Sympathy Pains

If you dream of having kids, how do you visualize it?

The very pregnant wife walking through the kitchen, when her water breaks. The dutiful husband acting goofy as he gets the suitcases and helps her out to the wood paneled station wagon. Contractions in the car, the doctor at the hospital looking over a chart and saying, "All right, we’re ready, lets push."

That’d be great wouldn’t it?

Well, for my friend Aaron and his wife Barabra, it’s just not going that way. I’m sure that Barabra (Babs) wanted it to be something like the above stated dream, but reality decided to intrude.

First: She was huge and the baby was ready so the doctors decided to induce labor. An appointment was made for 10 o’clock last night for them to go in. They were probably thinking, “Hey we could have a kid by three or four in the morning.” I know I was.

Second: They were not informed that when she was given the injection to induce labor that the process for labor to begin would be in about 12 to 24 hours. Then you have to go through labor and birth. Plus she couldn’t walk around during any of this time, aka bed ridden. Shit! That’s a long time. Bab’s was visibly upset and who wouldn’t be.

Third: She hadn’t eaten since 10 in the morning and they weren’t going to let her eat until the kid was born. In case they had to deliver the baby by cesarean (is that spelled right?).



So I popped in last night around 10:30 to be given the news about this now lengthy process. I hung out until 1 am with Aaron and watched Bab’s sister Stephanie sing old camp songs and goofy routines to cheer her up. Real families are cute aren’t they?

I went home and couldn’t sleep. I nodded off around 5 and woke up at 7. I decided to work out, shower and pick up some reading materials for Babs and headed to the hospital. About half way there I got a call from Aaron asking o not stop by. Neither of them had slept and the going into labor thing just wasn’t happening and Babs was just not handling anything well at that moment. No problem, I hung a louie and went home.

So about ten minutes ago I called Aaron for the latest update. Literally nothing has happened. Nothing. They are waiting for contractions to get painful and it’s not happening. They are waiting for her female parts to dilate and it’s not happening. The prediction is now going around that the kid won’t come until tomorrow sometime and they can’t say when tomorrow, just tomorrow.

God that has got to suck! They won’t let her walk, they won’t let her eat, the best they can do is maybe, and I say maybe, find her a more comfortable room. I have nothing but the deepest sympathy for the frustration they must be feeling.

Is this a sign of what the kid will be like? I have no idea, but if you had the chance to look around and see what the world is like today before being born, you may not want to come out either.

Smoke Signals

So, I quit smoking, again. I’m making it stick this time. My last cigarette was at 8:00am on Saturday morning. It’s now noon on Tuesday. Not too shabby of a start.

Am I going nuts? Yeah, a little. Not because I’m having major cravings or withdrawal symptoms, I was almost at a pack and a half a day, but because of the way I’m quitting.

I’ve gone back to the Wellbutrin, which not only curbs cravings and takes the edge off, but is also a heavy anti-depressant. What does this mean? Well, my brain has basically split into several different universes. I can’t think straight and feel like I’m slurring when I talk (I’ve been told I don’t slur.) Over all, I feel like I’m high without any of the fun benefits of being high.

Oh, I forgot to mention the dizzy spells. The bottle has a red tag that read, “MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS”. May is not the word to use here. The warning should read something like, “MAY CAUSE EXISTENTIAL CRISIS.” Too many big words to fit on a small tag I guess. I’ve been fortunate that I stayed indoors most of yesterday. But I did have one hit as I was driving into the Valley yesterday. Luckily I was on a side road and was able to pull over. But man, it hit fast, hard, and wouldn’t let up. I felt totally out of control in my existence.


The effects seem to be less today than they were yesterday, but I still feel clouds circling my brain. I’ll stay on the stuff for two more days, (the recommended is ten. Fuck that,) then go off it. I know what happens after that.

As the Wellbutrin leaves my system, I will go into an ugly depression for about one to two days. I’m arranging it so it happens over the weekend. I’ll set a schedule to go see movies and work out and basically not be alone. This will keep me from going to my dark places. I’m not saying anything bad will happen, I just might get depressed enough to start smoking again. Ain’t that a bitch! The same thing that’ll get me off could very easily get me back on.

