Don’t worry, it’s actually from me.
I am starting to think that my best stuff comes after completely blanking on what the hell I am going to talk about and therefore being forced to really rummage around in my data banks and pull out something that’s in there good and deep.
It is, of course, incomplete. There’s other stuff I could have put in there. In my world, nothing is ever truly complete or entire.
It’s all just whatever comes to me when it comes time to create. More things always pop into my head afterwards. I am getting quite used to that.
I wish I had the technical muscle to make my vid seem more like it comes from Fox News. It would be so much more powerful and impactful that way. It might even fool some people for a minute.
But alas, I do not have that kind of skill. Yes, I edit my own videos, but that is 99 percent just cut and paste work with the occasion adding of on screen titles, and the sort of graphics and audio work it would take to sell the Fox News thing are well beyond me.
This is why I need a team. A small, focused, dedicated group of subversive weirdos like myself who want to make outrageously amazing content that goes viral because of its hilarious comedy and politically provocative content.
Doesn’t that sound like fun?
Problem is that I lack the social skills to even know where I could find such people, let alone having the chutzpah to recruit them.
Still, with the help of Xanax, maybe I could pull it off. I know that I can be a charismatic leader if I can just get the fuck out of my own way and stop the shrieking banshees of anxiety from screaming in my ears and making it hard to get anything done.
That sounds like a job for Xanax to me.
I must keep reminding myself that any time I feel like anxiety is getting in the way of doing what I want to do, I have the magic pill to make it go away.
I guess I have lived under anxiety’s reign of terror for so long that it’s hard to remember that it is possible to exit it. Taking one before my Tuesdays at the Kinsmen Center is easy because I know I am about to enter a very anxiety provoking situation.
But doing it purely for something I am going to do here, at home, where I feel the most safe, is another thing entirely.
But I can’t deny that, home or not, I am still hemmed in by anxiety. I don’t actively feel it most of the time because I don’t actually fight it most of the time, so for me, it’s kind of like an electric fence is to cows.
They don’t have to get zapped all the time to know they shouldn’t go there. The painful association with the fence is more than enough.
And my fence is made of anxiety. And there are times when I feel like just leaning into that fucking fence and ignoring all the stupid alarms going off in my head in order to find out if I can break through to the other side.
So far I haven’t been either strong enough or nihilistically numb enough to do it.
But one of these days, who knows. Might be worth it just to feel something.
Sometimes feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all. That’s why cutting is a thing.
I am glad I never heard of that when I was a very depressed teen. I would have started cutting myself, or doing something equally painful, for sure.
Come to think of it, I used to stick my bare hand into a snowbank to see how long I could go before the pain from the cold made me take it out.
But I gave up on that when I realized there was no limit. I could keep my hand in there for as long as I liked.
Because I was so damned numb.
More after the break.
Not thinking of that
I have a long, long history of not thinking things through.
For example, as a child, I was super excited to get my very first Walkman… until I realized I had no tapes for it.
This did not occur to me until it was Xmas morning and I had my brand new Walkman in my hand. It had a radio, so I would not have been completely screwed, but luckily my siblings had anticipated my cluelessness and had made a mixed tape for me.
The subject is on my mind because I ordered some KFC tonight without stopping to think about whether Julian would be home to get it from the door for me.
Not a big deal in and of itself because I can get my stuff from the door when necessary. For me, the trip to the apartment door and back is a bit of a hike but I can do it.
But at the same time, my land line phone went on the fritz. So when the Door Dash dude arrived, he couldn’t get through to me via the buzzer, so he had no choice but to leave my stuff outside.
This is typical of how life conspires to fuck me over. It’s always via something random that I never could have anticipated even at my most paranoid.
How was I to know the phone wasn’t working?
Oh well, Julian came home and brought me my food. I had to eat it cold, which is suboptimal but not the end of the world. So no big time harm done.
And by itself, my mistake in not checking to see if Julian was around was not that big an error. If the phone hadn’t stopped working everything would have been fine.
Still, it’s a bitch and rather stressful to have to go through this bullshit.
Oh, and they gave me the wrong drink. I got 7 up instead of the Diet Pepsi I ordered, an obviously I can’t drink that.
Which is too bad, because the sip I took was mighty tasty.
I’ve put my complaint in to DoorDash. I will probably get a refund.
I’d rather have had my proper drink, but a refund will have to do.
Such is life.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.