Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Way Of The World


 
Sometimes the world is out to make you hate
   Yourself for all that makes you who you are.
The good in you becomes your evil fate;
   Blessings will curse you; all you make will mar.
You greet the dawn with hope, trust, and affection.
   They all cause the reverse of what you wanted.
Trust gives birth to betrayal; love, rejection;
   And hope becomes the house in which you’re haunted.
It’s like friends who turn into enemies.
   They helped, and now they hurt. Two sides; one coin.
Today’s locked door; yesterday’s set of keys—
   Tomorrow’s hammer, cleaving all you join—
      Till shame and hurt make of your broken pride
      A caustic pit where you can safely hide. 

 

Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells

 

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Keeping My Balance


Here on the tightrope, where a single step,
Forward or back, demands a perfect sense
Of balance and awareness, how I wish
The world would stop trying to knock me off—
Just stop—stop throwing things at me, as if
I was the object of some Hit Me game—
Hit Me and win a prize; Hit Me and watch
Me fall—as if I'm up here to supply
What the world wants from every tightrope walker:
Not expertise, but failure; not success
But just the right kind of undone endeavor. 

If there’s a trick to doing this well, then
The trick is not to lean into the wind
Of the world’s snort so much that I tip over,
And not to be so flattered by the world's
Approval that I fall the other way.
Eyes front, arms out; keep my feet supple and
Ignore the catcalls—they’re as worthless as
The world’s applause: one means I gave them what
They wanted, and the other means the same.

If I take one to heart, that means the other
Can undermine my equilibrium—
So I must never listen to the jeers
Or yearn to hear the clapping of acclaim.
Both of them are the world’s way of proclaiming
“We get to say whether you’re good or not,”
And neither one can guide me as I step
Into thin air and make this tightrope mine.
 


Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells

Monday, June 8, 2009

Who is this SOB and why does he always want me to fail?


He’s the guy inside me who gets a great big kick out of telling me what a loser I am, and he’s been yelling in my ear for the past week. Why? Because I finished the Dillinger short story and I’m trying to figure out where to submit it, and I’ve finally stopped tinkering with Countrie Matters and I'm getting ready to send that out, too. In other words, the closer I get to the possibility of getting published or produced, the louder my inner Mr. Negative tells me the same 7 things over and over again:

YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME. No, silly. Doing the day job is a waste of time. Doing nothing is a waste of time. I’d be wasting my time if all I did when I wasn’t working is watch TV or sleep for the other 15 hours of the day.

YOU’RE NOT DOING ENOUGH. Are you kidding? Figure the 10 hours a day it takes me to get ready for work, work, and get home, and the (let’s say) 5 hours of sleep I get a night. That’s 9 hours left. Take an hour for dinner and that leaves 8. That’s a working day of hours I have left, at least 2 of which I use every weekday to write. With the rest I see movies, plays, friends and music, not necessarily in that order.

YOU’LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING. Amount as in what, weight or currency? If it’s weight, I’ve got at last count 10 storage boxes of manuscripts finished and unfinished. That’s a couple of hundred pounds easy, which makes it the weight of at least one life. If it’s currency, then okay, ya got me there. I can’t support myself by writing because I’m not a success, if that’s how I define success, which it’s not. To me, success is doing something creative every day of my life, and taking my chances with what I send out into the world.

YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE AND YOU BLEW IT. The defensive answer to this is “Nope, sorry –- you can’t blow chances. You have no control over them; that’s why they’re called chances.” The slightly more honest answer is, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m a lousy businessperson, and when a door does open up for me, I don’t do enough to make sure it stays open, or that I sign a lease on the room.” But the totally honest answer is very simple. Whenever I finish writing something, I expect the skies to open up, a light to shine down on me from Heaven, and a great booming voice to say “THIS IS MY BELOVED PLAYWRIGHT, IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED. GIVE HIM A TONY, FOR CHRISSAKES.” Something that might actually happen one day if I spent as much time submitting my stuff as I do writing it. And there’s a big reason I don’t do that:

YOU WILL ALWAYS BE REJECTED. That’s the fear. That’s the big one. It’s me as the fox in the Sour Grapes fable. It’s me looking at [insert name of current crush here] and saying to myself “She’s not going to say yes if I ask her out, so why bother?” The key button here is “always.” Nothing is always. There have been times when I wasn’t rejected. But I only found out by stepping up to the plate and swinging. Yes, I can foul out; yes, I can fly out. But I know that if I stand there with the bat on my shoulder and do nothing, I will never get to first base because I will strike out. Getting a hit is not guaranteed. The chance to swing at a pitch is the only guarantee. And the more you step up to the plate, the better your chances are of getting on base.

