in recent years

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scott disick or how i learned to stop bitching and love a kardashian?!

Do you know how hard it is to write about something when you can’t talk about it?

Do you? I mean do you really understand what it’s like to try to put FEELINGS and STUFF into WORDS when you can’t actually talk about the things that are causing the FEELINGS and the STUFF?! Because it sucks. IT SUCKS A LOT. And it turns the thing that you do to feel better (ie: writing) into a thing you never ever want to do because it’s TOO HARD.

(This is why there was no Movie Monday this week. SORRY.)

I am waiting on some things right now. Two pretty big things that are sort of complicated to talk about. Things that I and other people involved aren’t particularly ready to articulate. For good reasons and stuff! But those things are DEEPLY impacting the life I’m leading right now because they’re trapping me and they’re making me unstable and they’re causing all this FLUX.

And because I have anxiety and a variety of other issues, they are REALLY stressing me out. And I’m caving to my anxiety. And I’m keeping terrible hours. And I’m doing all this while trying to freelance (and find freelance) and blog and twitter and tumblr and keep up with my 366 projects and look for a full-time job and not be a terrible girlfriend/daughter/friend/sister/housewife. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but HO BOY. It is.

It is also deeply impacting my ability to be funny/insightful/creative/awesome. And, like, do you understand what that means? It means I’m BORING. It means I feel broken. My humor is SUCH an important part of who I am and what I think of myself and the only laughing I’ve been causing lately has been because I have a tendency to fart at really delightful/inopportune moments. JOKES WHAT ARE JOKES?!

Like, I spent ten minutes with my girlfriend tonight RELIVING DUMB JOKES I TOLD A YEAR AGO because I haven’t said anything funny in MONTHS, it feels like. She would argue otherwise (because she’s a good girlfriend) but she would also be HARD FUCKING PRESSED to remember something hilarious I’ve said recently.

I’m not the kind of person that’s hilarious on my own. Like, I am never going to be a stand-up. I am never going to stand somewhere and just BE FUNNY. I don’t tell jokes. I’m funny when I’m responding to things around me. I’m hilarious in conversation. And the reason it’s not happening is because I haven’t SEEN anyone since basically December 10th.

December 10th! One outing aside, I’ve been devoid of non-girlfriend or familial companionship and I think it’s finally starting to destroy me. I feed off of my friends. And they’re not around for me to feed on! And that’s not all my fault and it’s certainly not all their fault. I mean, I don’t get out of my pajamas. Do you know what that’s like? (No… probably because you’re, like, a functional human being with a job.) It’s gross. And it’s weird. And sometimes the thought of even TRYING to get dressed and leave the house is so daunting it’s embarrassing.

But I’ve gotten comfortable in my pajama cocoon. I feel safe. And neither my parents nor m girlfriend judges me. And so I let it feed itself. And the other day I found myself stretched out in bed, petting a dog, and watching one of those Kardashian shows.

I want the gravity of that to really resonate for a moment. I HATE REALITY TV. I hate it. I sometimes go off in this awful diatribes that basically destroy anyone who likes reality tv just because it makes me THAT angry and I am that bad at controlling my mouth. And I was watching it willfully. I WAS ENGAGED. I actually said aloud, to myself obviously, “Damn, I like that Scott Disick kid.”

In the last few months, I have sunk so low into my own personal misery that I had not only voluntarily watched a Kardashian on the television, but I was DELIGHTED and FORMED AN OPINION about it. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME.

And it’s been BUGGING me. Because I don’t even feel that bad about it? This is the EPITOME of what I hate about reality tv. These people are famous because they’re famous. It’s recursive. There was a sex tape and someone got some sense of celebrity tacked on them and their already well-known last name and then they continue to be famous BECAUSE THEY’RE FAMOUS and SO WEALTHY. It makes me crazy. It’s so scripted and phony and stupid and ugh. I JUST HATE IT.

But the more I think about it (and, OH MAN, have I thought about it) I don’t even hate myself for liking Scott Disick. Or for enjoying watching the show. Or for laughing and having opinions about it. Or, okay, I kind of do, but I often hate myself so it’s not really that big of a deal. And the more I think about it (and I do, I really continue to) the more I think of it as a revelation.

I used to LOVE pop culture. I used to watch tv and movies like my life depended on it. I’ve never gotten the celebrity worship thing, but the product itself, oh man, I LOVED IT. Somewhere along the line though, I lost that. And I stopped understanding why it was fun. I lost my enthusiasm for it even though I’ve never stopped considering myself a pop culture enthusiast. I got too “good” for the kinds of things I loved. And no, reality tv was never one of those things, but Scott Disick reminded me of how satisfying it is to love a character.

And what a COOL fucking thing to remember. That there are all these awesome THINGS in the world created by awesome, talented people for you to just DIVE INTO and experience and love. Isn’t that COOL? It’s so cool! MY ENTHUSIASM, I HAVE FOUND IT.

So, thanks, Scott Disick. I probably won’t watch your show again, but maybe I’ll remember to be a little nicer to the people who do.

And maybe, soon, I’ll get dressed and leave the house. Maybe. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll laugh my way through the rest of this waiting. And eventually have some HILARIOUS stories to tell. Maybe.