Fingers crossed.

Breaking Up With The Beau

I’ve been talking to Todd about my script. He brought up a point that has plagued me from the first day I decided to start working on it. I’ll try to sum it up here.

I’d say the genre I’m working within is a romantic comedy. There are rules and parameters to a romantic comedy that need to be adhered to. Clichés and emotional responses that have to ring true, otherwise it seems phony. I have the female protagonist leaving her boyfriend. So here is the big question that I can’t seem to get around.

Why do couples break up? Is there reasoning beyond the things that you have seen in every other movie before?

There are usually three types of boyfriends that the girl breaks up with:

1. He’d a dick, the audience sees that he’s a dick from the first scene they are together and you route for her to find a reason to finally come to her senses and leave him.
2. He’s just not the type of guy she wants to be with anymore. They have grown in separate directions and it’s just not going to work.
3. A little bit of #1 and #2 lead to the relationship ending.


Is that it? What are other reasons why people break up? When I think about my past relationships that’s how it’s gone down. I was a dick, she grew out of me or I grew out of her. Is there something else that I am missing and can’t see it? I’m a guy, so I can only speak from a guy’s point of view. If you are a woman and you read this, maybe you can enlighten me. I’d appreciate the point of view.

I was watching A Personal Journey With Martin Scorsese today and he discussed what it is like to be saddled within a genre and that you have to learn to play within those codes. Good enough, I can accept that. Should I just accept the above reasons and try to create a boyfriend that at least has some originality to him? That seems to make the most sense, but is a lot harder than it looks. Make the boyfriend to nice and the audience will not sympathize with our female lead. Make him too much of a prick and we can’t wait to see how he fucks up so he can feel the doorknob up his ass.

A conundrum. HELP!

A Quote

It's tragic that extremists co-opt the
notion of God, and that hipsters and
artists reject spirituality out of hand.
I don't have a fixed idea of God. But
I feel that it's us -the messed-up, the
half crazy, the burning, the questioning-
that need God, a lot more than the
goody-two-shoes do.

- Mike Doughty


A fellow recovering addict. I love his music and this is a quote on the side of a Starbucks cup. Ironic beacuse one of his songs is titled, "Busting Up A Starbucks."

Not My Usual Day

So I had sent a script I had written to a friend of mine, Todd, a couple of months ago. He wanted to read something I wrote and I sent him a piece I’d written a few years ago. I figured it was something he might enjoy.

I hadn’t heard anything from him until last week when he called to apologize for not reading it sooner. His feedback was very positive and his suggestions were well thought out and very concise to what I was trying to say with the characters and story. I basically left it at that.

Last night I was at Aaron’s and we were outside having a smoke (don’t tell his wife.) He’d mentioned that he and Todd had spoken and they had a plan to encourage me to go back and do some work on the script. They both feel it has some real potential and just needs some work. I responded saying I’d think about it and maybe I’d give it a read.


So for the hell of it, I pulled it out this morning and gave it a read. It wasn’t half bad. Having not read it for so long it was interesting to go back and read about these characters I’d created. Not only was it interesting, it wasn’t half as bad or in need of work as I remembered it being. So for the first time in three years, I opened the file on my computer and started working in some of the ideas Todd had mentioned and made a few changes I felt were necessary.

It was the best day I’d had in forever. I really enjoyed working on it and figuring out how to solve the problems at hand. I felt really good being with me. For the first time in a long time I liked being me and it had nothing to do with having someone else in my life or depending on other people to keep me entertained. None of that stuff that can distract me from my own reality. It was me, spending time with me in my own world. A world I enjoyed being in. I felt comfortable in my own skin and that I was, in a very private way, preparing to put something out there in the world that was mine.

To put it simply, I felt alive and it was me doing it.

I want to thank Todd and Aaron for urging me to go there. For stepping up and saying that basically, I’m a good guy and I do good work. So thanks guys. You’ve helped me get back in touch with a part of me that has been missing for a very long time.

