Josh and Failure Vs. The World: Day 43
Here’s how I’m failing today: my diet is horrible. I should know better than this. I paid attention in health class. If I keep it up, I will die young – or live to be 105 and piss off all those kale eaters – who knows?
I’ve failed to be at peace with my loneliness – I’ve started meditating again, in the hopes that I could at least accept my emotions instead of trying to fight them. The theory is that if I label my thoughts, gradually, I will see them as just thoughts. And I will come to realize that I do not need to be ruled by them. I can look at the thought of loneliness and say “you’re not going to get me down today! I will triumph over you.” And then, loneliness will say “check out that hottie over there,” and I’ll say “ok you win, you bastard.”
I also failed because I avoided writing another five-minute set. I have a five minute set about how I lost my virginity – but now I want to come up with a five minute set about something other than this. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to sit down and compose this five-minute set. Perhaps by aiming to write twenty minutes – five of which will be worth anything.
So, instead of sitting here whining about it, shouldn’t I just go and write it?
Well, yes. I suppose I should. In the meantime, what else should I say here?
The point of this blog is to point out my failures, because if I can see how I am failing, perhaps it will lead me to the next step – which is to risk even more failure.
So here goes.
A new five minute set.
I suffer from anxiety. So yes, I am Jewish.
I’m not trying to copy Woody Allen or Richard Lewis. Oh, to be Tim Allen!
The only time I don’t worry is when I get a fever and I’m too sick. Somebody asked me if I got a flu shot. I said “are you kidding? I deserve a vacation.”
The greatest moment of my year is the moment when I’m just starting to recover from a cold, so I know I’m not going to die, but I’m still too sick to worry. That’s the closest I get to experiencing a Friday night.
The irony is, in spite of this, I’m terrified of getting sick. If I’m sitting at a coffee shop and somebody coughs near me, the day is ruined.
When somebody coughs near me, I immediately wash my hands – because I’m assuming the airborne cold germs will avoid entering my mouth and nose and go straight for my fingers.
What if Death isn’t the end, and whatever is coming afterwards is worse? Or, even worse than that – what if what’s coming after death is more of the same. What if I die, and I wake up, and a guy says to me “you’re late.” “For what?” “Work.” “I just died.” “What’s your point? These excel spreadsheets aren’t going to fill out themselves.”
I worry about my parents’ health. Watching them get older – it’s like a preview of watching how I will degenerate. It’s like watching the trailer to the movie about how I’m going to fall apart. “In a world with high cholesterol. One man has to start taking that pill.”
“You take this pill, and it lowers your cholesterol, and you can eat whatever you want.”
What are the side effects?
There aren’t any side effects.
Whenever I hear “there aren’t any side effects,” what I really hear is “no one’s been sued over the side effects yet.”