the Mark

Mark DeSimone

the Mark

I bumped into a grade school classmate at a coffee shop recently.

          I was happy to see him. He was one of the easiest friends to get along with. He was opposite of my neighbor, who was my best friend due to proximity.

          My neighbor was not so easy to get along with.

          I asked him once, as he stole CDs from where he worked, “Why do you steal?”

          He looked up and said simply, “They don’t pay me enough.”

He must have stolen thousands of dollars of worth of merchandise. He never found the amount he felt entitled to and just kept stealing.

          My neighbor would later transition into a woman and I just thought to myself, he must now be on a path where he says to others, “They don’t respect my identity.”

          He reminds me of Isa.

She stole a lot of money from me and also feels entitled that no one should believe me. The Section 302 discredited any complaint towards her, though one should question her.

In the end it only makes her look more guilty once you reverse-engineer how she did it. The call logs and the document have some glaring engineering.

          Isa hasn’t been caught, and perhaps she never will. Whether she ever faces punishment or not, doesn’t concern me.

          The punishment can be evaded, but the act remains eternal.

          What you do becomes you.

          What you repeat will only make you progress further towards what you are doing.

The engineering it took to take loans in my name and transferring to her account, using my credit cards and linking all contact with accounts, until finally attempting the ultimate sacrifice one can ask.

          Life.

          My wife asked me to select the life insurance policy that had deductions. I originally wanted the one without to save money.

          Saving is not what Maria Isabel Williams does.

She transitioned into a Black Widow, similar to my neighbor who transitioned into a new identity, though hers was far mischievous.

I am grateful for my friendship with my neighbor. He prepared me for Isa.

I rarely challenged her, since I knew that it would change me.

She feeds off those who oppose her, sharpening ways to destroy the identity of others.

          My friend who I bumped into actually mentioned my neighbor since we were discussing our childhood.

          I asked him the first question I could think of.

          “Do you ever think of our childhood?”

          He paused and thought about it. “Not really.”

          I asked, “What can you remember of ours?”

          He laughed and said, “I think of how you got into the car accident.”

          I chuckled. I almost forgot about that.

I crossed the street without looking the other way. I was looking at a pretty girl, so I wasn’t paying attention.

Witnessing me being hit by a car was memorable, I am sure, but I don’t think she thought I was that impressive flying in the air.

          It was not my finest moment.

          I think her name was Kelly Smith. She was with her friends, and I just walked out on the street looking at them.

          A car hit me and I was thrown onto the grass.

          I remember thinking, as I laid on the ground, with the wind knocked out, “There goes my chance looking cool in front of Kelly.”

          The driver came out quickly and asked if I was okay.

          I said in a daze, “Did I dent your car? I am sorry if I did.”

          He looked relieved and started laughing. The ambulance came and asked if I could be taken to the hospital.

I told them no.

          I didn’t want the cost of the bill.

They called my mother. She drove to the site.

          What I remember about the Skeptic, as she was crowded inside the ambulance, was that she was holding my hand and breathing heavily.

I remember thinking, “That is not like her.”

That memory reminded me of Maya Byrd, holding her aunt’s hand after she passed. Later she would cause a scene at the hospital, needing two family members to hold her back as she performed in front of the nurses.

I saw the reaction of those around her, but I also saw how Maya was feeding off those reactions.

Maya failed most of her classes at Temple, but not theater. I even remember her practicing. The motivation for her to study could be used for someone who has to perform in front the police.

That was rare for Maya.

I didn’t judge her during her performance over the death of Myra, but I only thought, “That is not like her to be so expressive.”

          Anyway, due to the accident I was unable to play the big soccer game since they wanted to make sure I was okay.

          My friend remembered that day since we lost the game due to putting in someone who didn’t have someone who had quick reflexes.

 I was the goalie.

          He changed the topic and asked, “What have you been up to?”

          I answered, “I went to painting school, but I never made it.”

          He looked surprised.

“I can’t believe that. You were always good at everything you did.” When I played goalie it was my first year. I don’t really like sports.

I knew he didn’t have enough time to hear that I dropped out before my show. I didn’t want to spend any more money.

It is ironic that I married someone who wanted to spend money until I had to file for $125,000 bankruptcy.

          My wife is textbook career grifter.

          I am the Mark which is not textbook.

          I learn as I do. I improve as I go.

An example is the 9-month progress in oil painting, which was about 3,000 hours of study. I painted non-stop once I learned how difficult oil painting was.

I love challenges.

          What I lack in talent I make up with curiosity. I was not curious about making a living off my art.

I wasn’t a great student, but solid B was good enough for me. Even subjects I enjoyed I didn’t grade well since getting good grades was uninteresting to me.

My favorite subjects were Ancient History, Art History, Philosophy, and Classical Music. No Computer Science, which is ironic since I later learned how to code in 3 months.

          I rarely memorized so the topics I struggled in were Math, Science, Spanish. Language was difficult for me, but not logic language, which is something I thrive in.

Spanish and Chemistry were the only two subjects I ever failed, and I made sure to put effort to pass the second time.

          I know who I am.

          Just because no one knows who I am doesn’t discourage me one bit.

          I am not motivated by external rewards like approval, money, or status. I never have, which often makes those view me as a loser, which both my wife and her daughter called me at one time.

