The Suicide Project

Sometimes it feels like my whole life is a performance I don’t want to act out.

FROM THE MIND OF A MAD PRODUCER     February 7, 2013

I am plagued with the curse of being the one hard worker amidst a ballet full of idiots. The Muppet Ballet.

Scripts with typos, botched up money transfers, pointless Skype conferences, referring to an Ecuadorian actor with skin the color of a paper bag as “the white guy”… these are just a few of the boring, mind numbing, and seemingly harmless mistakes that I deal with on a daily basis.

But they aren’t harmless. Quickly following this recollection I feel a deep and steady pressure in the center of my chest as if one of the sloppy idiot man-child directors is pressing his palm right against my ribcage in attempt to literally crush my heart like a virgin boy copping his first feel.

And in my head, my lungs scream out to my heart: push back, push back.

I FEEL MY HEARTBEAT IN MY TEMPLES. IT’S STRONG AND A LITTLE SCARY.

THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT ANY LESS REAL.

I’M NOT FEELING VERY WELL. I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SAY THIS, BUT I FEEL FAINT.

DOES IT COUNT AS AN EXAMPLE OF IRONY IF THE PERSON THAT IS MAKING ME FEEL THE MOST ANXIOUS IS THE SET MEDIC THAT KEEPS ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT HIS START PAPERWORK? I’M SURE HE’S DONE THIS BEFORE. IT’S STANDARD START PAPERWORK. FUCKING FILL IT OUT.

I WANT TO HOLD YOU LIKE A LITTLE GHOST.

“I NEVER SEEM TO HAVE ANYTHING THAT IF I LOST I’D CARE TOO MUCH ABOUT.”

                                                               -CATCHER IN THE RYE