n o w p l a y i n g - s c r i p t b i n - f a n c l u b - s t u d i o

make love to the camera



January 15, 2005 - 12:19 pm

Can't Get Enough of that Funk Funk Funk

Man, I just fell into a funk earlier this week and could not climb out. It was one of those dark ones where you go out into the living room and spend four hours on the couch watching television and call it a night out simply because you're not in your bedroom anymore.

It all started to creep up on me slowly. I couldn't go home immediately after my job ended, because we're flying my youngest brother Barry out to drive back with me, and we had to wait enough time so that we weren't buying a ridiculously priced last minute ticket. And because I needed time to pack. And because I had "loose ends" to tie up, I kept telling myself. And yeah, getting some car repairs done and changing addresses and getting stuff ready to ship back to Chicago all takes some time, but each day I'm not home is starting to drive me a little more nuts. Like I'm wasting time I could be spending with her. I want to call her all the time, but it makes me scared, because her voice seems raspier every time I do. I ask her if she has a sore throat or is sick or something, and she says she isn't, but she doesn't sound like herself, and that's just hard to take.

The rational part of me knows that I've got to do it this way, and the emotional part of me wishes I took the first flight home last friday and told Jonny to shove all my stuff in boxes and just ship it to me when he gets back from Nebraska.

The crowning point! Oh, the absolute most beautiful part of my week came yesterday. Oh, let me set the scene, my friends. I'm laying there on the couch staring blankly at the muted television. It was mute because George W. Bush and his wife are answering questions from Barbara Walters, and I watched it for about a minute and found that was all I could take. I was in the middle of some particularly dark thought like "George Bush is president and my mom is dying of cancer," when I forced myself in solace to think of this going away party thing I've planned for myself this coming Friday.

First of all, I resorted to evite.com. I actually went to their site and signed up and entered email addresses and did the whole 'tee hee, i am having a parteeeee!' thing, which made me feel like a gay 14 year old. Second of all, you know that little section where you enter the "Hey Guys! Come on out and get drunk, it'll be AWESOME!" spiel? Well, I tried to be all breezy, and wrote stuff like "yeah, terminal illness in my family, going home for a while, come out and have a drink and say bye for what might be a while." I tried to infuse it with a little bit of funny, saying that when life threatening tumors strike my thoughts naturally turn to PARTY! but yesterday I realized that I just wrote the saddest evite ever. Wow, I sent the cancer evite!

In my vanity, I thought, "eh, everyone kinda knows what's going on with me, and if they don't, they've surely heard something...this has got to be just as good as emailing or calling them all weirdly one by one and saying 'dude, i have something to tell you,'" but no. Surely not everyone who received that evite is up on the vagaries of the life of Bill. For some, surely it had to be news.

So now, on top of the funk, I'm the proud owner of this classy maneuver whereby I've provided people with the lifelong anecdote of "Yeah, I learned about this guy's mom's cancer through evite." It is an awesome feeling and not tacky at all.

I swear, I had to force myself to bathe yesterday. And I haven't had the wherewithal to masturbate, much less call and meet my friends for cute little going away lunches or hit museums I likely won't be driving by again for months, if not at least a year. My brother is flying in this Thursday, and then a few days later, we're driving cross country back to Chicago, two events that, under normal circumstances, would be amazing highlights, but it's all tinged with bad news. This isn't a leisurely drive eighty miles out of the way to see the Grand Canyon trip, it's a utilitarian transport yourself and the crap in the back seat home trip. Those aren't as fun.

The reality of it all is a killer. I'm getting fucking drunk tonight. Out of the house. Probably.

Last Time On FadeIn - Next Week's Show

i am one bad updater:

enter email to find out when i update. powered by notifylist.com