Blog

hoose?
Why is what I’m doing so wrong?
Why can’t I have both—the freedom of creation and the grind of the hustle?

My mind was a thunderstorm, clouds colliding, loud as hell with no off switch.

I stumble into the kitchen, grab a glass of water, hold the counter to keep from spinning. Trying to retrace the night.

It started at Greene’s place. A few blocks away. Same neighborhood, different frequency.

Greene—one of my best friends. We met rushing a fraternity at the University of Louisville. He was chaos in motion. A tornado with legs. Athlete. Lover of women. Lover of the high in life. Didn’t sell cannabis, but he smoked like it was his birthright.

And that summer?

It was the Summer of Shrooms.

Since I was already the plug for weed, it made sense I became the plug for mushrooms too. Not because of the money—shrooms didn’t flip like cannabis—but because it was a ticket to take the ride for free.

And what a ride it was.

We ate close to a pound between us that summer. Like kids in a candy shop with no patience, just gorging. Trips on trips. Reality melting. Walls breathing. Laughter and fear tied up in the same knot.

By the time I got to Greene’s, Ronald—his roommate, my childhood friend—was already tripping face.

I felt behind. Needed to catch up. FOMO is a hell of a drug.

So down the hatch—caps and stems.

And then the world tilted.

We hit the Highlands, the streets alive with bodies spilling out of bars. Streetlights bleeding into each other.

I didn’t want to go inside any bar. Didn’t want the crowd. But we did. Why? Why not? To feel something.

The club was packed, pulsing.

Beams of red, blue, white slicing through the air.
Greene on the dance floor, moving like a man possessed.
People morphing into aliens.
Walls bending, voices echoing.
The whole place turned into a kaleidoscope nightmare-fantasy.

Back at the sink now. Another glass of water.

Sun bleeding through the basement window, making sleep impossible. I lay back anyway. Staring at the ceiling. Mind spinning. Body buzzing.

Trying to come down. Trying to piece together the edges of last night.

And then it hits me.

Fuck. Tonight is the start of tech week.

The Time I Was Kidnapped By The Church.

And for the first time in my life, I’m about to step onto a real theatre stage.

Still high. Still spinning. Still searching.

But alive.