Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Escapist (Bo-Bapist-Banana-fana-fo-Fapist Me-My-Mo-Mapist)

Escapism is a noun. It means the avoidance of reality by absorption of the mind in entertainment or daydreaming. A dreamer, an idealist, a romanticist, an Aquarian. (I added that last one).

Up until this point my whole world would have made sense. I would have lit up, jumping up and down and pointing at the screen. I'm an escapist! I do those things! They are describing me perfectly! And I would have been satisfied in the knowledge that I fit. As a creative free boho-chic entity.

But I have been doing al--HOT of thinking lately, and seeing the similarities between me and the escapist are sort of a sad comparison. It was unique when I was a kid, stylish in college, creative in my twenties. Now it's my handicap. My once innocent idealism is running interference to a succesful, responsible future. Think gearing up for a hike on flat terrain. Think filling your tank and driving round and round for hours. Think blood-vile wearing Angelina becoming a mom or pot-smoking Matthew McConaughey becoming a dad. The gray area of this transition just seems wrong.

I terrified myself today with the thought of me on my deathbed as I am now. I thought, you know the only way to take my mind off my iminent death if it were right now, here, today would be to watch The Office. That show really makes me laugh. Can you imagine if you were one of the actors and you knew someone wanted to watch your show inorder to escape the reality of their death? Whoa. Funny is pretty strong to me. It seems as if it's everything. I have laughed at the absolute worse times of my life. After my first humiliating break-up in high school I remember going straight home, turning on the telly and watching Bill Cosby on Childhoood. As my heart was breaking I laughed my ass off. Then the realization of the enorminty and complete mundaneness surrounding this thought swallowed me. The awareness of my coping mechanism is stark but unsurprising.

I am always escaping. Before I even get there,I escape. The only place I wasn't so eager to escape, was the womb. I came out butt first, so there you go. Freud would have a hey day with that one. When I get a job, the first thing I do is try to escape it for the next one. Same with boyfriends. When I figure out I like my job, each morning before going to work I load my bag with things to do during the day and plan my daydreaming so as not to be bored there. I need to escape the responsibility of what I'm doing there and move on to the next best thing. I get to the gym and run my ass off so that I can escape the gym. And wouldn't you know, I'm never satisfied. Most people would come out to L.A. without a dime in their pocket, I am constantly wondering when I'm gonna get to NY. And what, my friends, do you think I'll do when I get there? Look for ways that I can root myself there ever after? Just the thought of that gives me the willy's.

So I laugh. And I run. And I laugh. And I run. I constantly escape so that I may be free. There she goes. She's not connected to anything. She has no responsibility to anyone (including her bill collectors, not so humorous btw!)

But life depends on connection.

We are born connected.

Goals must be connected. Atoms, chemistry, fingers, private parts, humor. All need connection to survive.

I never told myself to grow up, like we tell each other to do all the time. It seemed pretty boring to me and I escaped it as long as I possibly could. Then suddenly I woke up one morning and it was just sitting there at the footend of the bed. I said, wow, you showed up later than ususal. It laughed. We got some tea and a clown nose and went to work. To earn some of that freedom.

You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one.