I do this thing online. Its a game really, but its much more than just marbles or jacks. It’s a world built loosely around a system of rules and structure. I create realities, worlds, people and scenarios, and keep this imaginary, mostly fictional world spinning with nothing but the combined creativity and imagination of the players involved. With that kind of strain; purposely exhibiting multiple personalities, emotions, even personal ideosyncrasies; its no wonder that we occasionally get burnt out.
Burnt out. As in ’no fuel for the fire’. That’s how I’ve felt lately. Like I said, it’s pretty common when you Roleplay, and the solution is pretty much accepted and understood. A player cries ’Burnout’ and everyone essentially says ’Go home.’ Go take a nap, or a week of naps. Play with your dog, write a letter, go to the beach, watch TV, do something but get away from the computer and just recharge. Simple as it was, it worked, at least for me. You fell off the face of the internet and and came back a month or so later feeling good as new. It works, every time.
But not this time.
I feel like its because my rest isn’t as restful as it used to be. And no, I’m not talking about insomnia. My sleep is so precious these days that I wouldn’t dare miss a moment if I didn’t have to, chemical imbalance or not. No, I mean my downtime. My time away from imagining. It used to be filled with fun things, or at the very least, gentle, relaxing things. I’d be too busy with work or pretending to be someoee else, so i’d write to remember who the real person was. I’d absorb the good vibes my friends put out so I’d spend endless time with them doing nothing in particular. And I’d read. I’d read because i loved words, and loved the pictures they put in my head. I’d read the worlds these other writers had conjured up and i’d be struck with admiration. I’d do these things until I fell asleep, and when I woke up I’d do them again. And I’d feel whole after a while.
Now all I do feels like work. If I write it’s because I haven’t written in a while, and I know i’ll be expected to say something at a show, so i’d sit and force something out of my head, squeezing and clenching my creative muscles. If I go look for my friends its because I’ve been so busy doing other stuff that my relationships deteriorate into loose acquaintances. I didn’t even know that my best friend had a near stroke until he was out of the hospital and chatting to me online. I haven’t seen my friend’s or my cousin’s babies, and the latter is already four months old. Organizing a dinner with friends is almost as difficult as organizing these Poetry Night shows, which is suffering as well. And I only read because I’ve been reading the same book since the start of the year and I’m ashamed to admit it. People say ’Are you alright?’ like I’m terminally ill or something. The few close friends I have left come right out with it. "You look like Shit." Alexis said to me one night, which was disappointing because I was actually smiling that night. I was happy. Jubilant, even. I haven’t been truly happy in so long.
My colors were faded. I don’t know if everything went gray. I was too busy to notice whether there were actually colors or not.
So I called Merri, in whom I confide all things (even the things I probably shouldn’t) and told her I was depressed. I explained that it wasn’t a ’Toe in the shotgun trigger" depression, so much as it was a "What’s the fucking point" depression. I told her I’d deal with it, and life went on.
and on...
and on...
and on...
At least that’s what it felt like. At one point I’d confused motivation with worry, and realized that the headaches I had at the end of the day were from me furrowing all day. Everything else was an obligation, and some obligations weren’t worth bothering with.I did I’ve been doing what I swore I wouldn’t do and, rather than bow out of certain responsibilities I simply left them hanging. But I remain now, as I did then, numb.
There is hope though. The other day I received a delivery for work. Two servers that I submitted the specs for myself, and a 3000VA UPS and extended battery pack. At first there was only the worry of how heavy all of it was, and how I’d find time to set them up. Then, with the help of an unexpected friend I discovered that they fit almost perfectly into the Server Rack we already have. As I stood there with this bahemoth of a machine in my hands and regarded all the potention 3 Terrabytes of disk space held, I felt a bit of a flutter. It was a sudden and fleeting spark of happiness, and excitement, without any sign of anxiety. It reminded me of when I first started working here, back when I still felt I could learn something, and when I reveled in the freedom being able to stay in the office as long as I wanted. It was only a second, but it was so glorious. I felt something for the first time in months, and it was unsullied by anything else.
So maybe there’s a light just up ahead. Who knows.