Let's see how long I can keep it going.

From The Lens: The Blog

At the suggestion from a friend, I’ve decided to start a new blog that is strictly photo based. I’m what you would call an amateur shutterbug and as you can see, I’m just getting started. Hopefully there will be improvement as I learn more about framing, the way my camera works, subject matter, etc.

The first three postings are from past Mifune’s Ghost entries and I am hoping that by having a photo only blog, it will force me to go out and shoot more.

So you can link to it from here:

From The Lens

Enjoy.

John

Just Call Me John Merrick

I was out walking yesterday and was told I was ugly. That’s nice. It was a real morale booster. It was some girl with her friends and she stopped me by the arm as I was passing by and she said, “Damn, you are ugly. What’s anyone going to see in you?” They all laughed and went about their walk as I went about mine.

Was the universe trying to tell me something, or was it just a person having a bad day deciding to be mean? Or maybe it’s just the way of Los Angeles? Doesn’t matter, it still stings. When I went to the gym, I made sure to walk next to the fat guy so I could feel a little better about it. This is also a mean thing to do, but I needed some kind of ego boost, if a shallow one at that.


I was reminded the other day that I don’t smile. It’s not that I don’t want to smile, it’s just one of those things that is hard for me to do. I always think about Buster Keaton and when he was growing up his father would smack him if he smiled on stage. He needed a stone face for comedy and that’s what he ended up with. I’m curious if he ever thought about that. Would he have been willing to trade his success to be able to genuinely be able to smile again? Maybe he smiled a lot in his private and I just don’t remember reading about it

Hell, would being able to smile actually help me? I’m still stuck with the same mug.

I’ve had relationships and they’ve all gone south. I bet they would look at me and find me ugly too. That’s the way relationships go. One day, they think you’re hot, the next day you make them want to vomit. Yep, I’m a real catch.

Sorry, I don’t mean to sound negative about myself, I’m just venting. Please don’t lay any pity on me. It’s beneath us.

Anyway, I’m going to go for a walk again today, I’ll stick to side streets and away from the general populace for now. If someone comes to close, I’ll drag my left leg behind me, chanting, “I am not an animal, I am a human being!”

I know more negative thinking. I’m just trying to make light of an ugly situation (get it).













This post brought to you by, Moxie.
Moxie, it tastes like John looks.

Night Shoot

I went walking last night with ye olde camera and popped a couple.

Here ya go.


The apartments behind my place.


An apartment sign that I thought was kind of fun.


This looks much better as a large photo. You can make out the mist at the end of the street.


The Coyote from Michael Mann's Collateral decided to stop by for a quick shot.


I really liked this one. It's an odd fountain in a yard. I had to add a brush filter to try and hide the fact it was out of focus. Now it's an out of focus fountain with a filter. Much better in large format. I'll have to go back and try it again.


Self Portrait. Don't know if you can make me out in the left hand corner, but I'm there.


I really dig going out to take photos at night. Instead of looking like a tourist, I look like a freak. The lesser of two evils in my humble opinion.

+/-

I tend to look at the negative aspects of myself. This is a big surprise, right? Anyone who knows me or has spent an hour with me gets it. I’m not saying I’m an Eeyore (I used to be), but if a situation comes up that could easily go fifty/fifty, I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that it goes against me.

It could just be the way life has been treating me recently. I’m hearing a lot of “no’s” and very few, “yes’s”. That can have an effect on me. It can tend to make me feel like it’ll always be a “no.”

Impossible. Plain and simple, it’s impossible.

But lets get back to what the no’s can do to my mindset. Since all I hear in my head is the next no coming, I tend to worry and rack my brain over what it is I’ve done to warrant a no that hasn’t even been pronounced yet.

This latest yet to be pronounced no is in the form of an email. I wrote a friend asking if they were available to hang out. I wrote in the note, “no biggie if they want to or not”, but at the same time it is.

So I get no response. This has come after a long day of “no’s” including another job rejection. Now I’m wondering to myself, what did I do to them? What did I do to warrant no response? Did I write something that could have been taken the wrong way? I’m known to do that. (What’s the email version of foot in mouth? Other than asshole that is.)

