Monday, August 03, 2009
I had to create my own intervention this weekend.
It was possibly the going-to-a-movie-by-myself thing that really hammered the point home.
They say you don’t really know when you’re going mad, but I’m starting to panic about the state of my life.
At least I’m consciously aware that I’m slipping into this downward spiral of hopelessness, right? Right?
So I wnet to a movie flying solo. Either that’s stupidly brave, or just a sign of things as they are, because I enjoyed it thoroughly.
But I’ve been seriously worried about myself lately. It’s been a downslide, in congruence with winter becoming colder and darker. But I’ve truly become more reclusive as the weeks have rolled on, and frankly, I needed to check whether there were other losers like myself out there too.
I had a live TV interview on the sexual controversies of my book, on SABC on Saturday morning – this subject matter – mind you – defibrillated on live television, at 6:00am – oh yes.
Not an ideal challenge for a Saturday morning when you’re meant to be having a bloody lie-in.
From there, was convinced by my mother to go straight to the 9:00am Cinema Nouveau viewing of Bienvenue A La Ch’tis.
Or whatever it was. Am glad I went, it’s a gorgeous little French film that I loved, and I’ve ventured over the tetchy line of seeing Saturday morning movies by myself…Jesus, the panic, it is rising, HELP, FUCK, HELP! I’M A LOSER!
Then I got an erstwhile kernel of popcorn stuck in a molar.
And spent the former half of the movie trying to dig it out with my parking ticket, while a couple snogged gratuitously behind me.
I did it – all by myself! Sure, most people weren’t even awake by that stage, and there were only three of us in the cinema, and I haven’t seen a movie in ages, and I had my face plastered on already by the makeup-artists of the SABC.
Yet. Still. I am worried about myself. And how I prefer being on my own these days, rather than being around other people. In the comfort of my home, my pyjamas, my strings of DVD series, my books, myself. Just by myself.
I’m worried about my levels of hibernation. It’s never been this bad. Is it even normal? You don’t know until you actively seek a yardstick.
So we had a sherry-off at Ant’s house on Sunday afternoon. Sat and interrogated my friends over sherry about whether they’re losers also.
After I’d rearranged my cupboard and threw out half my clothes.
Peas: Are you guys ever bored? With this place? Completely demotivated to do anything social? Tired? Couldn’t be fucked to get off the couch?
Ant: Sure, all the time.
Peas: Even if you have each other? Are you, like, leaving the house?
Ant: Sure, I mean, it’s dark, cold, we’re tired; we don’t go out much either.
Peas: Would you go to a movie by yourself?
T: Have you gone twice? Because there’s a verrry fine line.
Peas: Once. Saturday, the first show.
T: Oh that’s fine. Cos then no-one you know will see you.
Say, what do you guys do on an average weekend day? Because I don’t want to do anything.
Ant: Sounds about right. I work, watch DVDs or bumble around the house.
Peas: Oh thank God. Isn’t it awful?
Ant: No…because it’s just a phase. Things will change when spring arrives, I promise.
Peas: Please actually give me a guarantee. Because I’m in such a slump right now, I’m scared I’m turning into Sylvia Plath and it’s only a matter of time until I stick my head in an oven.
And I’m only contemplating writing my next book, I haven’t even started anything yet. Fuck! I should be doing something!
Ant: Don’t do that – the oven thing I mean – remember we’re going to Mozambique in 3 weeks.
Peas: Fuck yes we are. Thank God. This could be my lifesaver. From eternal loserdom.
Ant: Quite. And give it a few months, this isn’t forever. Just let it be. How many episodes of Friends are you watching a day?
Peas: 3, sometimes maybe even 4?
Ant: Shit. Wait I suppose it’s like watching 1.5 episodes of Life which is what we’re doing a day.
The jury is still out.
I’m worried that my routinely going-to-bed-at-9:00am-unless-Desperate-Housewives-in-on vibe has never been so bad.
I needed a second opinion, so I went to Google. And unfortunately under the word ‘What is a recluse’, I got some really disturbing images of cytotoxic poisoning by the recluse spider.
Am I depressed? I can’t cry, God knows I’ve tried. I’m just blah. Why? Why can’t something just change?
(Like the fucking weather?)
PS: Sherry is great for the cold. Ant was having hot flushes and everything.