I've begun trying to remember my childhood in greater room with that little bastard me (figure of speech, my parents are still married,) I'd probably beat him up, or he'd beat me up. I was pretty feisty back then. It's also becoming clear to me how bad I have anxiety, and how long I've had it.
One night when I was eight years old, I stayed up late and watched television. I don't know if it has any significance to the story, but I remember very clearly that I watched boxing on TSN. Around midnight, a time I rarely ever saw at that age, it occurred to me that I had done irrepressible damage to my sleep patterns. Normally I was asleep by ten o'clock and it was midnight. Not only did I not get to sleep on time, I realized something terrifying: I might never sleep again. I flew into a panic and ran upstairs, where my mother assessed the situation and decided that I should not be given caffeinated soda ever again. We all learned very little from that situation, but I didn't drink another cola for three years.
My sanity has always followed a feast-or-famine model. It pains to me admit this, but I'm the perfect candidate to be the guy who cuts his lawn at the same time every week except for the week that he murders his whole family and drives his car through the front window of his house. This polarized disposition started early. I have three brothers and my mother had to tolerate us twenty four hours a day because she was always sober. In the summer she would have to bribe us or trick us to behave. She ran a non-stop contest, tallied weekly, to monitor our behavior. A negative incident would get you a demerit point. By Tuesday I could be in the lead, with zero demerits. Nobody else was ever too bad, one or two check marks at the most, and they'd take them with out much of a fight. Then around Wednesday I'd get a bit heated with one of my brothers, and a check mark would go next to my name and holy hell would I let loose. I'd fight it. I'd try to get it erased, and I would get louder and louder and switch from pleadings of "please take it back" to declarations of "how much bullshit this is." Within twenty minutes I'd have twenty check marks. I don't think my brothers ever had more than four.
Anyway, this next paragraph should be about how I've grown out of this, but the truth is, last week I couldn't get a light fixture properly into place so I smashed it to pieces on the ground. I probably had to bend a tab over in a different way. Ah well. My anxiety only really goes away after a comedy show. Maybe I should just start reading the newspaper instead for jokes. Oh, my poor mother.
*Chittenden can be seen at Yuk Yuk's Comedy Clubs this weekend, call 236-LAFF for reservations
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