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Mr. Magoo

September 2nd, 2024


You’d think that having the amount of life-upgrades I’ve had in these past few years would lead to some sort of newfound confidence.  I’m in the best shape of my life (not tremendously good, but at least now I can do more than one push-up), I have more (real) friends than I’ve ever had, I’m going to my dream school -- even the love life isn’t (currently) an unparalleled disaster.  But I think I might feel more insecure than I ever have been.  Class or, at least, the prospect of talking to anyone in class, terrifies me.  Even at home, I write my scripts and my little stories and I can’t help but think I’m full of shit all the time.  Or that I’m letting myself down in some way.

And I know it’s all in my head.  Objectively, logistically speaking, I’m doing fantastic.  And being at a point where I can begin to settle and look at my life more holistically is new and tremendous.  And it might not necessarily be that I’m getting worse, it's just that I’m finding more things to dislike about myself.  Almost like I’m searching.  It’s good in a way -- I want to be better and that’s the way to do it.  But it’s getting a little too depressing.  Like I’m approaching it in a way where I’m standing around crying over spilled milk, continuing to cry as I clean it, and then proceeding to cry long after the milk’s gone bad.  Not that I actually cry or anything, I’m too cool for that.

I often joke about my narcissism, but I do genuinely fear that my over-reliance on “god humor” (that is, “I’m literally perfect in every way” type stuff) is having adverse effects on my general rhetoric.  Maybe half of it is people not getting the joke (as I’ve been told), probably the rest is that I can’t tell when I’m being serious.  On the one hand, maybe I should dumb it down or start claiming “I’m joking” after a dry response to, as Michael put it, “appeal to the masses.”  But in doing that, I lose my favorite kind of joke -- the kind no one gets except for me and like one other person.  But I want friends and purposely making jokes that people can’t identify with probably doesn’t help that prospect.

But that’s kind of sad.  I miss the high school days when that kind of thing truly didn’t matter to me (probably out of naivety more than any sort of bravery).  Partially inspired by Baby Driver, I used to wear sunglasses to school every day.  When my Private Catholic High School teachers began to confiscate them, I just ended up buying more backup pairs.  And I did eventually forge a doctor’s note that said I needed them for “tinnitus.”  And it was weird and didn’t really help my social prospects at school, but going to 7-11 or a thrift store with my very few friends to find some truly dumb-looking sunglasses -- that’s what I really remember.  Doing that now would be kind of lame, but the spirit of it -- just being a troll (my high school teachers used to call me “Ferris”).  Been a while since I really trusted people to go along with that kind of thing.

And I know that’s stupid because I have a ton of awesome friends who don’t think I’m the worst person in the world who are down to fuck around.  If I don’t want to stage an impromptu hedonistic adventure, I can call my far-and-away friends to make fun of bullshit.  And if I can’t call them, I call my Mom.  But I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that I have a genuinely good support circle now.  Full of people who can tell when I’m joking.

I think a majority of it is this childish desire (entitlement?) for everyone to like me.  But some people like the drama, like to hate.  And maybe I’m just being high-and-mighty but when I think about any sort of “drama” for more than 15 seconds, I’m slightly more motivated to purchase a surgically accurate handgun to blast just behind my temples so my eyes can roll back even further.  But I’m in art school, I don’t wanna get too romantic.  I definitely have one of those polarizing personalities; not a lot of people I know are just lukewarm about me.  Especially not a lot of people who are also expressive and decisive in their opinions as soon as they can form them.  And I’m not judging because I’m the same way.

I’m always in a love-hate relationship with myself.  I mean that I either completely love myself and forgive all my sins or I hate myself and have to repeat the ol’ slowed+reverb playlist of self-pity.  And it’s weird now because it’s Summer-ish and I’ve been getting that sweet, sweet, vitamin D and I still feel terrible.

Another part of it is that I think I’m growing out of things quicker than I want to.  I’m so fucking bored of being a pretentious douchebag.  I’ll define pretentious douchebag: acting like I am the least bit profound in comparison to others.  Because I’m so not.  Of course, it’s way easier to see stupidity in other people and my gut instinct is to think of myself as separate from that.  I know it’s shocking, but I do, in fact, want to feel good about myself and I do, in fact, want that to be easy.  And I can reason into it too (and I have) because I’m different with a diverse experience blah blah blah, that somehow makes me any less 20.  

