Connecting

Some thoughts about writing, current events, and identity

I’ve been trying to write a few different posts for a while, including some for this newsletter and the reviews of old SNL episodes for my other site. It’s sometimes hard to find the right amount of clear-headedness needed to write, especially on days where I’m in the office and find that my mental energy is spent by the time I get home from work. If I try to hop around between drafts or apps, it affects my concentration and I have trouble getting into the flow state.

I also have to be in the right frame of mind to be able to say what I feel about a given topic; if I’m overwhelmed with anger about what’s in the news (and to be honest, it happens a lot these days), it’s a little hard to analyze 37 year old episodes of a comedy show. There are a lot of times where I would rather just write about my cat than try to process more difficult and confusing feelings.

A sign I enjoy a piece of writing is that it has me thinking about writing something similar of my own; these pieces tend to help me put words to my own experiences and perspective. When I really relate to something, either because the author and I have similar backgrounds or interests, I sometimes get a bit of a parasocial desire to connect with them.

I wonder how well someone can actually know me through just my writing, or whether the people that know me offline have a better understanding of who I am when they read what I write.

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It’s exhausting and demoralizing to be aware of everything that’s been going on Stateside over the last few weeks. I realize that’s exactly what those in power want, but how can anyone with a soul not be horrified at the cruelties they so gleefully inflict on people, the callousness towards suffering, and the piety so many of them hide behind? They’re just so nakedly sadistic and selfish, and too many people have been conditioned to believe these are somehow admirable qualities.

Maybe this affects me more than some people because I am a member of several of the groups they target, and that it’s only in the last few years that I’ve been letting myself embrace the whole truth of who I am. It’s hell to have to split yourself up and always perform for your safety, and I’m too exhausted to pretend I’m normal.

You can’t form real connections with people when you’re trying to suppress so much of what makes you who you are.

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It’s been a quiet summer here. I continue to lay low, especially when the heat, humidity, or barometric pressure wreak havoc with my body. I’m bad at reaching out; the extent of what I do is usually just liking or sharing other peoples’ posts on social media. It’s not that I don’t care, I’m just tired. Life happens anyway.

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Wrapping up, here’s an underrated 12” from the 1980s:

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