Catharsis, Confrontation, Denouement and a Bucket

I am in Maryland after 9 hours of road. Jordan called on my way, told me my blogs are getting more and more depressing, and that I am turning into a paranoid neurotic Woody Allen ala Annie Hall (”I distinctly heard him, Max, he said ‘Jew eat?’ Not ‘Did you?’ but ‘Jew eat? Jew?’”) I said from now on, I’m nothing but happy, happy, happy. He said that when I start being happy, that’s when he’s really going to start worrying.

Brian says that when you write something like my last post, with that tone, you should probably sit on it for a while before you put it out into the world. Though I’ve never been one for caution and reservation, I think he’s probably right. After all, I had a good time last weekend. I got to see a band called “Just Jason and the Exaggerated Endings” at a bar in Cleveland. The church was a beautiful one with icons in elaborate stained glass, and at the cabin we drank and told ghost stories until we were exhausted. And everyone was friendly and interesting, and it was even good to watch boating; it’s good to watch people being physical in general (though I still wish we could have also watched some football players be physical.) And really, a lot of what I wrote comes from a dissatisfaction with myself, with my own anxiety and the things that my identity hinges on that I did not necessarily get to choose, and the ways that I am inflexible without wanting to be. But I guess all positivity and self-judgment gets routinely leached out of my writing. I don’t know why.

So, I guess this is a general apology for the tone of the last blog, because though I would never intentionally write something that I didn’t think was true, in the longview, I suppose it wasn’t entirely fair. I would take it down entirely, but I think that’s the pussified way out.

And just to show I can still party, I will leave you with this thought. Rachel showed it to me and it always makes me laugh: