Cry (really)

 

I just cried for an hour. Twenty minutes of those were whilst cycling uphill- stopping now and then to windscreen wipe the tears from my face and choke on the exhaust and exertion of the EMOTION. There is nothing more ridiculous then a crying cyclist in a high vis jacket and a helmet.

I don’t know why we say ‘when the rug is pulled out from under you.’ I don’t know that many people who that has actually happened to. If it was done effectively – not unlike the waiter pulling the tablecloth from the table while keeping the crockery in place- one would remain standing. But if it’s done incorrectly one may fall and keep falling until they hit something solid. I had a somewhat rug moment today when said rug was pulled out from under me- perfectly executed in a moment of clarity and yet I still fell. Falling still. Falling as I write this. Falling as I sniff each breath and type these keys and wonder why I ever thought anything meant anything. Because it doesn’t. I KNOW. Cat’s out of the bag and Jack is out of his box. People mean something to me. But I don’t know about my meaning. My value. YAWN. But truly is it enough to mean something to your parents? To your sister? Your boyfriend? To 5 people?

In the scheme of things, I didn’t mean anything. Relatively speaking. My life didn’t mean anything. It was without value. I only added to the worlds problems. Didn’t fix them. Didn’t comment on them. Didn’t make art about them that moved people, that made them laugh enough or cry enough. Enough people will say. ‘ You did mean something,’ (The conceit of this prose is f’king paralysing) Remember that time you made me laugh… and? For f*cks sake, anyone can do that and if it wasn’t me than it would be someone else. I feel reckless. And I feel like a coward. Pity party for 1. Oh yes. I can see what’s happening here. No one likes someone who is so full of themselves that they can’t see the shit from the grass. Is this this some child of the 80’s aspirational hangover- spoiled and told that we could be anything we wanted- that success was at our fingertips if only we worked hard enough, were skilled. talented, educated. Recent events have demonstrated that these traits are not only unnecessary but sometimes detrimental. At the very least a source for ones own reflective reckoning.

I am 33 which is just a number. I have had many experiences. But I have never been SUCCESSFUL. Why? I donno. I haven’t placed enough importance on money, on networks, on friendships, on production. Or maybe I’m not talented ENOUGH. But for all the privileges I’ve had I still well- I still haven’t DONE it. Maybe that makes me shit. Worse than shit. Lazy. Or maybe that makes me normal. I dunno. I expect more of myself. I EXPECT so much more. And I am failing I am failing in everything. I don’t have a family. I live in a city that I can’t really afford. I work security and cafe jobs and look after other peoples kids to pay off the bi annual interest fees on a big loan- money I borrowed to study ‘acting’ A most noble pursuit.

I could go pretty dark here. But for the sake of anyone reading this. If you want to be an actor – these sort of thoughts will NOT serve you and you should go and see a psych or drink a bottle of red wine immediately to remedy this. (Medication of all sorts also advised) Take it from me.

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