Show 'Em You're Nuts
It's getting dark over here, and there's also an eclipse apparently
As I write this on Sunday evening, there’s an eclipse tomorrow, and my house is so close to the edge of the path of totality that if I drove to my bank, I’d leave the zone. I haven’t been all that excited about the eclipse, and I’m not sure why – nature stuff is cool, the weather seems to be favoring us exceptionally well, and all I have to do to participate in this nugget of history is go stand in my yard with funny glasses on.
I think part of it’s the management of expectations – Ohio usually doesn’t fare as well in the weather lottery, especially where clouds and gray skies are concerned. Also, my belief in the general public’s ability to turn any event into an unnecessary shitshow is at an all-time high. I shouldn’t have to lay in stocks of cat food and beer because a bunch of clownshoes-ass gadabouts might panic-buy all the groceries or cause traffic gridlock, but here we are.
It doesn’t help that I’m kinda Having A Weekend, mentally speaking. I woke up yesterday in a pronounced funk, and it’s somewhat better now, but I did a lot of not-doing-shit yesterday and today, and not in a relaxing and restful way. It’s hard to focus on achieving goals or creating when your brain gets all what’s-the-point-y and you start to look at all your work through a lens of self-doubt.
This is absolutely not a cry for validation (and definitely not for advice). You’re reading this right now and that’s phenomenal of you, as far as our ‘contract’ goes, and I appreciate it. Sometimes I just hit a wall, usually coinciding with lack of sleep, financial stress, creative or health frustration, or any number of other boring and predictable apocalyptic things. I’m getting better at working my way out of it.
I think part of what kept me enamored of comedy for so long, when a lot of the aspects of doing it were becoming obviously untenable and frustrating, was the instant gratification. When you’re wired for it, the reaction in the moment of twenty-five drunk strangers in the side room of a brewpub in Iowa pushes more buttons in your brain than the quiet satisfaction of unsnarling a piece of code or topping a couple thousand words on a new story draft, both of which are forever legacy big-picture things that should be more thrilling to achieve.
When I was a very little kid, my dad would get me to do a party trick when people came over. The joke was, you’d come out in the living room in nothing but an overcoat, and he’d yell “SHOW ‘EM YOUR NUTS!” Properly executed, the bit would involve me pretending I was gonna flash the grownups, but then just making a “crazy” face and sticking my tongue out. I’m nuts! Get it? Only my dad thought it was funnier if I did that and flashed them, and then ran out of the room.
As problematic as this may sound in 2024, I’m not mentioning it as some cry for help from an off-the-rails childhood – but I am pointing out that I’ve been a ham for a cheap laugh since I took my first pratfall. I think that informs some of these bad moods, post-lockdown and post-comedy. I don’t have that chance to metaphorically drop trou and be the special boy in the spotlight anymore.
Of course, putting everything in my life on hold to go do that is why my novel from 2017 is still sitting on my hard drive, and why the first task when I revisit a half-finished game is to change the copyright year on its title screen. Comedy* was a safety valve in a chaotic time and a life raft when so much else was out of my control, but if I’m being honest, it was also a stalling tactic.
It was eating a bag of Halloween candy for dinner instead of confronting a fridge full of raw ingredients and the prospect of real, risky work.
It stands to reason that for someone primed to get hopped up on instant gratification, instant disillusionment can also be a thing. If I have three slow days on my sales channels, I’m ready to bulldoze my whole inventory into a landfill and go sleep under a bridge. A failed attempt at a story or a bit of dreamt-up game code that runs smack into the harsh light of my limitations can send me down a dark path.
Bad sets used to do this to me, too, but by the time I quit, I was doing so many shows that a chance at redemption was always close at hand and contractually mandated. Now, if I stub my toe creatively, it’s up to me to brush the dirt off and get back at it. If I have a slow week, I have to remember all the other times I despaired and panicked, only to wish I had more downtime to put up listings when the next busy streak kicked in.
I’m gonna get back at it after dinner. Tomorrow, some friends are coming, and that always helps. We’ll sit out back and watch the sun get eclipsed by the moon for a couple minutes, and I’m sure I’ll think it’s neat, and then I’ll come back inside and I’ll show you I’m Not Under Traumatic Stress. The overcoat will stay on. This isn’t that kind of site.
* FOR ME! Your mileage may vary! I hope you get famous! Keep grindin’!