The Piano Has Been Sleeping, Not Me.

03.03.2011

Lucas Molandes

“Sanity is a madness put to good use.” -- George Santayana 

As I was leaving the house last night, my dad told me a coyote had attacked a jogger in our neighborhood that morning and I should be careful when I got back in later that evening. "I'd like to see a coyote fuckin' try it," ran through my head. I hadn't slept in nearly 40 hours and the scenario he was warning me about felt more like a bring it on situation. There's nothing quite like the idea of being attacked by a coyote when you're in the fog of full on delirium. 

I'm in an interesting place right now.

I need balance. I'm working out a writing schedule that will allow me to both step outside my head for a few hours a day and also allow myself to indulge my thoughts for a few hours a day (hence writing notes on facebook). What's the catalyst? Well, a couple of things.

A)

I feel like I've provided a good model for how self-exploration can be used on stage. I feel like I have a decent grasp on who I am and why I say the things I choose to say, but in the grand scheme, I feel as if this will limit my ability to connect and grow.

I feel that I could be writing myself into an existential corner, which may be an interesting spectacle to view, but there are different types of attention, and certainly there is that attention which comes from being a trainwreck. Oh, the lovely gawking that crowds have given me in those moments where I regale them with stories I have brought back from the land of self-inflicted woe. Sure the attention is nice, but ultimately fleeting. That’s the problem with trainwrecks: Life doesn't have time to rubberneck for more than a few moments before continuing on. And you're left to pick up the pieces, thinking that you'll be able to catch up to where you once were.

Sure you will, kid. Sure ...

Well, as a spectator, nothing beats a good facebook meltdown. We've all seen our peers rattle off insights that the latest heartbreak has afforded them (myself included), and you can watch their mental state slowly deteriorating over the course of the day. That's the career I have made for myself on stage. 

B)

I was driving to the show last night, thinking about how I wanted to do a bit about the anger I was experiencing towards my trundle bed because of it's ability to mock my inability to be an adult. At that moment I was wearing slippers, a fashionable female button up, sleep deprived, thinking, "I'll show that fucking bed I can be a success!" It was at that moment that I realized how close I was to being insane. Literal insanity. So I began reasoning with myself, saying, "I can't talk about the anger I'm feeling at my bed. I look like a fucking mental patient as it is. They're going to call the people with the butterfly nets to take me away to a place where they'll assure me 'the mean beds won't hurt me.'" How long do I have before I replace the word "bed" with "aliens" or "Jews" and it's not a joke?

It was at that moment that I realized I could do a bit about how I couldn't do a bit about being angry at my bed because doing that bit would make me sound crazy, which I'm clearly not! I was still talking to myself at this point, out loud. Then I realized that my self-awareness was so acute that I can recognize when I'm crazy, work around my crazy to provide context so that it isn't crazy, which has got to be fucking crazy, right? 

I mean, is there precedence? There has to be? I'm not sure I'd be happy to be associated with those people who have experienced that kind of insight into their mania. Does self-awareness mean sanity? What if I don't believe what passes for sanity in our society is even sane? But crazy people can justify anything? Then I remembered what Angelina Jolie said, "If being sane is thinking there's something wrong with being different....I'd rather be completely fucking mental."

Then I thought, well...maybe I could talk about wanting to get into a fist fight with a coyote? That's not crazy, right? Fuck. This is what happens when you arrive late to the continental breakfast of sanity. 

I got on stage, tried talking about my bed, but that devolved into me talking about the lizard men who live inside all us, which made sense at the time considering the Lizard Man (Erik Sprague, also an Austin based comedian) was in sitting directly in front of me. Somehow, in the context of that moment, it wasn't crazy. And in the context of that day, it made complete sense. You can write this kind of shit. Lizard Men, Coyotes, and trundle beds, oh my. What a day. I got home late. Walking to the house, I took a quick, gangster look for coyotes. Didn't see any. Yeah, they knew better ... they were the ones who knew better.

I realize I need more structure in my life, maybe some health insurance, maybe 3 meals a day, maybe a few dashes of impulsivity (otherwise, what's the point) ... And maybe a nap wouldn't hurt. Now I'm starting to sound normal again. I'm really good at exploiting my weaknesses. I think I should try to balance out that equation.