YOU’RE A LOUSY WRITER. Bullshit—I’m a brilliant writer. In all senses of the word brilliant (a little too smart, a little too bright). A little more dullness and I’d be produced everywhere, like Henry Chettle. A lot more dullness and I’d be published and famous, like Updike. So sorry, you’re not going to depress me by giving me an opinion like that. In fact, you’re doing the opposite. You’re making me want to say “Oh yeah?” and write something that people will read 500 years from now and go “Yeah.”

YOU’RE A FAILURE AND YOU ALWAYS WILL BE. There’s that “always” word again. Another easy button to push. Because there’s something comforting in failure. There are no expectations. There are no demands or requirements. I never have to live up to anything bigger than my lowest moments. I never ask myself “A failure by whose standards?” I never say to myself, “The reason I’m not getting anywhere is because I’m not taking that first step.” Oh no. What I say to myself is, “You’re right. I am and I will be.” And the more I say it, the more I believe it. Because when it comes to failure, and blondes in trouble, and small dark sharp-tongued ingénues, I am a total fool. And every fool’s got a reason to feel sorry for himself, and turn his heart to stone.

Which is why, when Mr. Negativity pushed my failure button, I listen to this until I believe every single word of it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDvvNVs7BRw

Monday, March 16, 2009

Life at Trampley Nixon: Work SCUCKS and Then You Die


Here at Trampley Nixon we’ve been watching the decline and fall of market capitalism with what we euphemistically call “total fucking glee,” because we’re making so much money that we don’t have to lay off anybody. We don’t even call them lay-offs here; we use the word SCUCK, as in Start Collecting Unemployment Compensation, Kid. Nobody ever gets SCUCKed at Trampley Nixon. Or at least that’s what we said up until the end of February, when people actually started disappearing from the Corporate Directory in droves, after which the CEO sent us all an e-mailed letter explaining that, since everyone else in Corporate America was suffering, “we need to be seen to be suffering as well, so we don’t look like the heartless greedheads we all know we are.”

Well, if it’s anything we heartless greedheads know how to do, it’s pretend to be repentant when we get our hands caught in the cookie jar. (And I mean really - our hands spend so much time in that jar that it might as well be called the Cookie Glove.) So I got my sackcloth and ashes from HR, I practiced my mournful worried frown in the little hand mirror I carry around to cut coke lines on, I bought $100 bottles of wine for lunch instead of the usual $500 ones, --

And then they SCUCKed me.

That was two weeks ago. Since then, I have gone through the denial, the anger, the bargaining, the binge drinking, the spam e-mailing, the breaking and entering, the trashing of window offices, and the suspended sentencing. I am now at the final stage of Job Loss, the sarcastic blog posting. In the past two weeks, I’ve learned a lot about myself, and even more about my former job. Seven things, in fact – and I am happy to share them with you in total violation of my non-compete agreement.


Seven Things To Remember
About Working in Corporate America.


1. It’s not that they fucked up, it’s that you’re not stepping up. No matter how vital the information which is lost when an employee is SCUCKed, it’s never your manager’s fault for getting rid of it, it’s always your fault for not knowing it. Sample dialogue:

THEM: You’re supposed to be translating this into Spanish every morning.
YOU: The guy who knew Spanish got fired on Friday.
THEM: So why aren’t you doing it?
YOU: Because I don’t know Spanish.
THEM: Then you’re not stepping up.

2. You are just a number on a balance sheet. It’s not about how well you do your job, it’s not about how badly you keep fucking up, it’s about whether that annual salary number you’re paid is either noticed or not noticed. If it’s not noticed, you can harass interns, surf the net all day, and append the words “Please advise” to the end of every e-mail like the asshole you are, and you will always get a corporate paycheck. But if that number becomes noticeable? You better take your pint of whiskey home from that bottom left drawer, because your corporate days are numbered.

