You know how Sherlock Holmes retreats to his “Mind Palace” for reflection, concentration, and a little R&R? As a creative person, I *wish* my bloody brain was functional to work in that capacity. How amazing would that be… to have this little untouched oasis of a Happy Place to go to, when the turds of life spontaneously combust, leaving you surrounded in what feels like a constant film of putrid stink and forever diarrheatic unrest.
This is what it feels like lately.
…Wish it didn’t. Because, don’t we always? But, it does. And a brain that is built to fixate on the fact instead of run away and save you from it, sucks.
… Kind of everything right now, sucks.
Which happens.
So, there’s that.
Meanwhile, am trying to fight my body and brain through a rampant case of “don’t careism,” which makes every walk in fresh air and every shower, and every chore feel like it’s the end of the goddamn world if I have to do it.
… It’s like a whole month of being a teenager again. And I hated it enough the first time.
I keep having to be my own guidance counselor, with mental conversations like:
Me: You need to get up.
Other Me: Why? I have only slept three non consecutive hours. I don’t care what time it is.
Me: Well, you should. Also: you smell.
Other Me: *You* smell!
Me: I know this. When was the last time you took a shower?
Me: Yesterday morning.
Other Me: After a full work day, and walk. Then you just peeled off your sweaty shit, put on pajamas and laid on the couch all the rest of the night.
Me: So!
Other Me: So, you are a petri dish of gross. You need a shower.
Me: Fuck showers! They’re all wet and crap! Then I have all this hair, and have to shave…everything on my body practically… and then there’s all the teeth brushing and–
Me: –Did you just fart?
Other Me: I did. You wanna make a case of that too..?!?!
Also:
Me: It’s time to do dishes. And laundry.
Other Me: No.
Me: Yes. It’s time.
Other Me: I can just clean this spoon. It’s all I need right now.
Me: What about a plate to eat on.
Other Me: I’ll use the box lid.
Me: You are pathetic.
Other Me: I am “practical” and “inventive.”
Me: Yeah, well, how you gonna “invent” your way into some clean underwear tomorrow. Those are your last pair. The default kind, that you hate, which ride up your butt all day. How fun is that? Is it worth being too lazy to launder better ones?
Other Me: It is, in fact.
Me: Now you’re just being stubborn.
Other Me: HAVE WE MET?
Me:… I mean, it’s one thing when you have two shows you’re rehearsing and performing in, to live like this. But right now, there’s just no excuse at all. You have nothing. No actual daily purpose at all.
Other Me: You are a giant asshole.
Me: Upon occasion, yes. Also: you need to sweep. Like, woa.
… So, this is what I’ve been doing with myself lately…in case you happened to be wondering.
A whole lotta empty bickerings and bitchings with myself…waiting for something to hit the boards that I can transfer my focus to and reinvent a reason to give a shit, again.
Petulant artist-child, that I am.
~D
