|
|
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
|
|
| |
bad for ratings.People really like funny pain. They like it a lot more than most other kinds, in fact.
Hence slapstick.
Does this mean that comedy is actually the mirror of tragedy -- as goes the conventional wisdom -- or perhaps just the standard coping mechanism when it occurs?
I'm really not sure.
I'm sure of this, though:
Everyone's favourite kind of pain is the pain that allows them to feel something resonant without having to invest in emotion long-term.
Hence 'tearjerkers': the movies and shows and novels that drag us through emotional experiences we wouldn't otherwise indulge or allow to penetrate our lives (like sorrow and anger and fear and despair.)
Someone might make fun of you for crying when you watch The Notebook, but you can always find someone else who did, too. Then you can talk about it. And maybe even cry again.
But finding someone to commiserate about the loss of a friendship or the breakdown of trust or the advent of an illness? That's more of a challenge. After all, those things are too raw, too deep, too real... there's no easy way to shrug them off.
It seems like we spend a lot of time trying to laugh off our lives -- or better yet, trying to find a respite from our day-to-day realities.
I think we do this just to get by.
I shouldn't say "we"... maybe you don't. But I bet you do. I know I do.
Yesterday, when the verification word for a client's SpamArrest account was "barren", I had to screencap the image of it and send it to a friend and laugh and laugh. Deep down, I was so sad, but laughing seemed like a better way to handle it.
And when Izzie lost Denny on Grey's last night, oh... did I ever cry. Not because of Denny, though, since he's an actor and so is Katherine Heigl (and a bit of an overactor, at that) and no one actually died. No, I used it as an excuse to cry because I was hurting but also working very hard at being okay.
It was just easier to cry when I knew that everyone else was, too.
Really, I'd rather be funny than sad. And really, I'd rather have other stuff to cry at. And really, I'd rather just not be going through this at all.
But I am, so I have to laugh at words and cry at TV and work through it by figuring out how often it's okay to talk about it.
I know you come here to laugh. And to think, too, but sheesh... laughing is probably preferable.
I would much rather make you laugh. Much, much, much.
This is what I have right now, though. In total.
Have you ever wanted something so badly that it seemed impossible that you wouldn't have it? Even when the odds sucked, you thought your desire had some sort of a swing vote in the process?
I wanted.
I desired.
I voted.
I lost.
So I laugh. What else can I do?
Oh, yes. I can cry. I could cry at everyone else's pain, even. There's plenty out there to go around, after all. I could focus on that and escape a little.
But I can't seem to get past my own for too long, as selfish as that likely seems.
I know things will get easier. I know I'll cope. Hell, I am coping. But sometimes it seems so damned absurd that I have to do it at all.
It worries my parents when I'm this raw here, but they are slowly learning that this is a part of how I heal. This is how I get my strength back.
This is where I go to get over my fears of being open, not to mention my fear of becoming a crashing bore. It's taken me time to realize that opening up is good, even if no one else is paying attention but me. It's taken me time to get to the place where I can tell the truth about my world without flinching.
So here it is:
Coffee still tastes good... but a sleeping baby in my arms made my stomach ache.
I still dance merrily to songs on my iPod... but walking by a maternity store made me shiver.
I still crack dumb jokes... but a very pregnant woman standing next to me in a lineup made me feel a longing I was scared to acknowledge.
So I still find joy in everyday things. Count on it.
But I also see and feel stuff that breaks my heart.
All I am is a big old dichotomy, really. Taking it head-on... and then ducking it like Ali.
It's almost been a week, though.
Maybe I will be normal soon.
12:56:16 AM 
|
|
|
 |
© Copyright
2006
Meg Fowler.
Last update:
6/1/06; 11:12:34 PM. |
|
|
