Where am I? Who am I?

How many people could possibly have the unique name Chris Williams? A lot, a lot, a lot! How many people should have my same social security number? The answer to that question should be one...me. But it turns out not so much. My social security number has been making the rounds in the states and along with it my I.D. Apparently, I've been up to some illegal shit in the US since I've been living in Korea. What the fuck man? The reason why this is funny to me and yes it makes me laugh is because I have never used my powers for evil. When it comes to breaking the law and shit like that I'm the most boring person on the planet, besides a few little high school indiscretions I have not done shit to pop up on the mans radar, yet here I sit, blipping the fuck away. From what I gathered by the very pleasant state police worker who I think believed that I was the real Chris Williams with my particular social security number is that this other Chris Williams is a real fuck face! Seriously, I don't think she was supposed to tell me this shit but apparently I owe a lot of money in child support and have a restraining order against me.

Feel free to laugh, I am. It's funny. No, dead beat biological dads are not funny and neither is what I'm assuming is abuse. But this whole situation is very funny. It would be funnier if this was happening to one of my other friends. But what's not funny is that getting this cleared up may require my ass to fly home which means I would not come back. But my criminal report and my social security number did not match up. My fingerprints and my social security number did not match up. So I have a question....where the fuck am I? Where have I gone and when did you last see me? At first I was really pissed off because I know the amount of work this is going to take to clear up is going to be great. Shit like this is never easy. Never. I had a suspicious feeling something was up after two of my credit cards that have had a zero balance on them for about 10 months now mysterious closed on me. I think I had another warning when a package I ordered to a friends P.O. Box mysterious got delivered to another address because they sent it to Billing instead of Delivery.

Now I get to make daily phone calls to Oregon and my bank until the matter is cleared up. Chris Williams? That has to be one of the most boring ass names around. I should have been named Atticus. I've always liked the name Atticus. I bet there would not be so much confusion if my name was Atticus.

Either way, what's done is done and I can't really do any more then I'm doing. I hope I can meet my deadline and get this all cleared up by next month because if it is not, Korea is going to be sending my ass back to the states in which case I would lose around ten thousand bucks in cash savings. Am I upset? A little bit, but I can still laugh and this has always been my measure of how bad things are in my life. I can still laugh and I can still make fun of myself. I've only not been able to laugh twice in my lifetime and having a little identity problem doesn't register on the "life isn't funny scale."

In my minds mind, this other Chris Williams is a middle aged, beer bellied white dude who rents a small house near freeway. He used to be a baseball star in high school and married early. He's balding just enough to feel the weight of time on his shoulders. He has three kids and two of them he's certain are his. He can't explain where the red hair on the third came from. He works a job that requires his muscles to ache at the end of every ten hour shift. He still loves his ex-wife but never learned how to show her. When he drinks whiskey he gets mean and has decided to stick to Miller and Bud..."fuck that trendy micro-beer shit!" "What the fuck is a Micro-brew anyways?" "That's what's wrong with this God-Damed country!" Chris makes just enough money at his job to be poor. He rubs his right knee and winces every night as he thinks about his youth. His old glove and bat hide in the closet waiting in vain to breath the cool air outside. He watches to much T.V. and he eats for shit! He can't sleep at night and sometimes, for no reason at all, he silently sobs. He thinks about going back to school and finishing up his degree but he has yet to run out of excuses not to. Chris knows in his heart that he can't continue to live his life like this. He no longer sees his kids and deep down he knows they are better off for it. When did he get old? When did he become such a bastard? Maybe he'll go to therapy...but what would the guys at work say? They would call him a pussy that's what they would do. But, he's getting tired of being a coward. He's tired of hiding from himself. There's a reason he doesn't look in the mirror very often. For the first time he writes one of his many self improvement ideas down on paper-research therapists. As he lifts his pencil from the pad a slight shiver runs through his entire body. He really is going to research a therapist. He really is going to make an appointment. Chris gets up off the couch and decides to use the computers at the library. He picks up his keys off the coffee table, puts his work boots on, and turns off the television. As he closes his door, he decides to walk instead of drive. Maybe tomorrow he'll call up the guys and get a soft-ball game going at the park. As Chris disappears down the hill a single tear rolls down the grain of his baseball bat.