Monday, August 1, 2016

Deadly Sins: Two Out of Seven?

Watching stand-up comedy to put me in the mood for better jokes. I’m still waiting for it to kick in, but I have hopes. I’d take a seat if I were you though.

Unlike most writers who pull from pain and misery, I work a great deal better when in a euphoric state, which doesn’t happen very often. High energy makes my brain move too fast for my overzealous censor and some weird shit comes out.

I pick up on emotional energies around me, mimicking the attitude of someone I’m watching. Another person can pump me up more than nicotine gum chewed by a non-smoker, but it can also cause me to crash. Because I’ve been avoiding socialization—for the very reason that other people have such a strong effect on me—I’ve been wallowing in a stagnant, resentful exhaustion.

In the last few months, I’ve been filled with anger. It wasn’t directed towards anyone specific—although there have been a few men who tried to forcefully insert themselves into my life at just the wrong time and got the full blunt of it—just a feeling that lingered below all the others. The moment I got tired, I lost my focus, or did anything that didn’t supersede my attention, all my energy was sucked into finding some negative memory to rehash.

It took me a while to figure out why I was doing it. I, of course, thought it was specific to the situation I obsessed over. Why did I let them affect me so much? Then I reconsidered the lowest common denominator. Truth was, I got mad every time I got bored. I was getting angry because I didn’t know how else to entertain myself. Among other reasons, obviously, but it came from a deep dissatisfaction in new experiences. Which happened because I was avoiding new experiences.

I thought it was strange that I exhausted myself with this feeling because I love my job, get paid well, I get along with my coworkers and bosses, I am getting very excited about what my book has become, and I’m looking forward to the future. I’m moving to a new city in October, and should have an optimistic outlook.

But I can’t stop seething with resentment. About nothing.

I’ve decided a couple of things.

I will not feed the beast. There are certain things that I know will incite rage in me. Dating, right now, is a big one. Reading about relationships, gossiping about people wronged, pouring over articles on stalking and Tinder… Having a doomed relationship meet its expectation, I struggle not to shame myself for not accepting it sooner.

There are some topics or individuals that I intentionally seek out to get my blood boiling. I’m going to knock that shit off now.

I’ll expect happiness. Most of my favorite books, T.V. shows, movies, and other kinds of stories were off putting, boring, uninspiring at first. Partially because it takes some time for the information to become meaningful, partially because it takes some time for it to hit its groove, but mostly because commitment and faith are key to enjoying yourself. Having the expectation to like something, to have fun, being positive all allows you to invest your emotions with greater commitment, which always leads to a better payout.

Instead of being generally pessimistic, I’m going to try to like things.

I’ll won’t accept my exhaustion. I always blamed fatigue for… pretty much everything. I don’t like the way I hold myself, I don’t like procrastinating. I don’t like not being interesting. I just want to make people laugh. But I’m always too tired.

Now that I work at three a.m. and get home at one, I’ve actually started to feel more energized than normal when awake. But I’ve been sleeping all of the time. Right now, as I try to meet my daily requirements, I blame my inability to tell a good joke or talk about something I actually care about from a ten-hour shift, but there’s always excuses, aren’t there?

I’ve started copying stand-up comedians’ movement. They always are putting on a show in each nuance, their gestures specific, calculated, meaningful. My mind has always separated itself from my body with a pretty distinct wall, and I’d describe my physicality in one way: lazy. What’s the easiest method of getting from point A to point B? A boyfriend once characterized my jaunt as a “Charlie Brown Walk.”

Accurate; I never forgave him.

Today was the first attempt at the formerly obnoxious advice of having a positive outlook, but so far, so good. Maybe not from your standpoint, but that’s probably because you’re a pessimist. I’m not allowed to be anymore. 

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