Tripping on Sunshine

Suggested Audio Candy:

N-Zo & DJ Invincible featuring Steff “Trippin’ on Sunshine”

It’s hotter than a motherfucker in LA right now. Actually, it has been scorching every day for the past four weeks since my arrival. Being of English persuasion, I have found it something of a change from all the shitty weather that plagues the British calendar. We consider ourselves fortunate if we get a whole week of uninterrupted heat and a downpour is never far away. Here it is in the nineties consistently. I’m naturally hot-blooded so anything above 70 degrees has me writhing around in discomfort. In little over two weeks I shall be returning to my native country and straight into a likely thunderstorm. That should be a refreshing notion but, with all things considered, I’m going to miss the searing heat.

It’s a whole different world here, Long Beach is blessed with sun all year round and, five minutes after a shower, the sweating reconvenes. I have perspired more in the past month than I would in a full year back in the land of the Limey. Half my body mass has poured from my pores and I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve wiped my brow. I’m used to it now and having such a spiritual experience here has helped me become accustomed to the incessant heat. I have, of course, missed family and friends since flying Stateside and, in particular, my little boy who will have started school by the time I swan back. But it has been single-handedly the most fascinating venture of my life outside of his birth and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I have learned much in my time here and that will continue right through to my departure. On arrival I was severely hamstrung by depression and my belief was still faltering after several months of ups and downs, largely downs, as I struggled to comprehend that I could do something with my life and amount to more than that nice fellow who gets along with everybody. Things will be a darned sight different when I go home as I have learned more about myself here than at any other point of my existence. I have achieved goals which, six months ago, I never would have considered feasible. Never again do I plan to sink so low into despair.

I’m realistic; there will be good days and bad, that much I know fully. Lifestyle changes would likely assist in improving my mental health and I know that will mean stemming the intake of weed. That, in itself, is a major ask for somebody who is distinctively all or nothing. I’m one of life’s hopeless addicts and only smoke it because no other narcotic agrees with me any longer. However, I am aware of how much my body has been subjected to over the years and ain’t ready to become a statistic quite yet.

I have grafted harder the last year than I ever had before. Tackling demons is exhausting, especially when these succubi are such persistent little fucksticks. They pull me from pillar to pillar, post inclusive, and appear to get some sort of a sick kick out of it. At least that is how it used to play out. This morning alone I neutralized three of the bleeders, one in the shower, one under the divan and one on my way to fetch the obligatory breakfast waffle. I’ve got their number now and they find it harder giving me the run-around as I’m privy to their games. Bring it imps, you shall feast on my insecurities no longer. Y’all are heading back to whence ye came and each of you with my boot firmly pressed against your sphincter.

I think one of the key things I have learned in LA is how to live again. I was practically shipped in a pine box and had lost any tangible sight of a discernible future. Moreover, I was consigned to the fact that my boy would grow up without a father and accepted this fate. Well I can tell y’all now that shit ain’t happening on Keeper’s shift. I ain’t motherfucking done yet you see. I will depart from LAX an actor, writer, creative producer and co-writer of a screenplay and I have more ideas in my left bag ball than a balding middle-aged man has touched cloth upon farting. I’ll be okay.

Okay is good enough for me. Considering the options previously were risible and catastrophic, I’d say I’ve gotten off somewhat lightly. I shall continue to be as true to myself as is possible, but also attempt at living more, loving more. My little Jacob Nathaniel is in line for one hell of a daddy-fest, that much I know. I am also assured that I will return with a grin firmly emblazoned across my stupid face. You see, there shall be other adventures, nights like this, tucked under a roadside shrubbery watching traffic pass and slowly losing all sense of feeling in my right buttock. I’ll be tripping on sunshine again before I know it.