LIMBO

At my new job, I don’t have a desk.  I’m a deskless, computerless employee that bounces from station to station, working wherever is open and wherever I’m needed.  I am in limbo.

I’m subletting an apartment in the city.  On weekends, I return to the mothership (my folks house) to do laundry and choose clothes for the week.  The apartment search continues.  I am in limbo.

At night, I bounce from comedy club to comedy club.  Doing open mics, and hanging out with friends I admire, facing the dodo’s conundrum.  I am in limbo.

I don’t have a desk. I don’t have a home. I don’t know where I’m going.  I know where I’d like to be, yet I have no idea how to get there.

When I was younger, it never bothered me, if I didn’t feel like I didn’t belong.  Mostly, because whatever social groups were happening at school, or whatever shitty job I had at the time, I didn’t want to belong there, so I was happily an outcast.  I was proud of it.  I loved not belonging.

Why then, does it bother me now?

I guess because, back in the day, when I was a blissful pariah, I always thought I’d find my way to this place I belong and then, not only would I be happy but I would flourish.

It’s such a weird thing about human nature.  This need to ‘belong’ somewhere.  Granted, we’re not the only species with a pack mentality.  It’s encoded in our DNA.  I’m not sure we could fully shake it, even if we want to.  I suppose our primal fear of loneliness comes from the fact that our ancestors were way more likely to get eaten by a bear (or eaten by anything) if they were alone.

Loneliness.  Another strange emotion to me.  A feeling I’ve felt more amongst people than I do when I’m actually all by myself.

Limbo. The place where unbaptized babies go.  Which is what exactly?  A room full of crying babies, not knowing what the fuck is happening, just crying, screaming for eternity, waiting for their mother, who will never come?  Jesus, God is an asshole.

Limbo.  The place where you’re no longer a child, but not yet fully an adult.  You’re expected to be a certain way, and do certain things.  You do adult things.  Have a job, pay your bills, have your wine at night, and have protected sex. But you’re mind is somewhere else.  In a land of fantasy, time travel, pirates, and super heroes.

Limbo. The place where you’ve lost the love of just doing comedy and now you want something back from it.  In the first couple years I did comedy, I was just happy to be there.  I was happy to be amongst comics in a comedy club, writing jokes and trying them out on a show, open mic, bar, cafe, or wizard shop (yes, I’ve done comedy in a wizard shop).  Now I want something more.  I have fear that this will turn me into someone I’ve never been.  Bitter.  Or maybe I just don’t have a shot.  Or maybe I never did.  Or maybe I’ll miss the boat. Or maybe I’ll blow it.  Where do you go when you have wings but cannot fly?

Limbo.  Imprisonment.  With it, the need to run.  To escape.  But where to?  And why?  What are you running from?  And what is this need to flee.  To always flee.  Can’t run from yourself.

Limbo, the place with the pink fluffy mountains– the place between life and death.  Limbo, the place you fuck your mind into with drugs, because it’s better than reality.  Limbo, the place between sleep and consciousness, where the two collide, and you see something in your room that can’t possibly be there.  Limbo, an artist, who hasn’t accomplished anything.

And I can’t help but wonder, how long will I exist in this place?  Both in the physical and mental world.  But there are worse places to be.  Sometimes I don’t mind it.  Sometimes, I prefer it.  I see zombie people walking around, and I can see every moment of their future and how it will play out.  You don’t have to be psychic to see it.  They’re so predictable.  I never want to be one of those people…

But other times, I fucking hate it.  A person cannot leave limbo sane, and what’s worse, is you cannot enter limbo unless you are truly insane.  Maybe this post is just a result of a pounding headache from a hangover.  No one will read it.  If someone posts a blog and no one reads it, does it only exist in limbo?