Also, just a few hours ago there was another bout of pure emotion. This time Heartache. Not ideal, perhaps, but it too lasted just about a blink long. And it too was atypical in its intensity. Maybe I’m not so numb afterall.
Burnt out. As in ’no fuel for the fire’. That’s how I’ve felt lately. Like I said, it’s pretty common when you Roleplay, and the solution is pretty much accepted and understood. A player cries ’Burnout’ and everyone essentially says ’Go home.’ Go take a nap, or a week of naps. Play with your dog, write a letter, go to the beach, watch TV, do something but get away from the computer and just recharge. Simple as it was, it worked, at least for me. You fell off the face of the internet and and came back a month or so later feeling good as new. It works, every time.
But not this time.
I feel like its because my rest isn’t as restful as it used to be. And no, I’m not talking about insomnia. My sleep is so precious these days that I wouldn’t dare miss a moment if I didn’t have to, chemical imbalance or not. No, I mean my downtime. My time away from imagining. It used to be filled with fun things, or at the very least, gentle, relaxing things. I’d be too busy with work or pretending to be someoee else, so i’d write to remember who the real person was. I’d absorb the good vibes my friends put out so I’d spend endless time with them doing nothing in particular. And I’d read. I’d read because i loved words, and loved the pictures they put in my head. I’d read the worlds these other writers had conjured up and i’d be struck with admiration. I’d do these things until I fell asleep, and when I woke up I’d do them again. And I’d feel whole after a while.
Now all I do feels like work. If I write it’s because I haven’t written in a while, and I know i’ll be expected to say something at a show, so i’d sit and force something out of my head, squeezing and clenching my creative muscles. If I go look for my friends its because I’ve been so busy doing other stuff that my relationships deteriorate into loose acquaintances. I didn’t even know that my best friend had a near stroke until he was out of the hospital and chatting to me online. I haven’t seen my friend’s or my cousin’s babies, and the latter is already four months old. Organizing a dinner with friends is almost as difficult as organizing these Poetry Night shows, which is suffering as well. And I only read because I’ve been reading the same book since the start of the year and I’m ashamed to admit it. People say ’Are you alright?’ like I’m terminally ill or something. The few close friends I have left come right out with it. "You look like Shit." Alexis said to me one night, which was disappointing because I was actually smiling that night. I was happy. Jubilant, even. I haven’t been truly happy in so long.
My colors were faded. I don’t know if everything went gray. I was too busy to notice whether there were actually colors or not.
So I called Merri, in whom I confide all things (even the things I probably shouldn’t) and told her I was depressed. I explained that it wasn’t a ’Toe in the shotgun trigger" depression, so much as it was a "What’s the fucking point" depression. I told her I’d deal with it, and life went on.
and on...
and on...
and on...
At least that’s what it felt like. At one point I’d confused motivation with worry, and realized that the headaches I had at the end of the day were from me furrowing all day. Everything else was an obligation, and some obligations weren’t worth bothering with.
There is hope though. The other day I received a delivery for work. Two servers that I submitted the specs for myself, and a 3000VA UPS and extended battery pack. At first there was only the worry of how heavy all of it was, and how I’d find time to set them up. Then, with the help of an unexpected friend I discovered that they fit almost perfectly into the Server Rack we already have. As I stood there with this bahemoth of a machine in my hands and regarded all the potention 3 Terrabytes of disk space held, I felt a bit of a flutter. It was a sudden and fleeting spark of happiness, and excitement, without any sign of anxiety. It reminded me of when I first started working here, back when I still felt I could learn something, and when I reveled in the freedom being able to stay in the office as long as I wanted. It was only a second, but it was so glorious. I felt something for the first time in months, and it was unsullied by anything else.
So maybe there’s a light just up ahead. Who knows.
Also, just a few hours ago there was another bout of pure emotion. This time Heartache. Not ideal, perhaps, but it too lasted just about a blink long. And it too was atypical in its intensity. Maybe I’m not so numb afterall.
1 comment:
See that?
"In whom I confide all things (even the things I probably shouldn't)"
How could she think she could just fade away?
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