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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