3. When they say “family,” you’re the in-law. In family terms, getting SCUCKed is like getting divorced. They love you as long as you’re happily married to one of their children, but the second you’re kicked out of the house, their cellphones go unanswered, their Facebook pages are all blocked, and your your heaping plate of family Thanksgiving turkey is now a pile of food stamps. And everyone in your so-called family becomes like that elevator operator in Night At The Opera, the one who smiles at Groucho when he has a job and then kicks him downstairs when he doesn’t.

4. You are working in Stalinist Russia. Ours is the best company ever, with the best leaders and the best employees who haven’t been purged yet. (Repeat as necessary, during town hall meetings, earnings announcements, and self-aggrandizing appearances on FOX Closing Bell.) And when any of our best leaders and employees do get purged, they disappear down the memory hole just like members of the Politburo vanish from photos of prior May Day parades. Because things are not only getting better in the future, they’re getting better in the past. (When you realize how hooked these people are on creative accounting, it’s no wonder they’re addicted to creative history as well.) Only the pure survive a purge; only the flawed are hit by one, and once they’re gone, they’re gone retroactively, like they never got hired in the first place. And you will go the same way, unless you praise Stalin and try to forget that one wrong move will land you in a gulag. Be happy you’re on a bread line. Seriously. Be visibly happy. Or else.


5. Your smarts must never make them look stupid. In Corporate America, information is a battleground. When your managers start addressing a massive system clusterfuck challenge, they are not actually trying to solve it, they are claiming turf over it, and any competing information is treated like an invading army. This means that (a) every answer they come up with is like a declaration of war; (b) the problem issue is not about coming up with a solution, it’s about owning the last solution standing; and (c) if you actually know the correct solution, you can never say it out loud, because if you do then suddenly everyone else will sign a temporary treaty and wipe you off the face of the corporate earth for challenging their authority. Remember –- their authority is not based on knowledge, it’s based on lung power and repetition. Against those two weapons, hard knowledge of the truth is defenseless, so all you can safely do is retreat behind the front line until the battle’s over and then agree with whoever’s left standing. And Jesus, whatever you do, don’t even think of pointing out the obvious to any of them, because that means they’re not only dumb, they’re blind.


6. The problem is your reaction to the problem. It’s never what was done to you; it’s your reaction to what was done to you that matters –- like when somebody shoots you, and you have them arrested? It’s your fault for calling the cops. Sample dialogue:

THEM: What are the cops doing here?
YOU: You shot me!
THEM: That’s no reason for you to call the police.
YOU: What am I supposed to do then?
THEM: Just deal with it and move on.
YOU: But I’m bleeding.
THEM: Then put a band-aid on it, and move on.
YOU: But you fucking shot me!
THEM: And this wouldn’t be an issue if you didn’t keep bringing it up.
YOU: Can I at least call a doctor?
THEM: Sorry, you don’t get healthcare.


7. You are sleeping with crack whores. You cannot trust the people you work for. You cannot reason with them. You cannot save them. They are only friendly because friendly makes you lower your guard. They are not your friends. They are crack whores. If they need the money, they will roll you. If they like your stuff, they will steal it and sell it. If they envy your talent, they will drag your name in the mud. They will suck your dick till you think you're the God Of Love and they will forget you the moment you leave the room. And the longer you sleep with them, the quicker you get their diseases.

Friday, March 6, 2009

100 Proof: Irish Wakes



Tonight I'm doing research for a blog entry the likes of which you will never find on the New York Times Sobriety Proof Blog: that after-work get-together where you and your remaining co-workers get absolutely smashed because two of your co-workers got laid off this morning.

Look for me at the bottom of this by sunset:

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Monday, October 6, 2008

The Blame Game

Blame Vietnam.



Blame these guys. From the Consulting Firm of Gosh Golly and Heck:



[link from Addenak via Wonkette]

Blame Goldman Sachs. So who was instrumental in getting the SEC to waive all those pesky debt limitation regulations in 2004? Hank Paulson, that's who.

Blame the Left-Wing Media. Everything you suspected about John MacCain in one place. Opening shot: "I got a better chance of getting laid." Makes you wish Hunter Thompson was still alive. But then what doesn't?

Blame the Markets. That 85 billion dollar emergency bridge loan that AIG got two weeks ago? They've already used $61 billion of it.

