6th
sober/somber/serious.
somewhat hungover today. more tired/mush than headache/pierced. this post might be sloppy, meandering. the PIT had its holiday shindig last night. typical routine: dress dapper, dine, drink, dance, drink some more, dance some more, depart.
but today it feels deeper than that for me, as i project moments from the night against this cloudy mist i’m sitting in and reflect on the past three years or so.
now, i loathe sentimentality. but more often than not, i can be a sentimental sonofabitch inside. can’t help it. so i fight myself. on the outside, i’ll distract, divert, depart.
just a week in, this blog has already become an example of that. so far i’ve mostly scrapbooked and linked to other people’s stuff, because it’s so damn easy to riff on anyone else than yammer on about me, myself and mine.
i strive to remind my ‘self’ that we’re not really individuals, that we’re all chunks cut up from the same dna fabric, that only our ego-driven illusions separate us from this gelatinous soup we’re floating in.
these days, the internet helps remind everyone of our shared humanity. But then it also serves as a playground for egos: anyone and everyone can get up on the virtual soapbox to celebrate their individuality and massage their own egos by trashing others. and whole businesses are built from them.
i’ve yet to totally open up or leave myself vulnerable in the way that so many bloggers do with such ease. it’s weird – i think i’m pretty expressive and outgoing in real life. and I’ve spent years working on myself to be more open and honest with myself and everyone else (especially with those who are judgmental, immature, insane, or unintelligent, and combinations thereof), both through therapy and improv.
this thing further challenges my need to control what people know about me. every posting becomes a chance to dance in the nude. and of course, my ego still needs to entertain even a virtual audience. my futile attempts to censor jen’s blog’s mentions or pictures of me (after receiving emails from friends who were learning new things) made me realize the overall futility in trying to control any flow of information out there.
i have to force myself to ignore everyone else’s judgments of me. i have to face the irrational fear that I have nothing original to say. i have to shave an eight-year-old beard, don tight gold shorts in front of sixtyfive people and dance, damnit.
dance.
