I was thinking that I ought to make a list of Things I Am Tired Of:
- Playing shows to empty rooms
- Screwing up my courage
- Not being taken seriously
- Never getting paid
- Feeling stressed out
- Being a fuck-up
- Not being talented
- Being resented
- Being complimented, always snidely
- Basically... everything
I do definitely feel like there's this thing that happens, where it's like... people I don't know feel like they need to take me down a couple of pegs. It's totally this thing, this paranoid fantasy of how I think people secretly think I'm really lame. But like, this has always been a constant in my life, even before I started talking about myself (or anything) online. I'm older than the internet. I've always been secretly afraid that the kids I think are cool secretly talk shit about me. And you know what I've always been right. Why would I think they are cool? Their art sucks, they are mean, and most importantly they don't want to be my friends. I think maybe I need to have my values a little bit clarified.
Fuck being cool. Fuck being mean and fuck being cool. Fuck uniqueness. Fuck being discerning. Fuck making decisions. Fuck paying attention. Fuck being smart. I hate this. I get so exhausted. All I wanted to do all weekend was sleep and so that's pretty much mostly just what I did. I don't want to talk to anybody. I have been holding my breath and waiting for something to change. I guess for me to change. For me to feel different. One idea I had was that I was not going to make anything say anything or write anything because as soon as I do I feel like I've lost it, and that's really just the worst (I thought). The worst, I thought, was feeling ripped off, was feeling like my ideas, thoughts, feelings, words, actions, were stolen, co-opted from me. I thought the worst thing that could happen would be to put myself out there and find myself degraded, taken away, stolen, killed. Now I know that there are worse things.
I guess the point is, y'know, that despite everything, my impatience, my seething, object-less anger. The point is that, you know, I did perform. I got up on stage, and sang and danced to an empty room, and I did have fun. I might have just enough. Here, this thimbleful, right? This is enough. I am okay.
I mean, I know how it looks, I know how it sounds. I know what it's like, for you. But you don't know what it's like for me. There's a kind of secrecy at work here. A psychoanalytic butt pleasure, a holding back. It is unfair and it is pretty, too, the way that asymmetry always is.
Honey there will be a man for you who finds your particular scars the most beautiful. The odds are he is out there some where. Always.