Blame Sarah. It's true; I checked it out on Snopes!


(thanks and a tip of the Wells cap and bells to brother Gary.)


Blame Canada. Just because.


Thursday, October 2, 2008

The Bailout Bill in Real World Terms

Your landlord upgrades the plumbing in your apartment building, but because he tried to cut corners, the walls are leaking and there's mold everywhere. In order to fix everything up, he sells the building to a holding company, which pays for the sale by charging all the tenants of the building an extra year's rent. Do the mold and the leaks go away? No. Do they ever get fixed? Nope. So who benefits? The landlord. Replace the word "landlord" with the name of your favorite investment bank and that's the bailout plan.

An investment banker is gambling in Vegas. He's betting that housing prices will always rise, and whenever they do, he makes a small fortune. But when they start falling, the value of the mortgages he's using to make more and more profit for himself begins to plummet. The failure of the mortgages and mortgage-derived debt he's carrying has totally exposed the massive difference between the cash in his wallet and the bet he has just put on the table. And the other players know it. They don't even call his bet; they take their chips and move to another table. Which means that he's totally screwed and he'll have to fold (pun intended) unless a friend of his steps in and says "I'll pay the difference between what you bet and what you have in your wallet." "Where will you get the money?" says the IBanker. "I'll bill the owners of those mortgages you bet," says the friend. Substitute the Treasury Department for the friend and that's what the government is saying with this bailout.

Your boyfriend is carrying five credit cards and making monthly minimum payments and planning to use his annual bonus to pay them all off. If he marks that bonus against his debt, they cancel each other out. But when he gets fired, the debt suddenly gets marked against his current salary, and he's fucked unless he can get somebody to buy it up for him. He calls up his friend Paulson and says, "What can you do for me?" Paulson says, "Don't worry about it." He calls up your boyfriend's credit card companies, hands them each a check for their total balance due, and then mails you the bill, with a note that says "If you don't pay this right now, our entire economy is at risk." That's what the government is doing with this bailout.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The Panic of '08: Know Your Clichés!

(with apologies to Flann O'Brien)


What is the nature of the financial crisis?
It is serious.
What manner of action must be taken?
Decisive.
Of what vegetative undergrowth is the provocation which must be addressed as part of this action?
The root cause.
What form of hydration will occur to lending if the root cause is not addressed?
It will dry up.
What game piece always describes the effect of this?
A domino.
What is the quality of perturbation in regard to the assets in question?
Troubled.
In what equestrian condition are holders of troubled assets?
Saddled.
What is the temporal nature of obligations?
They are immediate.
What is the condition of every collapse?
Imminent.
How dispersed is loss of confidence?
Widespread.
What vertical position describes the government’s economic experts?
Top.
What is the duration and disease symptom of a recession?
Long and painful.
What must be done to financial security?
It must be safeguarded.
What movement is required of elected officials when they approach an occasion?
They will rise to it.
What activating principle governs cooperation?
A spirit.
What defensive sports maneuver is applied to problems?
Tackling.
In what direction does this activity take place?
Head-on.
What is the level of dependability in regard to the fundamentals of our economy?
Sound.
What are the rare and sporadic occurrences of abuse in the system?
Instances.
What is the goal of all abusers of the system?
Personal gain.
What pleonasm always describes this goal?
Their own.
What condition of external recreation is this cliché gag?
Played out.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Scenes from the Panic of '08

"Coffee? Who needs coffee? All I have to do is go to the trading floor and inhale the panic, and I'm wired for the next eight hours."

Merrill analyst on the sale of Merrill to Bank of America: "I didn't go through this whole interview process to work at a commercial bank."

Anonymous Goldman Sachs exec: "I lost half my net worth in the last month!"
Broad Street Shoe Shine Guy: "That splash you hear is my heart bleeding for you."

German Chancellor Angela Merkel: " . . .the Bush administration has mishandled Wall Street, and . . . its refusal to adopt stricter rules led to the current crisis."

Anonymous Morgan Stanley analyst: "Where's my toaster?"

Warren Buffet: "The pie is always getting bigger. Especially my piece."

Tom Brokaw: And while you're at it, how about bailing these people out?
Me and everybody else I know: "I'd like a piece of that too, please."