Originally published at The Homepage of Michael John Bertrand. You can comment here or there.
Here I am, waiting for a table at my favorite White Spot. I was hoping that by showing up at 1 pm, I would avoid the lunch rush. Alas, it was not to be.
I am getting miffed about my education. Today”s class : watch 2 hour movie while the teacher fucks off entirely, presumably to do something she actually enjoys, fifteen minute break, five minutes settling in, total teaching time : 40 minutes out of the usual 180.
Hence my miffedness. When we watched movies in class when I was a kid, the teacher at least had the decency to stay in the room with us and look busy.
I have every reason to believe that the challenge level of this term will rise very soon. But this is week 3 and so far, very little has been asked of me.
Perhaps this is to allow us to concentrate on the five minute movies we are supposed to be working on in post production right now.
But my group’s movie is basically done. The “rough cut” the writer slash director slash everything else submitted on Tuesday was complete except for credits and score. There is very little for any of us to do at this point.
Which means it won’t be just me who will be learning fuck all this term.
This should not have been allowed to happen. There needs to be something in the rules about inclusion and something else about having to hire outside people so everyone get experience doing that kind of thing.
I don’t like having a lot of rules around any more than any other creative person. But rules keep people from getting hurt sometimes.
And now I am home.
Wow, I only wrote 275 words in White Spot. It felt like so much more. Virtual keyboards suck, especially when used by people with big fingers on tiny little smartphones.
I am proud of a choice I made today. Today is La Jour De La Cheque for me, plus it’s a GST cheque month (ragged cheer), so I had two cheques to cash. I had the idea that I would cash them and have lunch at White Spot, then go home.
But after class today, I really really did not feel like it. I just wanted to eat lunch at Bob’s and go home. I had more or less decided to skip it on the Skytrain ride back home.
Then, as we pulled into Lansdowne Station, I realized that I could get off there, walk a couple blocks to White Spot and have lunch, then cash my cheque. It would mean a bunch more walking, but I would arrive home having accomplished something.
And for a moment, fate hung in the balance. I could have gone either way. Either get off at Lansdowne and walk home, or stay on till Richmond Brighouse station like usual and walk a much smaller distance home.
What ultimately decided it was that I could not hide from the fact that one of the choices was obviously the healthier one that would move me towards the kind of person I want to be, and the other was listening to the Jagoff and wallowing in my own crapitude.
So I got off at Lansdowne. Yay me! I hope this is the beginning of a new pattern for me, where I choose the “do it” option over the “fuck it” option more often.
I am still free to be lazy from time to time. But in the long run, I am happiest when I stay engaged with the world and actively doing stuff.
And video games don’t’ count.
It’s just tough to keep it up when you have depression weighing you down. I wish people could see the kind of weight we drag around. Then they would begin to understand the true burden of this disease of ours.
Some of us even carry that weight in the literal sense as well.
Took a nap, had dinner, now I am back.
Was just thinking about my whole “stop trying to be a sitcom character because real life doesn’t work like that” thing.
Maybe that’s the wrong approach. Maybe instead of fighting my basic nature and trying to become more normal and tuned into reality, I should concentrate on being the best, funniest, nicest, most wonderful sitcom ever.
You know. The background character that ends up taking over the show?
I’m conflicted. The problem is that I really don’t know how to relate to reality in any other way. That’s a hard thing for me to admit, but it’s true. I perform for people. In a sense, I am always writing lines for my character.
It’s not exactly that I am always trying to be funny. I mean, I joke a lot, but I have other modes, like Intellectual Conversation Mode, and Quiet Cuddles mode, and Being Very Real With People Mode, and Amateur Therapist Mode, and so forth and so on.
But I suppose most people don’t think of those things as modes.
And the thing is, I am not being fake with people. I am a genuine kind of guy. I refuse to be insincere. I might polish the truth a little or try to get myself into a specific kind of mood depending on my goals, but I won’t fake emotions.
The thought of it makes me cringe. It’s a terrible mental sensation.
And yet, part of me is always performing as well. Trying to light the world with my brightness. Playing to the crowd. Wanting so bad to make people happy because I then get to empathically experience their happiness.
And the sad truth is, the happiness I get from others is far more intense – more pure – than the kind I generate myself.
Like it bypasses my busted joy circuit, or something.
I imagine a lot of funny people are like that. If there wasn’t something wrong with us, we wouldn’t have this terrible imbalance that we try to correct with laughter.
But hey, we bring joy and laughter to people with our neuroses.
And sometimes, we even get paid for it.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.