As you might have guessed I did not get the editor job at Tulane. They gave it to the guy who I thought might get it. But I've been persevering. I've even applied for a few librarian positions, which I would love to get mostly because at fancy get togethers and things where people drink iced cocktails and ask me what I do for a living, I'd get to say, "Dude...I'm a librarian," with much moxy. Now I just need to get the job and to get invited to those parties.
I'm listening to Nirvana's cover of The Velvet Underground's "Here She Comes Now." As much as I love The Velvet Underground, I think I like Nirvana's accoustic version better. I've read that it's supposed to be about a girl's orgasm, and I guess that's what he's singing about, but I can't tell for sure. It goes:
If she ever comes down now
If she ever comes down now
She looks so good
She's made out of wood
She says ohhhh
....Ok, it looks like it is about a girl's orgasm. Anyway, it's a good song. If you youtube it, there's a lot of Kurt Cobain tribute type stuff that plays along with it.
Man, he would be over 40 now. You know how if you watch a video on youtube, afterwards it shows you other stuff by the same artist? There's one that pops up by Nirvana called "I Hate Myself and I Want to Die." That's eerie.
There are certain songs that, for mental care purposes, I don't allow myself to listen to. I'm not saying that these songs will make me hurt myself and if that happened it would be their fault. I'm also not saying that nobody else should listen to them. Other people can listen to these songs and they're fine, but I, much like someone with a peanut or shellfish allergy, am sensitive to their self-destructive themes.
First on the list is "Self Esteem" by The Offspring which offers heart wrenching lines like this, "I may be dumb, but I'm not a dweeb. I'm just a sucker with no self-esteem" and "Well I guess, I should stick up for myself but I really think it's better this way. The more you suffer, the more it shows you really care" I mean, just fucking shoot me in the head. Next is "Loser" by Beck. I like that song, but I just can't sing along with it anymore. "I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?" That pretty much summed up my mood in 2007 along with almost all of 2008. But the absolute worst is Linkin Park's "Bleed it out."
"I bleed it out, dig in deeper just to throw it away."
The first time I cut my arm was in the 7th grade, and I remember what I was thinking right before I did it. The thought didn't make any sense, but the feeling behind it was strong. I didn't want to die. I wanted to bleed the deepression out, like it was something that could be physically drained from me. I was like a boil that needed to be lanced. It didn't work, and the worst thing about cutting is that once I did it I had a hard time getting it out of my mind afterwards. Whenever I became deeply, mind and body numbingly sad, cutting would occur to me as a solution. Even if I chose to ignore it, which I did most of the time, the thought of it would linger to haunt me, and the thought of bleeding would depress me further as if I'd acutally done it.
But before you go thinking that I must look all marked up like a voodoo doll, as far as being a cutter goes I was pretty whimpy about it. I'm not like some of these people that you see with hideous scars all over themselves. My 3 tattoos are much more prominent than any measly ass cutting scar I ever gave myself.
Holy Jesus God, did I just write, "My tattoos are more prominent than my cutting scars?" Anyway, my point is that I'm trying to parent myself as I parent my children and so that includes keeping away from self-destructive songs while my self sesteem is still fragile and slowly getting stronger.
Journey's "Be Good to Yourself" works. And for some reason so does Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher." It's the drums and the kick ass guitar playing in the beginning. Speaking of which, if you have not heard Van Halen's "Unchained" and andrenalin-pumping rock n' roll gets you all worked up, you simply must look up that song right now. "Unchained, and ya hit the ground running."
I don't want to lie there, thinking I can bleed out pain, so depressed that I feel like my insides have turned to slowly hardening wet cement. I want to stay alive and moving, dancing sober and not caring if I do it badly.
And I've decided what I want to do with my writing. What I really want to do more than anything is to bring people comfort or to make them laugh. I don't want to sway anyone's politics or argue my own views or anything. I would just like to be silly. And if I'm not being silly, if I happen to be talking about depression or other disturbing topics like cutting, I want to be able to reach someone who's been through that before or who is maybe going through that now. Maybe, even if it's for a second, I could give them something to identify with and make them feel better. I think I might be good at that, you know?
So, I don't know how many of you guys are still with me. This has been a long, rambling talk. But if you're still there, thanks for reading. Good talk, man.