Feeling particularly irritable today. Got that “animal in too small a cage” rage going on. I feel frustrated, restless, and pissed off at the world.
Kind of like when I was a teenager. Only with, alas, far less masturbation.
Oh, to have all that effortless vigor again,.I miss Horny Me. We had so much fun.
Anyhow. Where was I? Oh right : grr!
Been going around in circles about the whole “what should I be doing with my life?” issue. Seems like it’s one I can’t resolve.
Part of me wants to blanket forgive myself for any and all lack of life progress, from the distant past to my so called future, on the grounds that I am not at all well and that all society expects from a sickie like me is that I do what I can to get better.
Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? But it ain’t that simple.
Because another part of me rails at the thought of that. It seems too much like giving up, and if I give up on that level, then why the fuck am I even here?
Giving up like that, as sane and smart as it might be, is just not in the cards for me. I have too much restless energy yearning to break free. All that energy has to go somewhere. I can’t just make disappear with the flick of a switch.
Right now, that energy mostly goes to my depression. By that, I mean it thrashes around in its cage and doing a lot of damage to me in the process.
Inasmuch as it is expressed at all, it’s expressed as anxiety and depression. I would be a far healthier man if I could only harness this energy to something productive.
But when I try to gently turn myself towards literally any kind of productive endeavour, that arctic chill blows in and stops me in my tracks, frozen stiff and in great pain.
Clearly, this is my depression pulling yet another dirty rotten trick to keep me from escaping its clutches. And I know this. And it helps.
But like i alluded to yesterday, it’s raw emotion now. I have rid myself of all or most of my destructive thought patterns by sheer force of logic and now I am left with just the naked truth that I am massively wounded inside and trying to to productive things just plain hurts, like trying to put weight on a broken leg.
And yet, the only way out that I can see for myself is to go right ahead and walk on that leg. I have to endure the pain and fear that my depression uses to break my will and just keep going at something – anything – in order to break its hold on me.
But I feel so very weak and tiny inside. Puny, even. I suppose that’s more of depression’s doing, but lately I feel like I am just too tired to fight back and all I really want is to be left alone to suffer in peace.
And yet, I rage against the dying of the light.
Somehow, this duality must resolve itself.
But for now, I need to sleep.
More after the break.
Well that went well
Went to comedy.
Had perogies and sausage (with sauteed onions) for dinner – dee lishus.
Did my comedy thang. Felt very at home up there. Relaxed, natural. I’d even go so far as to say it felt like this is where I’m meant to be.
And I did quite well, to boot. Lots of laughs. Some people told Felicity and I that we were both great. One lady said she had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.
Which means…. I did it. I made people happy. Mission accomplished.
And that feels so damned good.
It also reinforces the wisdom of my “take it easy” approach to comedy. I don’t prepare. I write some jokes in the afternoon and then I go do them in the evening. I don’t practice my jokes. I don’t hone them for hours and hours till they are “perfect”.
Fuck that. Perfection is a noble goal but a treacherous destination. You will never get there and within sane limits you will kill yourself trying.
I’m perfectly fine with “good enough”.
Anyhow, my point is that according to all known wisdom, theory, and advice about being a standup comedian , I am doing absolutely everything wrong.
And I don’t give it shit. That’s just par for the course for me. I do best in life when I simply invent my own solutions to common problem rather than trying to do what others do and getting frustrated and upset when it doesn’t work.
And here’s the thing : every possible argument about my doing everything wrong can be countered with two little words : they laughed.
I made the audience laugh. That’s the gig. That’s the job. That’s what I am supposed to do when I am up there with a mic in my hand.
The fact that I can do it without going through the blood, sweat, and tears that other comedians go through is, in an abstract sense, unfair.
But you know what? Talent isn’t fair. And I don’t care. I have done things easily that others find very difficult for my entire life. And I refuse to feel bad about it.
I’m not trying to hurt anybody. I’m just being myself. And that happens to involve showing off and using my bumper crop of talent and intelligence without restraint or inhibition and in doing so, being true to who I really am.
I guess I’ve reached that phase of life when you stop worrying what other people think or how they will react to the real you shining through at last, and you just concentrate on being yourself as hard as you can, and damn the consequences.
Self-actualization transcends other needs, at least when those other needs are met well enough. Being fiercely myself is a new concept to me, but I like it.
Watch out, world…. baby’s gonna shine.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.