- This is not a blog post about Spider-Man. I just used it to illustrate that the asshole within is kinda like venom. This evil, dark thing that takes over the good side of me… Just read Spider-Man if you’re wondering about it, ok. It’s too much to get into right now.
I can safely say that it’s been a while since I last decided to grace you with tales of my adventures. Mostly because there were no adventures to speak of. I was a bit lost in an endless ocean of closing doors and self-doubt.
I am a pretty confident person on the outside, but the voice within tells me on regular intervals that I am a sad loser who will die alone without ever accomplishing anything. This is also the voice that tells me I am either fat or ugly (with good hair though. It can never criticize the hair) or a klutz or self-centered or not good enough in any other way possible. (Sometimes it even tells me I am the evilest person she knows, but I find that strangely reassuring for some reason). I think you’ve all met this inner voice as well. It is what people in the old days would probably be calling God. I just call it that tiny voice in the back of my head that I should never listen to because she is an asshole…
But sometimes it is hard to ignore that criticizing asshole in your head. I’d been looking for a job and my failure rate was monumental. I think I send out my résumé to over 40 different people, and got 0 (zero, nill… yes, nothing) answers. I had tried to write on my screenplay, but I was stuck in an endless loop of a structural problem that I couldn’t write myself out of. So basically, every day I sat behind my computer and never accomplished anything. It gets frustrating at some point.
So, sizing up -and reveling in- the sheer intensity of my failure to find a job or do some constructive writing, the voice within became very vocal. And for some reason it was really hard to shut her up. I tried to reason with her. I took her aside when we were alone and I sat her down on a chair. I said: “Hey Listen, you’re not being very helpful right now. I could do with some support instead of your nagging voice telling me that I’m a giant weirdo.”
She just shrugged and said: “But you are a giant weirdo. I mean…. look at yourself. You are 25 years old with no skills to speak of… Also, you’re a lousy dancer.”
And while she may have been a bitch about it; she was right. I have no discernible skills… And I really am a terrible dancer.
I am a 25-year-old, who still hopes she can marry Indiana Jones some day and that we will spend our weekends playing Duck Hunt on the NES before running off on daring adventures involving mystical artifacts and killing Nazi’s. I’m not even kidding either. If I could choose any future, that would be it. I don’t even have to think about it. I’d be crazy happy being Mrs. Indiana Jones.
But it turns out, there isn’t really a market for that… except perhaps in the lunatic asylum… and at the moment I am still crossing my fingers that it’ll be some good twenty years before I end up there.
So, my inner asshole had me doubting and she wouldn’t shut up. I wasn’t feeling too well, because the old stomach injury was acting up again (or visa versa… it’s amazing how that thing turns up every time I am in my unhappy place) So, yea, throwing up all over the place, unemployed and cold is where I hit rock bottom.
And there I lay, staring at the world wondering what the hell I was supposed to do or be. For a while I tried to drown the voice out with the company of my dear old friend, Mr. Alcohol. But that wasn’t working either. In fact, it just made the voice come back even stronger and more vicious. So, I was about to give up and accept that I am and always will be a giant loser.
And then, as quickly as it went, my mental resolve (some would refer to this part of me as: That arrogant asshole that always knows and does everything better than anyone else) returned to me. I realized that the doubting voice was the crazy part of me. The self-doubt was not only unhelpful, it was a complete liar. I am very capable of many things. Too many things, one can argue, as I did. I can write quite well (especially in 140 characters or less) and I have a broad understanding of many different subjects (most of them pointless, but awesome nevertheless). I might be a terrible dancer, but I am a great drinker, a good conversationalist and extremely skilled in finding cute pictures of puppies on the Internet.
And with that argument I punched the inner asshole in the face. It was a neat right hook and I enjoyed giving it. I realized that even if I don’t find a job, I have nothing to lose. I can and should enjoy the time that I have here and spent it writing… not doubting myself because I cannot find a job I really don’t care all that much about anyways.
And with that realization the ideas and stories all came running back to me. The asshole within crawled back into her dark hiding place, where it lies now, waiting for a day it can come back out again and torment me.
For now, it just screams at me from the deep end of my brain. If I listen really hard I can just hear the echo of her words: “You may think you’ve won, you self-righteous prick… but we both know I’ll be back… and next time I’ll bring a friend!… or a gun… Or… well, anyways. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’ll be back. Stupid f*&ing…. “
And then she just swears a lot. For now I just laugh. The bitchy inner voice has lost yet again. The darkness has lifted and I really don’t care all that much about my lack of practical skills. Somewhere on this planet there is something I am awesome at…
And if it’s not writing or making movies, I sure hope it’s being Mrs. Indiana Jones…
Who doesn't love Indy. I mean, just look at him. The man looks just as in his place in an Oxford class room as he does in a treacherous jungle cave. With his cool looks, suave 40's mannerisms and manly quips he just melts my heart. And to top it all off, his dad is freaking James Bond! What's not to like, people? Seriously... what's not to like? The giant chest and arms all wrapped up in a neat leather jacket? The fact that he shoots first, asks questions later? The heart of gold tinged here and there with the slightest hint of opportunism that will lead him to save innocent kids from a cruel Thuggee clan? The fact that his name is Indiana Walton Jones? Come on, the man has got it all.. (I am deliberately ignoring Indiana Jones 4. Anyone who mentions Indiana Jones for will be banned for life. Indiana Jones 4 did not happen... Understood?!)
London Express. 