Déjà Parlé

I can handle break ups. It's presumptuous to think that all relationships are meant to last ad infinitum. They exist and then they cease. It's nothing to kill yourself over. There's actually a lot of good that comes from this cyclical process, as it constantly allows us to meet new people (and see new naked body parts). So it's not so much the end of relationships that bother me, it's all the work that goes into beginning them.

I've realized I'm a hack of a stand-up comic, with just enough jokes to last a 30-minute set.

I have the same anecdotes, the same "spontaneous" observations, the same political insights that I repeat every time I take a new girl out to dinner. I've gotten better at delivering them, I suppose. After so many times, I've got my timing down just right, where to pause for dramatic or comedic effect. I know exactly which words to emphasize, the syllables to stress and unstress. I even have the gestures memorized, holding my arms outstretched when I want to signify quantity, lightly tapping my finger on the table for emphasis.

But it's a lot of work for a little bit of sex and companionship. We're not even going to be on speaking terms in X amount of months anyway -- or maybe X amount of weeks, depending on how quickly we get sick of each other -- so I'm not always convinced it's worth the effort. And even worse, it makes me feel like a phony. It makes me feel unoriginal and uninspired. Repeating the same stories ("I met a cast member of the Real World this one time. Wanna guess who it was? I'll give you a hint, he/she was on the New Orleans season...") makes me feel like I have nothing new to say. And as a humanities graduate, this is especially troubling. Creativity, imagination, artistry -- these traits are supposed to be my currency. As a pseudo-writer, coming up with new stories should be easy for me.

I need to work on my material.