Notice that I haven’t even stopped to think of the myriad of things that could be happening on their end. From something as a server being down to previous plans that has kept them from checking email, to being arrested in Bangkok on murder charges. The list is endless.

Part of it is pure selfishness. It’s all about me. This is a trademark of alcoholics and flight attendants. It’s always about us. We are never considering what is going on in the other person’s life. How busy they could be. They might very well want to hang out, would love to hang out, want nothing more than to hang out.

So how do I remedy this thinking? How do I take what is in my head and look at it from the other person’s perspective? I guess I’m doing that right now, but need to practice in the real world a little more often.

I just need to shrug it off and not take it so damned personally. Everyone has a life (except me) and they need to live it. Accept it and move on John. Not everyone is here for me.

So if anyone hears from Bruno Kirby, let him know I’m still waiting for a damned response to me email.

(Bad joke. Rest in peace Mr. Kirby. You brought a lot to this world and know that you will be missed.)

Some Notes On Links

I’ve added a couple of links to the side bar of notice.

The first is Sunset Gun. This is Kim Morgan’s site. She’s a film critic who I’ve been reading for a while. She’s pretty fun and has great taste in film. The fact that she wants to reincarnate Warren Oates so he can be her boyfriend is just brilliant. She usually posts one or twice a week and you can find out about some interesting titles that may have slipped by. If you haven’t seen Electra Glide In Blue, see it! Both Kim and myself implore you to do it tonight.

Aaron’s Blog is my friend Aaron Graff. He is a funny and insightful guy. He’s good at reminding you that elevators are scary and neurosis is infectious. I’m quite surprised that he hasn’t gone off about his latest fears of tics. After explaining it to me I have expanded that fear to leaches whom, as I have discovered, usually don’t hang out on plant leaves. He’ll be a father (by choice) in the next few weeks and I’m sure new blogs on fatherhood won’t be far behind. (Oh yeah, don’t remind his wife she’s pregnant, it scares the shit out of her.)

You’ll also find a link to my Myspace page. There is nothing of real interest on it and the only blog entry is a link for this blog. I thought I’d plug it in there though to add an extra little graphic to my sidebar.

I’m trying to figure out ways of expanding my online universe. So I’m looking into audio bloging. I figure my audience deserves to hear my dulcet tones. Plus you may enjoy the sounds of a man melting down before your very ears. We’ll see what crops up in the near future.

Old Image Gone New Image In

My profile photo of Toshiro Mifune has moved, so I needed to get a new one.

I've decided to show myself. I can no longer protect you from the power of by silky bedroom eyes.

(REMOVED DUE TO REPULSIVENESS)

I know what you're thinking and you're right. I'm not wearing anything from the ankle down. Prrrrrrrr.

Smoke This

I would like to quit smoking. This is easier said than done. I have stopped in the past, my record being about six months, but I’m finding it very hard this time.

I’m up to about a pack a day. If you look at it from a financial standpoint it’s $1,825 a year. That’s nothing to laugh at. A real chunk of change if you have an income of $0.00

That alone should encourage me to stop. But it’s not enough. Funny how I’ve been able to stop drinking and drugs, but smoking (I know it’s a drug) has been tough. Part of it is out of habit; part of it is chemical reaction.

The hardest part for me is figuring out what to do if I’m not smoking. If I need a second to think, light up a smoke. If I need to escape from work for a couple of minutes, take a smoke break. Get in the car and my hands instinctively go for the pack. It’s what they do. See what I’m saying by habit. Pavlov has trained a dog to smoke when the bell rings and it’s name is John.

I keep telling myself I’ll quit when certain things happen. When I get a full time job, I can quit. When Monday starts, I’ll quit. When I finish this pack, I’ll quit. When the weather cools down so I can go walking more, I’ll quit. It’s just a bunch of lies. I know it and I keep telling myself they aren’t.



That Nicorette gum is a joke. You’re trading one habit for a more expensive habit. That gum ain’t cheap.

