Josh And Failure Vs. The World: Day 27

Josh and Failure Vs the World: Day 27

Here’s how I failed today:

I didn’t do a failure blog yesterday. I could argue that I succeeded in not being as obsessive compulsive about this. And I fail to believe my argument.

Big failure: I’m not being honest with myself, and I’m rarely honest with people. I put on a front of politeness that probably 99% of people can see right through. Perhaps that is the throughline for everything – failure, depression, comedy, drama – when it’s not working, it’s because I’m not telling the truth.

But isn’t truth subjective? Yes – so maybe “the truth” is not as accurate – I am not telling “my truth.”

First truthful thing: I hate the phrase “my truth.” I sound like I’m about to launch into a poem. And it’s one of those poems that doesn’t rhyme, but somehow, it’s still considered a poem.

Saying “my truth” feels pretentious to me.

I feel guilty saying that the phrase “my truth” feels pretentious – because a lot of respected and serious artists will use the phrase “my truth,” so now I’m afraid that I am insulting those people by saying that the phrase “my truth” feels pretentious to me.

And the last thing I want to do is hurt anybody’s feelings.

Why? Because I’m afraid I won’t be liked. Because I don’t like it when other people hurt my feelings. So I’m trying to be better than those people.

I sometimes wonder if the point of pursuing anything is to achieve enlightenment – and enlightenment is the moment in which we become one with ourselves, and concurrently one with the universe. Frankly, it seems like it would be a lot easier to accomplish that with drugs.

Do I really believe that? No. I’m just trying to be funny – but that’s the trick. It seems that I’m at my funniest when I am just telling the truth – or my truth, as it were.

I’m so jealous of big guys with toned muscles – that’s what a lot of women are attracted to. I’m not slamming women on this by the way – I’m attracted to attractive women – it’s the human condition. But upon first glance, I don’t look like my genetics will propel the human race forward. I can feel the chromosomes in women when they look at me, and the chromosomes are saying “let’s produce offspring that won’t cry because the echo in a large museum is too loud.”

Side note: don’t you find it odd that people spend large sums of money to experience “California Adventure” when they are already inside California? And when can we expect a Cleveland Adventure?

Me trying to be funny again.

I fear for the health and well being of my parents. While I sense that the best way to help them is for me to live a fulfilled life, I can’t help but wonder if an even better way to help them involves money. Lots and lots of money.

They say that money doesn’t buy happiness. Yes, I know that. But it buys room service and health care. I never said I wanted to be happy. I just want to eat without having to cook and not die for as long as possible.

Why is it so hard for me to just tell the truth? It’s not hard. It’s scary. Because if I tell the truth about how I feel, I risk being seen as wrong and bad.

There’s also the issue of emotional truth – when somebody tells me something, and I have the urge to scream and cry, I bottle it up. Or I give a polite answer. I even take pride on being able to swallow.

So here are some truths I want to say:

1 – I have a new appreciation for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I’ve been re-watching it lately, and I like the acting now better than when I was younger – specifically with Sisko. I didn’t get the subtly of what he was doing in front of the camera when I first watched him. And that makes me feel guilty and stupid – why didn’t I see it sooner?

2 – I so desperately want people to think that I am smart – more than that, I so desperately want to be the smartest and the best because that’s how I assess my value as a human being.

people say that I have to accept myself for the way that I am. I hate not being the best. I hate having flaws. It would all be so much easier if I was omnipotent.

I HATE admitting that I am wrong. That implies that I wasn’t right the first time. Which feeds into the need to be the best.

I’m pissed that what I am writing right now isn’t funny and witty and clever – I would rather just write hilarious one-liners. But every time I try, they don’t feel very good to me.

And is that true? Would I rather be writing one-liners? No. I would rather be finding the humor in what is actually happening – but there still needs to be joke structure. In other words, instead of writing jokes, I am writing about how I am beating myself up for not writing jokes. Which is approaching becoming a joke, in it of itself.

So, I think, after reading this, the question you have to ask yourself is this: what do I do with all this raw sexuality?

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