End of the Map

October, 2001 No matter the remedy, my head won't stop buzzin' Like all of these problems are one dime per dozen Or twelve for ten cents, except nothing makes sense And the more that I reach out and try so hard to hold The more that this all spirals out of control So in my attempt to see a little clearer I try to find peace as I look in the mirror But it brings me no comfort because I don't recognize These clouds that have settled and distorted my eyes I dropped my smile and I think that it broke And when I open my mouth, I can't speak, I just choke There seems little help in all that's familiar Can't stop an addiction, even if it might kill ya Haven't righted a wrong, just watch it get polluted Haven't focused my goals, my vision's been diluted I reach for these things but I can't seem to attain them Tears scratch the surface, somehow I contain them Keep on swallowing down, repressing a frown Choking back on emotion and igno

It is January, 2009. I am sitting at a large circular table in a huge glass alcove with fourteen other strangers and a man in a very crisply pressed blue dress shirt. I am running my hands over the cover of an orientation packet for the large restaurant conglomerate that is about to employ me. I am being told what is acceptable for the limits of my uniform. When the meeting ends, I go outside into the swirling snow and get behind the wheel of my car and I drive it back to my mother's house. I am recently moved into her guest room at the age of 27 after trying and failing to make a life work for myself in Los Angeles.  A few days after this meeting at the large circular table in the huge glass alcove with the fourteen other strangers who are about to become my coworkers, and this man in the blue dress shirt who is about to become my boss, I am to don all black attire and work the host desk for a large chain restaurant that is best known for its cheese-based cakes. My job includes sh