When Your Entire Emotional Gestalt is Fucked Up

Reading at KGB was good, and I was especially delighted to receive much encouragement and support from very funny, accomplished writers. It's always intimidating for me to be at KGB because I'm not published - unless you count the Internet and I don't since any fool can self-publish here. Let me pause a moment to toot my little horn at being mentioned on Of Course I Could Be Wrong, a very thoughtful, provocative, witty blog written by a fellow called The Mad Priest because he is a priest. Whether or not he is mad is not for me to determine. Just because I was in a loony bin does not mean I am a qualified shrink any more than seeing a movie means I can write a screen play. I dated a guy once who actually said he could write a screen play because he'd seen lots of movies. Not Surprisingly, he was a Leo.

The reason I'm humbled and proud is that all the blogs from Mad Priest's that I visited were thoughtful, provocative and funny. Lots of them are written by people who are paid by somebody to think and talk philosophically and theologically for the good of society and humankind itself.

So while their minds are at work for the good of humankind, I'm just sitting here congratulating my son on finally having the ability to settle the often debated question of who would win if Batman fought Superman. Velvet can now settle this debate once and for all with his new video game. That's what he's doing at this very moment as he spends his time productively before going to visit his grandmother, Buzz Kill's mother, Vagina Dentata.

Vagina Dentata is wonderful to Velvet. She loves Velvet through and through which makes Vagina Dentata okay in my book despite her ongoing interference in my marriage which Buzz Kill not only permitted but enabled. I enabled her drinking, but in my opinion, she was much easier to take after she and I both had two or three glasses of wine. Once she got into her fourth glass, though, she was a drag.

But back to KGB
The thing is that I've been feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable for some days and reading made it worse. Facing the demons in your past and recognizing how you're fucked up because of them and worse - how you've fucked up with other people as a result -- is a big, fat bummer.
I'm not thinking about my marriage to Buzz Kill here, although there are plenty of episodes where my bullshit made things 100% worse. The fact is that I'm not sorry to be divorced from Buzz Kill and I'm not sorry for anything I did - except it did hurt his feelings when he unwisely but predictably read a story I had written that was in the trash about the date with a black man with a dick like a maglite.

Then there is also the fact that Kimberly, half of the film making team responsible for Why We Wax, is in Amsterdam right now with the documentary. A local sex shoppe rather like Toys in Babeland held a pubic hair symposium the other night and Kimberly was a Sexpert for the occasion. She posted about the whole thing over at The Nervous Breakdown. I'm excited for Kimberly - especially since she got on TV so maybe more folks will head over to the International Documentary Film Festival of Amsterdam, see the film and give it another award. There's nothing I'd like better than to ride somewhere fun on Kimberly's coattails since I'm in the film.

That's not what makes me jealous. I'm jealous because her mother read the post - despite being warned against it in the first line - and wrote a nice comment about how proud she was of her daughter. I wish my mom would do something like that. Unfortunately, I'm pretty convinced that the more she knows, the more my mother thinks I'm running Perv Central over here at Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters.

I can't help it if my mother declared Bill Clinton a pervert just for getting a blow job from Monica Lewinsky. Like many people, Mother probably concluded Hillary would never participate in such a nasty, lowbrow activity and thinks better of Hillary for it. That most of those people are lesbians and think Hillary is too is a separate topic. The point is my mother might think I'm a pervert and Kimberly's is proud of her even though Kimberly was standing in the middle of a shoppe full of anal beads and more talking about pubic hair dye, etc.

Mother is proud that people who I don't know have become regular readers of the blog. She's proud of my "connection" to Bill Ayers, too. When I think about it, she's proud of a lot of things and, in point of fact, even though she is often a bit wigged out at first about some stuff, she usually mellows out fairly quickly.

I'm beginning to think that I hear criticism and disapproval from my mother when none is there on account of some incidents in my history which had absolutely nothing to do with her - although I'm certain she would blame herself because she's a Good Mother, and that's what we do: Blame Ourselves.

Realizing that my entire emotional gestalt is fucked up sucks. It's not my fault because it's the result of shit that went down in preschool. Having come to an understanding of the situation as a grown up, though, I have a responsibility to correct it as best I can. Everything is Decisional, and having decided not to be an emotional cripple, there is work to be done.

Since I'm a resilient sort, it won't be long before I'll be out of my pajamas ready to put the fun back in dysfunctional. Somebody at KGB told me I made suicide funny. I suppose that's an accomplishment. Holding my own on a night where both other writers had awards, films, HBO specials, appeared on Leno and shit like that is an accomplishment too.

I have to remember that the main reason I'm not published is because I've never sent anything out for consideration anywhere - and that's because my emotional gestalt is all fucked up.
I'm going back to bed now.