Let’s talk sadness.
I know – I talk about sadness a LOT. It’s enough already. As such I’m not going to lament my currenttale of woe, although I will say that it may have involved running out of peach Fresca at my parent’s house yesterday which is total bullshit. I’m kidding. My problems are much worse than that. Like Africa bad.
I was called a narcissist a few days ago by a reader.
I recently crossed over the five thousand mark in comments on they blog. I would say 99% are positive/funny responses to posts I’ve written. Once in awhile I invoke someone’s ire.
This particular reader yelled at me in a private email writing that I am a crazed narcissist and with all the hurt I cause my girlfriend I need to remember that I’m the lucky one to have her in my life. One of my comedy heroes, Marc Maron, has a response to a women whenever one starts passing judgement from the audience and interrupting his set. He’s a fantastic comic and talks openly about all his challenges. I try to do the same thing here. Anyway, his response is to look at the woman with compassion and then say, “I’m really sorry for what he did to you.” It’s one of the greatest power-move dismissals ever.
This post will not fall under the general hilarity that is my regular musing wit.
I am in a funk tonight. I had an exhausting (but good) day at work. Something incredibly shitty happened at the end that sent me off into a rage. As someone that has avoided his feelings most of his life I do not yet handle extremes well. Things like anger and sadness and fear hit me very hard. In the past I never learned how to sit or tolerate them. I learned that the best thing to do was to run from them.
My nap addiction has finally made me hit bottom. Literally.
Tonight, after feasting on too much pizza, I sat on my couch working on the computer. My couch is long and comfortable and a great place to fall asleep. I’m not someone who sleeps anywhere but a bed, however it’s the kind of couch where you could, if you wanted, pass out.
Tomorrow I’m flying to Atlanta to speak at AimingLow’s blogging conference aptly named NonConference.
This will be my first speaking event where I address bloggers. I’m grateful to have been asked and over the past few months have tried to create a worthwhile presentation/discussion for attendees. My topic is about taking risks with your writing and trusting in your abilities.
I don’t know about you, but I can go a whole week without ever checking in.
Just about every moment of the day is spent in stimulus/response. This is not a bad thing. At work it’s important to stay on task. When I’m home I need to feed myself and clean the catbox. Also, I write and talk to the girlfriend. Plus that paying the bills thing and laundry.
I’m on a quest to lose ten pounds.
Why? Two reasons. One, I have too much body fat. While I eat pretty healthy, I eat too much. If I don’t regulate my caloric intake, I’m bound to eat everything that’s awesome in the cupboard. I’m sure it’s a coping mechanism for some sort of sadness or whatever. Like if you don’t write comments at the end of each post. Yep – it’s your fault. If I die from too much food my attorney has been instructed to sue the lot of you. After we in punitive damages my will states that the casket is to be exhumed and your piles of dough are to be dumped in with my rotting corpse. This way, if heaven has a sundries shop, I can buy some stuff.
I came home seething mad.
The whole bike ride from work I could feel something powerful. A slow warmth seemed to spread the faster I pedaled. I was listening to my regular music and podcasts and nothing obvious was instigating this sensation. Ironically, the harder I pushed myself on the bike path the more intense the warmth became. This surge of powerful energy kept rising. I didn’t think much about it, as I notice some version of this on most Fridays. I was forward thinking to the burrito I would purchase and the Doctor Who I was going to watch. These are exciting thoughts to me. But this time the energy was more intense than usual.
I cried in therapy today. That is very rare for me.
If you’re not in therapy I suspect you actually think there’s a lot of crying that happens. And maybe for some people that’s true. For some people that are total pussies! (Am I right, guys?! High five!!) For me, what I’ve noticed is that it’s a place to tell the truth – the hard truths. I’ve cried maybe four times total.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
