warming over old issues

At some point everybody discovers that they are becoming their parents. I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m projecting. Anyway I had a pretty disconcerting moment the other day. I heard my dad say something I say all the time, not just a phrase, more of mannerism contained in a phrase. He asked my to wash the dishes and I hesitated before answering because, and this is absolutely accurate and not in any way an exaggeration, my mouth was full at the time and he said “you know what, forget it”. He said it with exasperation a derision and a subtext of “fuck it, you’re obviously not capable of fulfilling this simple request, I'll just do it myself”. That’s mine, I do that. I do it with more superiority, and less anger, but I do that all the time. It turns out I learned it from him, he must have used it on me a thousand times since before I could talk, and I bet I've used it on him. I wonder if he found it disturbing or disorienting. I wonder if he even noticed.
Considering how much this whole thing weirded me out you’d think that I would rebel, or reassess, or try to fight this, maybe become an independent human being. you’d think it would make me want to be less condescending, or negative, or manipulative, or depressed, or mean, or disdainful, or less like all the things I hate about him. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? You’d think but you’d be wrong. I just feel resigned.

Home Now

So, I'm home now. Now I'm home. Back at the place that I live, and come from, and where the dentist sends me postcards when he hasn't seen me in six months (dentists can get so clingy). I come here as little as possible but I'm here now. Home. God, if my heart is her I pray for coronary. I actually went to the dentist, but that was uneventful: they told me I should floss. My parents are okay, my house is nice, the place where I live is really natural and scenic and all that crap, but after I spend an hour and a half here I just pray for death. There's nothing to do and no one to talk to, there's nothing on TV and I can't focus on a book, driving can help, but driving isn't cheap and there's nowhere to go. I want to go back to school and be stressed out again. I just came from running two shows and working at another theatre and now I'm in some kind of schedule withdrawal. I'm also cold. really cold, it's much, much cooler here than it was in New York, it's also much cooler in a drafty house than it was in the rafters of an old theatre, on level with the lights, as far as possible from the AC, with a large set, metal blinds, a painted scrim, and fifteen to fifty people between me and that sweet, life giving, processed air. It turns out I got used to that, lowered my body temperature and slowed down my heart rate, adjusted in an almost reptilian way. And now I'm cold, and bored, and home.

Updating my blog

I am updating my blog for no particular reason. I am updating my blog despite months of neglect and the fact that no one knows it exists. I am updating by blog at great risk to blogspot.com and the internet as an institution. I’m updating my blog n the wake of my universe’s recent collapse. I’m updating my blog as a break from combat with the corporate dragon, as rebellion against my digital isolation, as a pathetic “fuck you” to the enemy. I’m updating my blog for the sheer thrill of typing, trying to ignore the alien surface of a desktop keyboard. I don’t know why I’m updating my blog, I haven’t been social, I haven’t been happy, I haven’t been online but I’m updating my blog anyway.

My computer crashed again. I think it’s now officially had more crashes than NASCAR, more refurbished parts than Frankenstein’s monster, and more hours of conversation logged on the corporate dime than the “dude, you’re getting a Dell” Dude’s possession charges. My computer crashed again. It can’t seem to help itself. They can’t seem to help me. I hate my computer, I don’t want it to be fixed, I want it to die and be replaced but I need it to survive. I think I know how a child feels when an abusive parent falls into a coma.

I don’t know whether I work to hard or I don’t have the proper constitution for the theatre. I opened two shows last week. I‘m currently stage managing and running tech (lights and sound) for two full scale productions. The equipment is unreliable, the air conditioning is inadequate, it’s August in New York City, two theatres are hooked up to one twenty five year old breaker box, the fringe has started and twice as many shows as usual are tapping into the grid, and on top of everything I have the electric touch of death. Since I got here my computer, Aryana’s internet, a blender, and a washing machine have all been comprised. The lights at the theatre had different and untraceable problems at each of five consecutive shows in the course of two days. It’s definitely me.

I’m sick of being incompetent.

I’m sick of being unappreciated.

I’m sick of being powerless.

I’m sick of being uninspired.

I’m sick of being jerked around.

I’m sick of being ashamed.

I’m sick of being uncomfortable.

I’m sick of being angry.

I’m sick of it.

All of it.

I’m sick of not being able to trust anything in my world.

I’m sick of blogging.

Maybe I’ll do it more often.