The patch makes me feel weird and I keep wanting to scratch it. It’s like a scab I become obsessed with.

I’d like to treat this like my alcoholism. Step one is admitting I have a problem. Where does that leave me? Yep, I’ve got a problem. I can’t stop from picking up a cigarette.

There is also the part of me that doesn’t want to stop. Will I start gaining weight that I’ve worked hard to get rid of in the first place? Will I have to work harder to lose the weight I still have to lose? What will I do when I feel stressed out or need a moment to stop and think? Who am I quitting for? At this point I have no life and not much of a future, I might as well keep it up.

Excuses, all of these things are excuses.

I’m a smoker who doesn’t want to smoke, but I’m unwilling to put the proper energy into quitting. Sounds like a weak person to me.

You want to know the worst part of this? As soon as I finish writing, I’m lighting up. Not because I really want a cigarette, but because I’ll just grab one out of habit.

Ghost Of The Past Pt. 3

I hate to say that this may be the last entry into the tracking down of an old friend, but this may be all, folks.

I called, “The Chateau” yesterday and yes, Fergal does work there. Yes, he was working when I called. No they wouldn’t let me talk to him because he was working. Yes, I did leave a message to have him call me back. No I haven’t heard anything yet.

It is too early to tell, but the ball is in his court now. Will he call back? I have no idea.

Oh, but wait. As I was writing this I tried one more thing. I entered his name and Boston into Google and I got a hit that included a phone number. Why didn’t I try that before? I’m just not that bright I guess. Is it his number? How many Fergal Mitchell’s can there be in beantown?

Maybe I’ll give it a call today and see if I get an answer. Maybe I’ll give it a week and see if he’ll get in touch with me first.

I have pretty much completed what I set out to do. Find out where he is and if he’s all right. I know where he lives and he is still very much among the living. He can’t be doing too badly if he is gainfully employed and has been for a period of time, right?

Should I stop now? Should I let him be? Does any of this really matter?

What do I really want to achieve from this? Is there more to it than just checking in on an old friend?

Any suggestions or ideas?

UPDATE: THE PHONE # I GOT FOR FERGAL OFF OF GOOGLE IS NO LONGER IN SERVICE AND NO FORWARDING # WAS ATTACHED. SO AGAIN< THE BALL IS BACK IN HIS COURT.

Ghost Of The Past Pt. 2

It appears that I have caught a break (as the detective would say.) The phone number my mother gave me has paid off.

Yesterday I called and got an answering machine. I left a message detailing who I was, I was trying to contact a friend from high school, please give me a call back.

No response. I figured at first that I had the wrong number so they didn’t call back. To verify I decided to try again today. It was the right number.

At first I spoke with Fergal’s dad Jim. He quickly said he was Fergal’s dad and said Sydney, Fergal’s mom, would be with me in a second. The guy wouldn’t tell me anything. This was a little scary. I was bracing myself for bad news. If one parent hands the phone off to another parent instantly, it doesn’t seem good, right?

So Sydney gets on the phone and is just pleased as punch to talk to me. I don’t give out any of the info I’ve heard, I don’t want to sound like an asshole. So Sydney pitters around a bit, then starts giving me Fergal’s history. She didn’t explain any harder drugs, but talked a lot about Fergal and pot. She described it as pretty bad and from the details, it never sounded any worse than what I’d consume on a daily basis. It’s a lot, but it could have been worse.

She asked how I was and I decided to go into my past history and rehab. This was very exciting news to her. I think she liked hearing about my positive outcome. It gives hope. She asked what had happened, how I decided to get out and all of the regular questions norms ask when they are let into a lifestyle that is alien to them. I asked more about Fergal’s whereabouts.

She told me about him disappearing about three years ago in Boston. He changed his number, moved, all the standard stuff. See, Fergal is a very bighearted guy, too big some might say, and he was tired of disappointing his parents. At least that’s the working theory. So he separated himself from the folks. I feel there is also the possibility of them not being able to understand and applied pressures on the lad that made him feel that contact needed to be broken. All of these are theories right now. Only Fergal will be able to tell me what he’s gone/going through.

