Monday, January 23, 2012


Sometimes, nothing is more soul cleansing than an all-out, tantrum-esque, kicking, thrashing, rolling around on the hardwoods cry.

Something about it just soothes.

And lately, I've been needing one.


As an actress, one of my "claims to fame" is my ability to cry on command. Many have been baffled by it. Some awed. And when you put that Stanislavskian ability together with a natural penchant for tears (I well up over Disney commercials. Seriously, it's a mess.), one would think I have a built-in recipe for stress relief: cry it out, woman!

Cry. It. Out.

Trouble is, for the first time in my life, I cannot cry.

And this fact upsets me so much, I want to cry about it.

Truth is, friends, the recent years have been hard. Economic and family crises, sauteed with an unprecedented cacophony of life lessons and learning experiences, have left me apparently unable to return to my old standby of blubbering my way to happiness.

Life has deprived me of my ability to have a nervous breakdown.
And this, my friend, is how monsters are made.

Unable any longer to secure the much-needed release a good cry brings, I now stalk the city, completely devoid of feeling--wanting nothing, accomplishing nothing, faith in nothing. And while the mere thought of existing in this state would be enough to bring many to tears, I shrug it off. This is just the way of things. This is just me.

I may never feel again.


I recently watched an episode of "The Ricky Gervais Show" wherein Stephen Merchant tackled the inane "what would you do if you knew the world would blow up tomorrow" question. Stephen's answer? He would smash up a bar and strangle someone to death.

Ricky was appalled.

He asked Stephen why he would do such a thing, and Stephen answered that there would be no consequences and, as everyone was going to die in a few hours anyway, he would feel no remorse over grieving loved ones etc.

Well, I've always lived according to my gut. And my gut, dear friends, is telling me that today is, metaphorically speaking, my last day on earth.

Because, basically, I just don't give a fuck.

I have literally expended all of my feelings. I have none left.
I can no longer love you or despise you.
I can no longer fight for you or rail against you.
Hell, I can't even be bothered to concern myself with putting on real shoes (I've been in house slippers for days.)


I don't particularly care for feeling this way. But then again, I don't particularly care. Period.

And that, my friends, is sad.

Wish I could cry about it.

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