          I was not offended.

          Even my own mother would feel this way with one of her last texts to me.

The Skeptic forwarded me a job posting as a front desk receptionist.

She wrote, “I got this and it must have been meant for you.”

I wasn’t offended, but it is amusing that she would misread who I am.

          She owns most of my paintings.

I painted over a 1,000 and threw almost all of them away.

She owns one where I actually threw it out for the garbage and she saved it from being destroyed. It is painting of a woman with a hat. That was a study of a white background.

          My mother-in-law, Maria Smoot owns two of my paintings.

It is chilling knowing that she owns them, especially if I listened to her on 6/1/23.

The mother asked, “You can leave first, we will wait until the car gets finished.”

I told her no and that decision saved my life.

          She would feed off my death looking at the painting of my self portrait holding an umbrella. Maria Smoot is the most subtle player of the confidence game.

          That story she told me was a thrilling performance for her as she glanced at my artwork while she was telling a sad story of the death of her Asian friend who died from mental disease.

One of the last things my mother said was, “You are not materialistic, that is for sure.”

  She paused and admitted, “You don’t have ambition.”

          I didn’t correct her.

She was right about me not caring about material things, but wrong about my ambition. If I told her what my ambitions were, she would most likely roll her eyes.

          I don’t hide who I am and what my ambition is obvious to me, though most see me as a failure, which is fine by me.

I learned how to code using my thousands of hours of practice with Excel. Of all the things I have studied, Excel is by far the one I have used the most.

My best guess is 30,000 hours of study.

I can prove what that sort of study can accomplish. I created a translator of the logic language Salsify. What would take a coder to write in hours, I can write in minutes.

When Randy asked me, “Do you think you can help.” He had just seen an excel program I designed which mirrored what Salsify was doing.

He asked me to help with projects that were unfinished for months with this new logic language.

This was around December 11, 2024. I answered like I do for most requests asked of me, “I will do my best.”

December 12, 2024 was when first built the Excel translator using that simple macro I tested with earlier programs.

I finished 2 projects in days, which normally would take weeks.

This was while I was a content specialist, so I was doing this for free since it was not in my job description. I was given the largest client, and I was the newest temp on Randy’s team.

Around March I then wrote a long code which helped take out duplicates from 22 possible slots. I finished it in 3 days and would later try to optimize it.

I wanted to see how fast this program I designed and would later write 1200 lines of code in 11 minutes.

I used a simple macro that goes horizontal and vertical. I was working on this code while my wife was vacationing.

I gave her an olive branch after I we tried to patch things up. I told her a humorous story.

“I took an IQ test while you were away. I scored below functioning.”

Isa laughed and she must have forgotten the second part of the story. I told her why I scored so low.

“I just answered the same since I got bored with the test. I was working on something else.” The Source Code below was what I was working on.

I have never been ambitious in the normal sense, often staying in the middle of my environment, to not be the worst, and definitely not the best.

My speed limit is the middle of those that surround me so I won't get noticed or be bothered.

I rarely raised my hand or wanted to be noticed.

The first time I remember really trying my best was in eighth grade when I was at soccer camp. That friend that I bumped into attended and he may have been remembering this day.

He was good at sports, while I was not.

I never played soccer before so I chose goalie as my position, which is the best position to start if you never played a day of soccer in your life.

Soccer camp as my achievement in sports, not any games I ever played in before or after.

I stuck out at camp, as all goalies did since we didn't wear shorts.

There were only a few classes for goalies, so we sat in on classes that wouldn't apply to my position.

The teacher called my name.

I was amused he picked me, of all the other student to choose, he picked the least skilled.

He instructed me to try to kick the ball away from him, as his purpose was to get past me.

He then started explaining to the rest of the class what he was going to do and never stopped talking. My friend I bumped into was most likely sitting in that class.

I decided to go past what I could do. If you call my name, and you want to make an example of me, I tend to respond.

I don’t stress if I fail trying to answer back.

It is hard to focus and talk at the same time. I had an advantage of an overconfident teacher.

He was a 20 year old varsity player being slightly cocky, while I was the 13-year old Asian goalie not familiar with playing defense.

Overconfidence in others is a weakness, confidence in yourself is a strength.

          I have never had issues with confidence.

As he was instructing the rest of the students and dribbling down towards me, I wasn't listening.

I was watching the distance of his kick of his ball from his cleats.

I backpedaled, feigning defeat, but prepared to move forward when I saw an opening for victory.

Retreating with every intention of never surrendering.

I saw the lazy dribble.

Before he could react, I sprang forward with my limited athleticism, and kicked the ball out.

There was silence.

A grade schooler defeated a varsity college soccer player in front of class.

The teacher was just proven wrong.

This is me when I am interested in something.

I knew he was going to be mad since his pride took a hit.

I don't blame him.

Take me seriously if you are so sure to call my name.

I just smiled, without gloating, and waited to see how he would react.

The varsity college player said, "Let's do that again."

"That didn't go as planned."

I nodded and this time,

I just gave a half-measured attempt to stop him.

I was no match. If he was focused on passing me, 99 out 100 times he could do it.

I chose the 1 out 100,

Don't talk while you are facing me, take me seriously and don't be so certain I won't try to win.