Then she pulls out the ace. Fergal had sent her a mother’s day card this past May. Bingo baby. He said how much he loved her and didn’t want to be in contact until he had gotten his life back together. He had mentioned a job he had at a restaurant called, “The Chateau”. Naturally she had the phone number.

Sydney hopes that I will get in touch with him and maybe our mutual addictions will make some sort of connection. I told her I couldn’t promise anything, but I’d call her and let her know how he was doing if I contacted him. She was grateful for anything I could do and we said our goodbyes.

So now I have a possible work number and I may be one step closer to tracking him down.

It seems pretty good to me that heroin never came up. It could have been one of those things like when we played “Operator” as kids. The first kid says “Jane is cute”, but by the time you get to the end of the line the last kid says, “Tom farted in Social Studies.”

We’ll see. More coming soon.

Ghost Of The Past Pt. 1

So I’m walking to the gym yesterday and I see this high school kid walking down the street. He looks just like a friend of mine from high school.

His name is Fergal Mitchell and we were good friends our senior year. He was Irish to the hilt. His father was an ex-priest with an accent so thick he required subtitles at times. Fergal was a sweet innocent kid who had a goofy smile a goofy laugh and when he would cuss, the words sounded strange when they came out of his mouth. Very unnatural, like he felt uncomfortable saying them, but did it anyway because that’s the way you were supposed t talk when you were 18 and rebellious.

So as a lark, I emailed my oldest friend Marc Pearsall (by oldest I mean I’ve know the guy 30 years), to see if he knew what Fergal was up to. Marc is a good person who has kept up quite a bit with people from our class. He sends articles out when he reads about former classmates, etcetera.

I digress.

So I email Marc and he writes back saying that his mom ran into Fergal’s mom about two years ago. Fergal had run into some hard times apparently. He had become a drug addict (something we both have in common), a heroin addict at that (a commonality we don’t share.) He was homeless for a while and then he disappeared. She hadn’t heard from him in about a year.

That news that is two years old and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it this morning. That cute fuzzy Irish kid crawling the streets looking for a hit. It seems so bizarre.

I had heard some crazy tales of him after we fell out of touch in college, including some ex-girlfriend stalking issues, but I figured it was growing pains, a stupid thing done as a youth that you look back on, shake your head and wonder why you were so stupid. From this latest update, I guess he took a left turn when he should have gone right.

I have become very curious about finding out what has become of him, a little frightened, but curious nonetheless. The last thing I want to know is that he O.D.’d in some shitty motel somewhere. I’d like to hear that he cleaned up and is trying to get his shit together. A tough road to walk, but possible and has been walked by many before him.

So step one was to get his parents phone number, which I did. His dad’s name is James and if you can believe it or not, there are only two James Mitchell’s in the Prescott Arizona area. When I was told the streets they lived on, I was able to pick out his dad’s place. So now I have a number. The next step is to call, which I’m working up the nerve to do.

30 MINUTES LATER

Wrong number. My memory for street names isn’t as keen as I thought. Back to square one. So I call my mom. Parents are good that way. She grabs the phone book and now I have a new phone number to try. We think it’s right. If not, she’s got another old friend of the family to get in contact with that may be of help. Now I’m back to making the call, which I’ll have to do tomorrow. Right now I’m off to dinner with my father.

It’s that same strange feeling that I talked about in my posting about past relationships. I’ll be sitting down to a free meal with dad while a person who I cared for in my past may be out there somewhere in a bad way. Life is one bizarre trip.

I’ll give an update as I learn more.

Nutball Of The Day

I need to carry my camera with me wherever I go. That is a fault of mine that I must correct.

Case in point:

I was walking down to my friendly neighborhood liquor store this morning to pick up some smokes when I witnessed one of the many Angelinos who have checked out mentally slide further down the rabbit hole

There is this palm shrub on the corner by the store and there was this shirtless guy staring at the shrub, just staring at it. The he started talking to it. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it seemed like a decent conversation at first. He held out his hand and shook one of the palm branches and made some sort of small talk.


