This massage has released my sadness hormones.
That list I made was a punk. While I was busy making a list and doing the things on the list, friends were getting hired by Zanies, forging alliances in the improv and sketch community, getting closer and closer to fame and fortune and I just got sad and confused. Sadder and more confused all day long.
(I got a massage yesterday. Nice.)
Then I thought I should go work out. That'll make me feel better.
Nope.
After I was done, I wanted to cry. Maybe I shouldn't have spent so much time on the "soul crusher" machine. Well, I'll know better for next time. Apparently, the massage I got yesterday, combined with the massage my wife got yesterday combined with the realities of my lack of success and the destruction of all my walls of denial regarding my lack of success have caused me to feel emotionally laid out like a butterflied pork cut of some kind.
I was listening to my I-Pod shuffle that I got yesterday while I was in the gym. I listened to Ween, Beastie Boys, Beatles, Lenny Bruce, Radiohead, System of a Down, They Might Be Giants, Beck and so on while I was in there. After I finished, I was walking out of the gym slowly and "Across the Universe" came on. I've never felt like crying after leaving the gym before. First time for everything. This is also the first time I've felt like crying while blogging.
Don't worry. If I ever became suicidal, no one would suspect a thing. I expect I'd come to work smiling and laughing, say the wrong thing to someone and hurt their feelings (as I tend to do) and then feel horrible instantly and drive the trolley into Lake Michigan. Neither Sad Chris or Rocky Rooster will ever do anything. And to be honest, happy Chris probably would never either.
But right now I am desperate for some measure of success in my life (and I'm not talking about huge monetary success, in case Tony Robbins is reading this). I need something to take off. Hey, there it went. Something took off. It was my confidence. Well, at least that went somewhere. Maybe my confidence is in Ixtapa swimming with the dolphins.
The kind of sad I am is a relatively self-destructive sad. The kind that makes me want to walk up to my best friends and say, "I'm tired of you guys. I'm going to find different friends. You're boring." just to end the friendships and hurt them. I think that's a bit of the old "borderline" personality disorder that my mother was diagnosed with rearing it's ugly head. "Did you call my head ugly? It's because I'm an asshole isn't it." "Yes. You weird serpent. Yes."
In retrospect, I actually got a lot of my list done today. Especially the part where I changed the list and layed on the futon and sweated, faded in and out of consciousness until I woke up with my heart racing like my life had just passed me by and flipped me off. I just don't look forward to this final week of busy-ness for driving trolleys. I don't know if I have the energy for the play I'm in, the sketch group I'm supposed to be directing, or the stand-up I'm supposed to be booking for myself. Meanwhile the play whose first draft I wrote about the chair that sits on stage for an hour seems to be coming along swimmingly.
I'm drinking tea. My heart is heavy and so are my arms (which makes it hard to type). I'm dreading this week and looking forward to the following week. I'm overwhelmed and not busy enough. I'm busy with the wrong things.
--wait a minute. Darth Vader was...Luke's FATHER! Oh my god! I've got to tell someone!
(I got a massage yesterday. Nice.)
Then I thought I should go work out. That'll make me feel better.
Nope.
After I was done, I wanted to cry. Maybe I shouldn't have spent so much time on the "soul crusher" machine. Well, I'll know better for next time. Apparently, the massage I got yesterday, combined with the massage my wife got yesterday combined with the realities of my lack of success and the destruction of all my walls of denial regarding my lack of success have caused me to feel emotionally laid out like a butterflied pork cut of some kind.
I was listening to my I-Pod shuffle that I got yesterday while I was in the gym. I listened to Ween, Beastie Boys, Beatles, Lenny Bruce, Radiohead, System of a Down, They Might Be Giants, Beck and so on while I was in there. After I finished, I was walking out of the gym slowly and "Across the Universe" came on. I've never felt like crying after leaving the gym before. First time for everything. This is also the first time I've felt like crying while blogging.
Don't worry. If I ever became suicidal, no one would suspect a thing. I expect I'd come to work smiling and laughing, say the wrong thing to someone and hurt their feelings (as I tend to do) and then feel horrible instantly and drive the trolley into Lake Michigan. Neither Sad Chris or Rocky Rooster will ever do anything. And to be honest, happy Chris probably would never either.
But right now I am desperate for some measure of success in my life (and I'm not talking about huge monetary success, in case Tony Robbins is reading this). I need something to take off. Hey, there it went. Something took off. It was my confidence. Well, at least that went somewhere. Maybe my confidence is in Ixtapa swimming with the dolphins.
The kind of sad I am is a relatively self-destructive sad. The kind that makes me want to walk up to my best friends and say, "I'm tired of you guys. I'm going to find different friends. You're boring." just to end the friendships and hurt them. I think that's a bit of the old "borderline" personality disorder that my mother was diagnosed with rearing it's ugly head. "Did you call my head ugly? It's because I'm an asshole isn't it." "Yes. You weird serpent. Yes."
In retrospect, I actually got a lot of my list done today. Especially the part where I changed the list and layed on the futon and sweated, faded in and out of consciousness until I woke up with my heart racing like my life had just passed me by and flipped me off. I just don't look forward to this final week of busy-ness for driving trolleys. I don't know if I have the energy for the play I'm in, the sketch group I'm supposed to be directing, or the stand-up I'm supposed to be booking for myself. Meanwhile the play whose first draft I wrote about the chair that sits on stage for an hour seems to be coming along swimmingly.
I'm drinking tea. My heart is heavy and so are my arms (which makes it hard to type). I'm dreading this week and looking forward to the following week. I'm overwhelmed and not busy enough. I'm busy with the wrong things.
--wait a minute. Darth Vader was...Luke's FATHER! Oh my god! I've got to tell someone!
posted by Churchill at 10:03 PM
7 Comments:
we can spoon if it will make you feel better. I know how you like that.
Who's making alliances?
I go to the gym at 11:30pm and work out until about 12:45am.
As I walk out to my bike, I usually put on the slowest, most melancholy song I can find and then bike home down completely deserted side streets.
So, there's at least one other oddly depressed gym guy out there with the same problems.
I've got a BAD NECK, Becca! How many times do I have to say it!
She refuses to switch sides with me. Alas that I am a right-side spooner living in a left-side world.
Now I'm sad.
Example: :(
Hey Anonymous,
That's a pretty late gym night. And a pretty weird habit of biking down empty streets, etc. You looking to becoming Batman?
Because that's what's gonna happen. If it happens, then be cool and keep using that name "anonymous" it will serve you in your crime fighting.
Yeah, that. All except the "not busy enough" part.
You wouldn't know, however, as I have cleverly hidden my more emotive posts under "Personal", "Very Personal", and "Faulty Wiring" blog security filters!
More than that, I will not go into, lest I bring you down like a trolley into Lake Michigan, only with rocks in one's backpack.
It's a 24-hour gym on Ashland... but now that I think about it, if I'm training at the gym at night, I might as well become Batman and kill two birds with one stone.
And I'm only Anonymous so improv people won't come up to me at shows for 3 weeks and go "So, you work out at midnight? That's pretty weird, huh."
Grr. I'm Anonymousman! I fight crimes!
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