A few months ago, during what I could only describe as some sort of post-semester emotional breakdown, I made a blog post all about that -- feeling isolated because I was just too smart for everyone.  And that was bullshit and I immediately got an abundance of (well-deserved) hate comments for that.  Which, of course, I didn’t get to read until two days after the post had gone up -- where I found myself at Ray’s Pizza at 4:00 in the morning because I managed to leave my fucking keys in Washington DC before I got on the train to New York.  No one I could call was awake so it was a fun night of homeless reprise.  Obviously not the right mood to read a comment that said that I was “horrific.”  

Of course, it’s the internet and if I’m gonna make a blog where I’m trying to bleed my heart out all the time, eventually someone’s gonna think it’s gross.  If I keep scavenging my depths for something profound, eventually my head will get too far up my own ass.  And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t benefit from that kind of a wake-up call.  But somehow I’m still not mature enough to take the criticism in complete stride.

Although most of it is that I’m a child who needs to grow some fucking balls, part of it is the nature of the blog.  A lot of these posts are brain-dumps of this weird stew that blends my personal growth, unrelenting nostalgia and, of course, pretentious douchebagery.  More to the point, the posts strive to be as authentic to my feelings as I can make them.  And if what I’m convinced is my authentic self is seen as horrific, that kinda blows.

But “authentic” in recent months (years, maybe), I’ve somehow skewed as “devoid of fun.”  I don’t think I’ve enjoyed any of my posts since January.  But nowadays even reading the wanna-be Sisyphus posts from before then makes me want to trade the surgically precise handgun in for a surgically precise shotgun.  It’s just too pretentious for me to feel proud of it.

I know it's just that I'm too close to it now. It’s not all bad.  With the posts, I can track my growth month-to-month in a very deep way.  It’s nice to see far-off problems that used to feel like the world.  And having the blog be public forces me to consider the fact that it’s not just me venting, it’s me communicating.  It helps me consider the ramifications of my thinking.  Helps me actually question if my thoughts hold up in the real world.  Which is scary.

I’m reminded of this video I did with Sam’s Tailor (fantastic guy, fantastic suits) that got posted to Instagram Reels with maybe 7,000 views; many, many comments.  I actually had to delete Instagram for a good bit, I was so overwhelmed.  And then I see that view count of 100-300 on my blog posts and I fucking panic, even if I genuinely think I’ve written something good.  Like if something I posted here takes off by some nightmare of the imagination -- say, 500 people who look at my innermost thoughts?  Fuck, dude.

But that’s also kind of the nature of the line of work I’m in.  If I wanna write movies and plays and have that be sustainable, that means a whole lot of people have to see them.  And if I want my plays and movies to be any damn good, I gotta pour my heart and soul into them.  But what if my heart and soul are horrific?

If it’s not obvious, I’m really scared about this year.  Like, stomach-curling, panic-scrolling, compulsive-showering scared.  This is the first time I’ve had a second year at a school since I was 15 years old.  Just about all my cells have been replaced since then.  Really and truly terrified.  I’d like to have some sort of special attitude going in, but I know I’ll revert to some sort of auto-pilot by October.  

Allegedly this is the light at the end of the tunnel -- or at least compared to the tunnel of my mediocre teenage years.  I’m not going to leave New York unless I decide to.  I’m in the school, I’m in the frat, I’m in the major, I’m doing the project.  I’ve got more friends to fall back on than I ever have.  But with that newfound light, I’m still adjusting my eyes.  Blindly walking down what I can only hope is a green-lit crosswalk.  I don’t quite trust that I’m not gonna get hit by a fucking semi.  Don’t feel quite brave (or possibly naive) enough to let my body take the lead.

Fuck, man, I’m being too cynical (rightly 20, rightly pretentious douchebag).  Letting the insecure made-up jargon affect my decision-making.  I keep acting like all my friends are gonna be jam-packed in the semi waiting to run me over.  What kind of bullshit is that?  I love my friends for a reason and I gotta actually start actually trusting these people because I’m too young and my failures have been too anecdotal for me to think that everyone’s just gonna let me walk and get hit by a truck.  Damn right they’re gonna help me down that road.  Probably take me to buy another pair of stupid-looking sunglasses.  To help me see things a bit more clearly.

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2 comentários


Convidado:
15 de out.

You are being much too cynical for your age. Even if you have a “diverse experience”, there’s still a lot of life you need to experience. Life is long, enjoy the ride even if you do get hit by the semi and get hospitalised or perhaps experience near death during the journey. Yes, even if your friends are driving it. Okay that would be pretty crap, but bottom line is: have faith. Hope you got the glasses you needed since this entry. Rooting 4 u. Xoxo

Curtir

Convidado:
06 de out.

Start name dropping more plz. From Vitamin Daddy. 🕶️

Curtir
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