Then he went ape shit! He jumps into the shrub and starts wrestling with it. He’s screaming and shouting at it saying he’ll, “kill you fucker!” He continued to battle the plant and the plant seemed to be winning. He tore at the branches, but nothing would come apart. One moment it actually looked like he was struggling with a branch that was trying to choke him.

It was like in a movie where our hero is struggling with a rubber octopus arm as it tries to wrap itself around him. The actor blatantly manipulating the fake tentacle trying to make it look like the octopus is alive. I think the film was Ed Wood’s, “Bride of the Monster” with Bella Lugosi. Fine I know it was that movie, but I was trying not to sound like too much of a geek.

Back to the story:

So the Nutball of the day is struggling with the palm when he suddenly tosses himself out like he was spit from the beast. Along with him comes a single page from a discarded newspaper. He looks at the shrub and shouts, “Never take my shit again, or I’ll call the cops!”

I can only assume he was talking about the newspaper page, because he then starts kicking it across the street with him as he starts walking away, sliding from side to side as he plays soccer with the newspaper down the street.

I have a feeling that this guy used to be an executive at Disney. At least he got his paper back.

Nutball: 1

Shrub: 0

Bring On The Ha-Ha

It’s funny how unfunny I am.

Actually it seems to be more with my writing than how I am in life. In conversation, I can whip out the comebacks and one-liners, but right now I have no idea how to put humor to paper. Not even bad jokes are coming to my mind.

I’m putting this pitch together for this show, which is a comedy and I can’t think of a damn thing. Is it me, or should I just junk the idea because it’s not inspiring anything from me.

I’ve been told that I need to add more of my personality to the pitch, but I suddenly don’t feel like I have any personality. My brain feels like a giant brick wall with nothing coming in or going out. I need some sort of stimulation and I can’t figure out what it is.


I’d say that things like this were easier back when I was drinking and druging, but anything was funny to me then. The dumbest things cracked me up, so I don’t know what was legitimately funny and what was chemical based.

Man this is frustrating. I need to relax, but can’t I feel like I have a deadline, even though I don’t. I just want to get this thing moving.

Maybe it’s fear of rejection. I don’t want to work too hard on something that won't get made. Maybe. I don’t know I can’t even really come up with any good excuses or reasons. I just feel dead in the head.

Shit.

Never Again

I was thinking about relationships and I had a realization that is pretty naive, but what can I say, I’m slow. I’m going to pose this as a question and take it from there.

How many people that you have been romantically involved with are you still in contact with? I’m not talking the one-night stands, or the couple of dates and it isn’t going to work, but the real relationships.

None? Maybe one or two at most? Am I close? Isn’t it a little odd? There was a time when you looked at that person and didn’t want to be without them. They were a major part of your life and lifestyle of that time. Now they are a shadow of a memory. It just seems strange to me.

It’s natural, that’s life, so what? It just seems strange to me. A human being, not a car or DVD, was a part of your life and now they are nothing. I’m not saying that they haven’t had an influence on your life, your evolution as a person. I just am having this moment of wrapping my head around giving up a person.


I get that as a person, change is going to happen. Sometimes you just grow in different directions and that’s that. Each relationship helps you discover what it is you want in a person. So hopefully both people got something out of it, but I can’t stop trying to grasp it today. A person is discarded like a toy you’ve out grown.

“So what, John? It happens to everyone. Nature baby, nature.”

My point is that there was a time when this person meant everything to you and all of that just fades away. Weeks, months, years go by before you even think about them and you wonder what it is you found in them in the first place. There might be some good memories, or if you dated me, bad memories. In the end though we just move forward and get on with life.

For all I know one of them might have died. A morbid thought, but it happens, people cease to exist for one reason or another. I’d know nothing about it and go on with life like everything is fine.

It’s just this thing that entered my head and I'm finding it mysterious right now.

Odd right? Silly and simple minded, right? I’ve never claimed to be a genius. I don’t know much about this world and why we do what we do, I just have a lot of questions.