I am exhausting. Not exhausted. I mean, I am that, too. But what I mean is I think being me is also exhausting. I might be exhausting you as well, but at least you can take a break from me. I never get a break from me. I’m always here. With me. Making me do things. Which is exhausting.
In an effort to avoid going down an Izzard-esque monologue, let me explain. One of the many fascinating — but frustrating — features about my brain is that it keeps making demands of myself. Let’s take these posts as an example. Nobody walked up to me in November and said, “Hey, Stephen, I dare you to write a three-to-five-hundred word essay every weeknight right before you go to bed.” Yet, here I am, clad in my jammies, watching a recorded episode of “World News Tonight with David Muir” on the DVR, typing these letters into a few digital boxes. So, why am I doing this to myself? The honest answer is I don’t really know. I’ve often given myself lofty goals or tried ambitious projects. But I’m not really sure what motivates them. Or why I finish them.
Well, that last part isn’t accurate, is it? I finish them because I tell myself I have to finish them, right? Would something terrible happen if I didn’t? I mean, seriously, if this post didn’t show up here tonight, would you have been disappointed? Yes? No? Would you have even noticed that one was missing? You’re not reading these that closely are you? I mean, did you even catch that every sentence in this paragraph has ended with a question mark? And why should you? You have other things to do, right?
Whether it’s this Not Tweets blog, my Journal Journey look backs, #The100DayProject called ”Choose Must” in 2015, and the revisiting of them in 2016, or even my one EP a month in 2018, I keep signing myself up for extraneous tasks in addition to either working or looking for work, and — more importantly — being a partner and a dad. I know I need creative outlives. In fact, I love these creative outlets. I hope that after I’m long gone, our daughter can look back at them and learn aspects about me she’s now too young to quite comprehend. But why am I pushing myself to get through the entire list of original Soundgarden song titles I’m using to quantify how many of these blog posts I intend to do? If I tell you there are only two dozen left, what does that make you feel? What about if I told you there were only a dozen left? How ’bout six? And what if I said tonight’s was the last one? Do you have different feelings about each number? I know I do. So, I keep typing, hoping that as I do, a new thought spurs an inspiration for just one more post. Is it the attention I’m looking for? Seriously, I have no idea. But it’s definitely come up in therapy. The only real reason which makes any sense is that if I don’t finish these projects, I feel like a failure. And that’s unacceptable. At least to my brain it is.
As I leave you tonight, I can tell you this isn’t the last one of these. At least it‘s not intended as such. I have a few more ideas for posts, and more than a handful of song titles to use. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a satisfying answer to why I sign myself up for these kinds of journeys, but I am glad you’re on this trip with me. You’re still here, right? Hello? I’m exhausting.
Black Hole Sun
16 March 2023
Dear brain, …
I am exhausting. Not exhausted. I mean, I am that, too. But what I mean is I think being me is also exhausting. I might be exhausting you as well, but at least you can take a break from me. I never get a break from me. I’m always here. With me. Making me do things. Which is exhausting.
In an effort to avoid going down an Izzard-esque monologue, let me explain. One of the many fascinating — but frustrating — features about my brain is that it keeps making demands of myself. Let’s take these posts as an example. Nobody walked up to me in November and said, “Hey, Stephen, I dare you to write a three-to-five-hundred word essay every weeknight right before you go to bed.” Yet, here I am, clad in my jammies, watching a recorded episode of “World News Tonight with David Muir” on the DVR, typing these letters into a few digital boxes. So, why am I doing this to myself? The honest answer is I don’t really know. I’ve often given myself lofty goals or tried ambitious projects. But I’m not really sure what motivates them. Or why I finish them.
Well, that last part isn’t accurate, is it? I finish them because I tell myself I have to finish them, right? Would something terrible happen if I didn’t? I mean, seriously, if this post didn’t show up here tonight, would you have been disappointed? Yes? No? Would you have even noticed that one was missing? You’re not reading these that closely are you? I mean, did you even catch that every sentence in this paragraph has ended with a question mark? And why should you? You have other things to do, right?
Whether it’s this Not Tweets blog, my Journal Journey look backs, #The100DayProject called ”Choose Must” in 2015, and the revisiting of them in 2016, or even my one EP a month in 2018, I keep signing myself up for extraneous tasks in addition to either working or looking for work, and — more importantly — being a partner and a dad. I know I need creative outlives. In fact, I love these creative outlets. I hope that after I’m long gone, our daughter can look back at them and learn aspects about me she’s now too young to quite comprehend. But why am I pushing myself to get through the entire list of original Soundgarden song titles I’m using to quantify how many of these blog posts I intend to do? If I tell you there are only two dozen left, what does that make you feel? What about if I told you there were only a dozen left? How ’bout six? And what if I said tonight’s was the last one? Do you have different feelings about each number? I know I do. So, I keep typing, hoping that as I do, a new thought spurs an inspiration for just one more post. Is it the attention I’m looking for? Seriously, I have no idea. But it’s definitely come up in therapy. The only real reason which makes any sense is that if I don’t finish these projects, I feel like a failure. And that’s unacceptable. At least to my brain it is.
As I leave you tonight, I can tell you this isn’t the last one of these. At least it‘s not intended as such. I have a few more ideas for posts, and more than a handful of song titles to use. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a satisfying answer to why I sign myself up for these kinds of journeys, but I am glad you’re on this trip with me. You’re still here, right? Hello? I’m exhausting.
See you tomorrow?