think I could be an angel, and later, why I knew I had to be. If I'm not around to feed my subject the basic, "Imagine how petty, tiny and insecure that person must be to treat other people like that, how sad their life must be," stock line, then who else will show the kind hearted yet angry, that they're lamb and not the lion? Or that the pathetic belligerent one is not the one who stews in rage but the one who releases it towards the unfair target because they're too pathetic and ugly to know what's right and what's wrong?

Well, Herschel seemed to feel better. God knows I do.