[793] Oi Oi Oi

I'm going to try to account for why a few lines I've heard recently are stilling ringing around my head.

My builder and I sat down, and he discussed some of the things going on with his family. He had bought and improved a space that he said was one day meant for his granddaughter. “A kid should always have a place to come home to,” was his line.

The next one came from a TV show I can't recall (Russian Doll?) and amounted to the idea of attaching yourself to people because they're all we have.

Finally, an oddball character I met at Beerfest said, “You have celebrity energy.”

I think when you have reciprocity, many of the most endearing messages about what people are supposed to be to each other are allowed to come into focus. The routine taking advantage of people who look out for you is what has shaped my broad pull away from romanticizing “the provider” kind of narrative. The idea of having someone, anyone, to do things with is a compelling drive. Surely, what turned my talkative endearing drunk phone calling into “death would be a relief” blog narrative was ruminating on the futility and idiocy of drinking alone.

Where do I bring it back to? I've felt for a long time like I didn't really have a home. My apartments always an array of roommates with ever-worsening excuses to leave me hanging. My dad's house filled with stooge step-children and annoying hell-beast dachshunds. This couch sleeping saga has only normalized to the level of my deflated “everythingness” that's matched my particular story of over-worked and under-paid. 12 years after leaving “home” I'm poised to finally start establishing mild roots in something I'd flip in a heartbeat if the money were right.

Part of me is always in a detached floating place. I had a coworker tell me, “I can't read you,” seemingly defying every time someone's told me I wear everything I'm thinking on my face. I can't read me until I put words down. I'm in a constant pursuit of a mild self-assuredness. I'm in the business of mental condensing. I want loose ends tied or burned. I want to exist in the place that doesn't feast on some hidden room of self-loathing or unresolved question when the alcohol takes hold. I used to black out and shower everyone around me with praise. Now it's kind of a toss up with which dumb idea or conversation is going to grip me.

I'm going to take a sick day tomorrow. In drinking, I basically sacrificed two days in functioning and feeling okay, so Monday is going to be my do things that should have been done over the weekend day. I'm still finding it harder than I'd like to persuade myself that my job means anything or is going anywhere. You have to understand too, I couldn't do anything more or less. As is my custom, I've even emailed the head of the entire agency about where I could fit in to “do more.”

What would a celebrity do? What does it mean to have that kind of energy? Is it confidence? I mean, I didn't see anyone else catching raindrops on their tongue from cracks in the ceiling. Why am I still fascinated with the amount of people I can recognize and build entertainment relationships with in all of my show watching? Should I be like them? Disappear into role after role. Will all of my depravity unearthed in writing just testify to my celebrity persona one day? Built into the lore of something to be endlessly caricatured? What's celebrity mean in this modern environment anyway? Aren't there teenagers on YouTube who are treated as bigger than Beyonce? I guess, at least I don't know those teenagers' names.

What was the theme of this blog again? People? Attaching to them? Building roots where your offspring can always feel at home. The more I think about the idea of pairing up or kids the more I feel sick. I feel like I'd be doing it for my own entertainment or experiment. I don't know that I would pick large-enough portions of my life and relationships to suggest signing up someone new to it. I'd want to have the semi-insulated space to cultivate out the things that worked their way into me to no positive end. I want to give a touch of hopeful naivety more time to instantiate.

I think a lot about how I have changed in that way. Why do I shoot so high? Well, that came first. All of my damning sentiments and despotic takes only came after a very long series of shitty interactions with way too many people. That's hard to process. Where do you go when people don't want honesty? How do you respond to cowards? Where do you hide what people are trying to steal? What language do you build when you're talking to yourself because no one seems to understand you, and if they do, they never respond with anything but derision and judgement? Or, they act like silence isn't as much of a statement as anything.

It makes me rough. It makes me indelicate. It makes me insist, and grind my teeth, and look for excuses to emote after drinking. It keeps me looking for things I've already found but left me or got disorganized. I think it also makes people look for ways to tear you down. There's nothing like the secret dramatic irony of rooting for people to fail and win all at once depending on the degree of your own success or failure in life. Maybe there's my pocket celebrity claim. Some of you have perhaps been watching this humble blogger ride the crazy train for many years.