It really sucks, but I think the thing that I am trying to fix is actually getting worse. The past week was surprisingly hectic, despite the fact that I had spent the majority of it in bed. I was a little lost there for a bit, and I literally and figuratively lost my footing. I've basically considered myself as a workaholic, a fact that isn't obvious due to my malnourished bank account, but I've made it a point to drown myself in work and alcohol once the going got tough.
This week, I found out that I no longer have that ability. We're not going to need pills for this. Lots of it.
Cavite, Uncorrupted. I started the week off by staying at my mother's place for a couple of days. I needed to prepare for a big show, and not worrying about food and chores and other household stuff was something I needed. However, it was obviously not enough. So up I went to the Big Man's place to down some booze with the Quiet Man, the Big Man's newfound brother, the Gadgeteer, and the Big Man himself.
It was a good night that didn't really help me much with coming up with any material for my set, but it helped combat the sleeplessness, so that's always good. That's right, one night before my comedic debut on television I went and got hammered.
The Supposed Big Break. The day I went to the huge network to perform for a television show that I rarely watched in front of an audience who, given the chance to get to know them better, I would hate as individuals, I was nervous. Hell, the small dingy bar like Votre was enough to turn my knees into jelly, and I made those people laugh weekly. Here, in
"enemy territory", my ulcers went berserk.
The pre-show shenanigans also made my fears escalate, as one of the mainstream comics warmed up the crowd in the type of comedy that I have always personally disagreed with. But who was I to argue the merits of good comedy? I, who still had a long ways to go in establishing myself on the stage?
But, the usual mainstream bullshit caught up with me, and after waiting three fucking hours to do my two minute set just made the very little fuck I gave diminish further. So I went up, energy at an all time low, and for the first time ever I did stand up without alcohol in my system, and without my usual masturbation, sex and drug jokes in my arsenal. Good, clean, mainstream fun, that's what they wanted, and that's what I gave.
How was it? If they air it, watch it. If not, well, let's just say I managed to turn off a crowd who was digging me for the first minute of my set.
A Girl By Many Names. Accompanying me to the network thing were, of course, the group's manager and, lo and behold, a college classmate who now goes by names like Yvette and Olga and fuck knows what else. Me and her, we've never been really close, and sometimes I don't think I actually liked that much.
It's weird though. After my show, I went to see hers. (She produces a bunch of artsy fartsy events all around the QC area.) We even ended up at my lace. Spending the night talking with someone who at some point in your life barely registered a blip on your radar and now she's one of the people that actually gets you, it's funny. It's safe to say that we're friends now, cause, like I keep telling a few other people in my circle, we crazy, damaged folk need to stick together.
All Work, No Play. Once the Girl With Many Names left, I was off to a job interview with The Therapist, another one of those people who gets it. And despite the fact that I had a fever, that I had spent the entire night drinking and talking, I managed to land the job. My final interview lasted probably around 30 minutes, 80% of which I just made the top brass laugh.
And who said comedians don't have marketable skills?
And then I went home to meet up with the Friendly Almost Neighbor (the girl who I used to work in the Evil Empire with) to help out on a video thing for an officemate of hers that was leaving. Good to see that the summer I spent studying film still has its uses.
But I have to say, I'm proud of what I managed to produce. Maybe I should push through with my project now.
Staring at the Ceiling. Once she left, I laid down on my mattress and stared at the ceiling. For three fucking days. Only getting up to shower, use the loo, and get food. I was under the weather, but it wasn't that that kept me in bed. I just didn't feel the drive to do anything, even if it meant that I ended up broke the following payday.
People were inviting me to hang with them, but there I lay, as if waiting for some impetus that I finally should get out of bed and move forward. I never thought it would be such a bad feeling, knowing that nothing needed to be done immediately. It was lonely. Scary even.
Standard Sunday. Sunday night, I sent out a call to arms, and of all the options that arose, I just decided to go to the Big Man's house instead. Walked in on the couple fighting, but somehow it turned around. The Big Man and I spent the entire night taking about the different "eras" in our lives, seeing that we've been constantly around each for 15 years now.
And that not only helped with the anxiety, but it gave me a vague idea on how I should go about confronting this.
Plan of Action. I realized that at some point in my life, something got derailed. When the Big Man and I were talking about how we were in the past, it was hard not to ascertain that we are exactly where we are simply because of who we are. The difference in my case was that I was completely happy for the majority of those times. It's probably because whatever condition I had went untreated particularly since I had spent the better part of my younger years drowning myself in distraction.
I'mma be retracing my steps now, because the one thing I learned during my talk with the Big Man on that night was that the best thing I've ever done, to this day, despite the TV and bar gigs, despite the movies I've made and the projects i've been involved with, despite all of the "interesting" people I've met over the years, I've never been more proud or content than when me and my friends made everyone laugh in a rinky dink school play back when we were juniors. That video I did for the people from the Evil Empire came close, but not close enough.
Recapturing that may lead to the solution to all of this drama. After all, I started out as this weird emo kid (even before there was emo) and here I am. Back to the emo drawing board.
"Cuz growin up I was never the logical one
packed my shit and left home like the prodigal son
with a bottle of jack and my shotgun strapped
I went looking for fame and yo I've never been back
filled with spite staying high as a kite
I was dealin and stealin everything in sight
pool hustling trying to make that green
I've been ramblin and gamblin since the age of 13
working like a bitch like a god damn tank
some disagree because me rents had bank
but all that's gold don't always glitter
so I'll take another puff from my one hitter
I'm a slave to the trade I'm paid to rhyme
blow all my cash on cheap women and wine
cause money, money, money ain't shit to me
but I gotta make a lot just to be free
Please God Please I'll pay any cost
If you'd just stop the world cause I wanna get off
there's too much hardship there's too much pain
there's too many motherfuckers tryin to get in my brain
I've been to your mountains I've been to your seaside
and everywhere I went somebody's wanted a free ride
but parasites can't fake the Rock
and any suckers that step in my way are getting shot
cause I hold key to my own success
and suckers that step shall be put to rest
yes, I hold the key to my own success
and suckers that step will catch a bullet in their chest,
so pass the buddha the funky tie hooter
and watch me rip because I'm such a slick shooter.
not a generic dime a dozen M.C.
never was in a posse never wanted to be" - Kid Rock, "Prodigal Son"