One More Comparison:Tragedy... Comedy!

There's an extended plot point in Stranger Than Fiction where Will Ferrell's character is trying to determine whether the narrative tale of his life (as a simultaneously real and as-being-written, fictional character) is a tragedy or a comedy. He spends his day making hash marks in a journal each time something comedic or tragic occurs. By the end of the day, it's clear... Tragedy.

His mournful acquiescence to this fact, is so pitiful and sad that it's hard not to laugh hysterically -- clearly it's a comedy after all, if really a hopelessly painful and human one...

The past year of my life has had the same ring... Tragedy? Comedy? Oh, tragedy -- but only in the most pathetic and ridiculous way.

One year ago this week, it was nearly my birthday and I had my shit "together." I was the most confident, the most secure, the most alive, and the most certain of me and my life that I've ever been, and everything around me in my immediate sphere was a total and complete illusion.

Now? I am insecure, frightened, defensive, drawing back up into my crab shell, scared, scared, and scarred... but everything is incredibly pure and real and truthful.

Tragic? Maybe. But I'm laughing my ass off, despite how miserable I am. ; )

As Rufus Wainwright so aptly lisps, "It's such a vicious world..." So much so that I can't help but guffaw while choking back the tears.

Reminiscent of Many Pies

I get surrounded
so easily
and passively
by everything
you left without.

I can see it all, but
I can't take it in; I'm
encased
in madness,
feverish denials,
irresponsibility,
and failure.

These careless monkeys
take up residence,
taunt me,
round my brain
and spin me
out of control.

I miss how
life was
so quiet and lifeless
with you here.

But I Liked It

If I peel away all those last defenses, the truth is that as imperfect as my life was pre-beta-lessness, I was happy then and I liked the plans I had made. The circumstances weren't quite right, the participant(s) weren't ideal, but the overall plan was everything that I wanted from my life. And I'm still mourning the loss of not getting what I developed and worked so hard to achieve. I'm sad and dejected that I have to give up the comfort and security of partnership and legitimacy to be sitting here widdling away at the world by myself crafting a revised version of the future reality I had already taken as fact.

I can't stop feeling like, on some level, it's just totally unfair.

My Airport Poem

Thanks to Mike (for the inspiration to write it), here's my self-mocking airport poem a la my March 10 post....

I transgress gates
like I transpose lines
from that sonnet
you used to like

(and probably still do).

But I can't see through
the glassy
smokeless fog
of families and non-cave dwellers
chaos and happiness and life.

My traveling moves
in tight, spiralling
circles;
winds closer and closer
around my neck,
as memories of those years
cascade through me.

I don't live in their colorful
world
of beginnings,
and hellos,
and fresh starts.

I dream cleanly
of moving shapeless
through the maze
of blinding congeniality;
and romanticize humanity
like only
naivety and self-imposed
brooding isolationism
can.

Other is outside
by choice.
That knowledge
without interrogation
renders me
ridiculous.

I am small
in the sea of
mundane purpose.
I make myself important
by not fitting in.