This Friday feels like Monday

Last night my class was rehearsing for our upcoming improv shows and we did an exercise where we had to really quickly say one thing that we were proud of ourselves for. I said my sketch group, but really, when I thought about it, there’s really nothing about myself, in specific, that I’m proud of.
We had just gotten our evaluations in class and I think I took mine pretty hard because it was one of those things that was true about my improvising and it was also true about me in general. The note I got, which I had heard before, was that I make too many jokes in scenes. It’s not that I go for the joke, it’s that I’d rather joke about stuff than deal with it in a real way.
I think that I’m a deep person who runs away from ever being deep with anybody. Even this stupid blog, which maybe five people read, is a chore for me to be really, truly honest in. I kept a private journal and have actually gone back and edited stuff out that I later felt was too melodramatic or whatever.
I don’t think many people I know even realize how fucked up I am. I think they would probably be surprised if they read this log. Not by the stuff where I make fun of stupid people and their problems, but the whiny, self-pitying me.
To be honest, I really believe that unless I’m making people laugh, I’m not that interesting. I tend to drone on and over-think things. My thoughts are too scatter-shot and unfocused, it leads me to incorrect conclusions about things.
The real me is angry and bitter and only looks on the dark side of things. Nobody wants to be friends with that guy.
I think I probably ruined my relationship with my ex-girlfriend because I’m actually incapable of loving someone in an intimate, adult way. I’m fine with having sex with someone and being best friends and hanging out and having a great time, but I guess that’s not enough. I’m not even sure what that ‘something more’ is. I can guess from seeing it in movies and stuff, but that guess is probably way off.
See, I think this blog is proving my point. It’s long-winded, my thoughts are poorly-arranged and it’s whiny and full of self-pity. I’d rather be someone else than ‘that guy’, even if it’s not really me. Which brings me back to my improv class. If people like me when I’m making them laugh, is it such a crime that I’m not living up to some standard of what “good improvisation” really is?
This leads me to believe that on a superficial level, I understand my problems and feel the need to change them, but on a deeper level, I think that I enjoy (or at least prefer) having all these emotional problems. I’m not sure if it’s for the drama or whatever, but I think I’m on to something here. If I really wanted to change, I would have. I don’t want to be overly dramatic, like this girl, but I do enjoy the ups and the downs and the wild mood swings that I encounter in my life. Like the old lady in Parenthood who talks about the roller coaster versus the merry-go-round. See? I’m doing it again, I’m justifying my own existence.
This is how I am. I don’t want to change it, I want to change other people and their reaction to it and make them ok with it. Which is total bullshit. I see other people pull that shit all the time and it drives me crazy but I suspect that’s what’s going on here.
I am going to resist the urge to end this with a joke.


  1. Your feelings aren’t bullshit. And you might be surprised at how many people can relate to what you’re feeling. You are quite articulate in the expression of your feelings – more so than a lot of men I know. I think it’s awesome that you are writing about it and putting yourself out there – for whatever reason. And you are, without a doubt, THE super coolest girl in all Great Britain and it’s colonies.

  2. Eric,
    Now I know why we’re friends – we’re both depressed. Come on, let’s start drinking and never stop until the world falls to its knees and treats us with the respect and adoration we deserve. Don’t blame yourself for the wonton-ness of your ex-girlfriend. She’s probably out banging some chosen guy right now. Whatever. We’ll head down to the women’s prison and get you a sweet pair of hams to slam.

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