the day that things change

I've been waiting for almost three months now for something to change.

I don't know what I'm expecting at all, whether it's a seasonal shift or an internal transformation or an epiphany or what. Something, though. Something is rotten in Denmark, and by "Denmark" I mean "the soul," and by "something is rotten in" I mean "I'm trapped in a very dark night of."

Word puzzles! Fun for everyone!

Creativity is first about seeing. On some level, the skill is to notice before you attempt to distill. Understanding the universe differently from everybody else is supremely alienating, and yet it is a condition we all share: our maddeningly discreet perspectives. Yesterday I went into a big white box of a museum and saw things that enabled me to see all things new, just like fashion week helps illuminate the beautiful absurdity of what people wear every day, just like comedy and jokes twist and twist and twist us.

I honestly don't know if I'm that funny, even after all these years of trying. I'm pretty funny, I think, but I've lost something primal. Maybe that's supposed to change. Maybe some monster of hilarity will rear up inside me and bring forth the performances that will at last double the people over.

Work, self, life. All the things I'm supposed to know how to do to take care of myself in this world have crumpled up and thrown themselves at the trash can, and now it's starting to leak out onto the things I'm supposed to do for other people. And all I really want is to make a teensy bit of money making other people feel happy, validated, delighted, amused, happy. Laughter that heals, that builds up rather than tears down.

3 months 9 years 30 years in, and I'm still waiting for my big break, the internal one, the one where I pluck myself out of the boring normal life and make myself a big deal to me.

All I can do is puzzle on.