I find myself up at nights with this
unfamiliar energy that I can't shake off. It's not something easily
described, like most sensations rooted deeply into a psyche. It's
like my brain is screaming at the rest of my body, “DO IT,” but
never really explains to me what “it” is. So in many ways, my
writing this is my way of trying to get my brain to shut the fuck up.
I'm approaching 4:00 AM, and no matter how many times I highlight and
delete full paragraphs from what you're reading, I'm still getting
yelled at by my brain. The last paragraph with the Arrested
Development reference actually
wasn't bad, but by the end I was hit with a barrage of “is that
what you want to say,” “that's not quite right,” “no, try
again, you can do better.” My brain's a perfectionist, clearly the
rest of me is not or I would have picked up that tissue that missed
the garbage... three days ago.
Is this how you
know you're going crazy? When your brain and the rest of you seem to
be communicating on two entirely different wavelengths? The only
thing I'm worried about is what kind of crazy I am. Am I crazy like
the Wright brothers: “See that bird? Let's do that.” Or am I
crazy like the Mansons: “See that bird? Let's go eat a hooker.”
Considering I'm not smart enough to invent something like human
flight, and not hungry enough for a whole hooker at the moment, I'm
probably somewhere in between. But either way, I'd like to think that
this is a similar sensation that many of the great creative minds
have experienced. I guess I just feel better believing that Louis CK
stayed up at night with a sense of undefined purpose before he
started turning out the funniest jokes on the planet.
The last few days
have been a complete waste. I've been stuck in a cycle of: wake up,
walk to computer, overeat, go to bed, repeat. A less than ideal
pattern of behavior for someone with big ambitions, probably too big.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I value nothingness more than most
people probably should, but I've started 2012 off with a complacent
groan and it needs to change.
I've heard from
successful people that the key to achieving what you want in life
comes down to just doing it. Want to be a comedian? Get on stage.
Want to write a book? Start typing. Want to make a movie? Find a
camera. The world is made up of people that did it and people that
kept saying “Well it's not that simple...”
People
spend their entire lives just waiting for that spark of inspiration
that sets them on the path they think they deserve. But the fact of
the matter is that life doesn't give
you that spark. What life gives you is a free night to think every
now and then, and a decent bottle of wine. Then you're on your own.
Asking for anything more is pissing in the wind.
Perhaps this is a
trait of my generation. It seems like just about everything that's
been invented since I was born was made to distract me from more
meaningful endeavors. Of course Michelangelo could focus on painting
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he didn't have a Netflix queue to
watch or access to pornography on his phone. Why wouldn't Beethoven
compose those nine symphonies if the only alternative form of
entertainment was playing hopscotch or dying of the bubonic plague. I
don't intend to blame the shortcomings of this lethargic generation
on the technological advances that are supposed to represent the
forward thinking we so obviously lack. But it's impossible to even
finish a thought, let alone an idea, when every time you blink
there's a new shiny gadget offering instant satisfaction.
This is the hand
we're dealt. And I don't feel like folding this one, at least not
tonight. That's why I'm still up at a time when most people are just
waking up for a productive little Wednesday. I'm awake because this
itch wouldn't scratch itself. I'm awake because that twinge my brain
is giving me is sick of being cast aside, and I decided that it had a
good point. I'm awake because even though I don't have any idea what
the hell I'm writing about, I know I had to write it.
