This is the second time I'm writing this. I almost cried when Square Space blog editor failed and just went ahead and deleted everything I typed for 90 minutes. Thanks Square Space! I know I should've backed up, but all the podcasts I listen to make you sound just magical! Maybe I needed a second draft.
SO, I've taken a lot of writing classes. I go through a dizzy spell of emotions when some of my work is about to be read out loud.
- I'm nervous. It fucking sucks. Why did I submit this?
- I'm nervous. How am I going to deal with all of the compliments I'm about to get because this obviously the most amazing shit in the history of amazing shit?
- I'm nervous. They just started reading my work. It really does suck. I'm about to waste at least 5 minutes of everyone's life. Why?
One thing has always snapped me out of my head and back to reality. That thing is a note: "There were no stakes. There was no heightening." Ouch. So everything I wrote really was pointless? That makes me feel like a kid. A kid in the 4th grade who's getting scolded for not doing their homework. I want to whimper grunt, "I did too do my homework! I even tried hard. I just fucked it up!" I'm legit pissed when I get that note. I always take notes and try to incorporate them, but this gnaws at me. I had pacing. There was a clear sense and purpose to what I wrote. It built to a climax. From my point of view. From my point of... Oh! Oh, fuck. I didn't clarify, set-up, or even pay off anything for anyone who hasn't lived my life. And that's every other person on Earth. I wrote an inside joke that was so inside I was the only one who'd get it.
This revelation only happened like 7 or 8 weeks ago. It's had an effect. It's not just been on sketches or blog posts. Every day interactions are less confusing for everyone involved. I make a lot of odd connections or logic jumps in small talk. Sometimes, people think this is a quirky hoot. Most of the time, people are confused. They get this look on their faces. "What is this guy on about? How do I walk away? Can I just walk away from this guy? I think I'll just walk away." I'm not some strange eccentric or irritating asshole. I just make the assumption that everyone is going to understand what I say because it makes sense in my head when I say it. But, just as you can't talk about other people's experiences if you've never lived them, you can't expect people to understand your point of view unless you explain a little. It's like a math problem. You get points for showing the work.
This helps me connect with people more. It's also irritated a lot of people.
That being said, people often look at me as a blunt, morbid person who likes to make fun of old people, cancer, and death. I'm going to post some stuff along those lines over the next week or so. So, allow me to explain. I'm not taking cheap shots or trying to create click bait. Old people, cancer, and death are topics that are close to my heart. My mom was almost 50 when I was born. My dad was 57. These are my biological parents. They aged. Their relatives aged. I spent a lot of time around legit old people in hospitals and nursing homes. I've seen family members, including my mom, die from cancer. I've spent a lot of time at wakes and at funeral homes. A lot of time. The kind of time where I stop cracking jokes to cope with the sadness. The kind of time where I'd start making comments on the stuff around me just because. When I walked into a nursing home, I'd wonder how many people thought I was their doctor. I'd say people caught cancer instead of being diagnosed with it. At a funeral home, I'd wonder if the undertaker used Elmer's glue to keep the deceased's mouth shut because it looked like it was ready to peel.
I have a lot of experience with old people, cancer, and death. My dad got sick right after I turned 9. I spent the next 4 to 5 months in hospital waiting rooms. Alone. Thinking. Alone. This wasn't shitty parenting. My mom had no place to leave me. She didn't want me to see my dad all fucked up for long periods of time. So I'd hang out and draw. I'd talk to other people who were sad and waiting to see how long their loved ones would last. See. Morbid. Just to be clear, 4 to 5 months for a 9 year old is a lot of time. It defined who I was. After my dad passed away, there were 5 months or so of peace. Then my mom got sick and progressively got worse over the next 16 years. It started out with tooth infections that caused a massive weight loss. The weight stayed off and helped her blood pressure issues, but that shit was painful. She developed heart failure. Had several mini strokes. Suffered from macular degeneration that rendered her blind. Eventually the strokes piled up and led to dementia. Most likely the worst dementia: Alzheimer's. Then she caught lung cancer. It was some real Faces of Death Shit.
I watched both my parents deteriorate and die. I was my mom's caretaker from when I was 9 years old to the age of 26. Quick note: If you feel like you helped or were excluded from the care taking, please, go fuck yourself. Read that in the most offensive way possible. I wasn't set up to take care of my mom. I made a lot of mistakes. Some made her sicker and less comfortable. I did my best. Meanwhile, I spent most of that time sitting on my bed being sad and depressed. I'd think a lot. Get sadder and more depressed. There was a lot of isolation. I'm pretty sure I legit went nuts back in late 2000 and early 2001. Recluse nuts. I made it out of that. I thank God for that.
So, when I make strange jumps or make bizarrely bleak comments, this is where it originates. As I mentioned, I'll be sharing some stories over the next week. They're not intended to mock or deride. I know a lot about old people, cancer, and death. I'm not being a character. I'm just being me.