“Beware the ecstasy of comeback. Remember that a lot of this is going to suck.”

— Bon Chovi

So, I’ve spent some time reflecting on the architecture of my progression breakdown (See “Excuses for why the entire month of January went by without a single blog post”(*1)). I am trying to develop a systematic vocabulary for understanding the frameworks around the mechanisms of the stagnation and destructive patterning on which this failure has been built and continues to thrive. In other words, I just want to know what my fucking problem is. Why do I keep quitting? I mean, I know I talked about this in an earlier post, where I gave a bunch of reasons for why I fell off the wagon—fear, work, etc. But I really fundamentally believe in the whole thing of “If you want something, you won’t let anything stand in your way.” So, what the hell? You know you want to do something. You know there are obstacles you’ve got to deal with. Why let yourself give up so easily when you know it’s going to make you miserable in the long run? The answer could lie in a  little studied medical condition that’s  barely been given  attention…till now.

CRUD (CHRONIC REEMERGENCE UPTAKE DEPENDENCY): psycho-social condition; pathological; involving a strong need to experience the euphoric feelings associated with returning to activities that have been abandoned as a result of….whatever; inability to detach from “beginner’s luck”; can lead to chronic “false beginner” episodes; characterized by a need to be sought out by former colleagues and associates; visions of future glory. See MESSIAH COMPLEX, COMEBACK ADDICTION. No known cure to date, but science is working on a serum that will short-circuit the ego center and help sufferers stay put and handle their biz. You can donate at Sht2Gthr.org.

 

 

Case Study: “Cindy” (*2)

At some point, it became painfully clear to me that I had a severe addiction to comebacks. To be clear, by comebacks, I do not mean the pithy zingers I stay home and practice on Friday night so that I can stick it to my annoying workmates on Monday morning (when I have jobs). By comebacks, I mean resumption. Rekindling. Restarting. Redemption. I know, ridiculous. But that’s what I mean.

There is nothing as seductive as a comeback. The feeling of rising up, after defeat, against all odds to slay one’s demons and snatch victory back from their beastly jowls. What? We all need something to gamble with. Some people play poker. I like to gamble with destiny.

And it just feels so damn good. The shear thrill of walking back into a reality you walked out of for no good reason months or even years before is indescribable. Let me describe it. It’s like getting off a train and stepping onto the same platform you departed from all those moons ago, and he or she or they or it are still standing there waiting with a single crystalline tear in their eye and a droopy rose that’s whispering your name and they just want you to run up to them and melt into their warm embrace and cry, “I’m back. I’m back. I’ll never leave you again”. And they say nothing. They don’t want apologies. They don’t want promises. They just want to know why it’s been so long. After all, you said you were just going up to your mother’s for the week. Why, it’s been six years. What gives?  (*3)   But they don’t care. He or she or they or it just want to know that you’ll never leave them alone again. Promise? And that feels incredible. That feeling of being home. Of knowing you’re wanted. Knowing you fit and belong and that there’s no other place on Earth you’d rather be but there. Until…for whatever reason, you change your mind.

I’ve left and gone back to so many things. Friends, scenes, hobbies, habits. The easy things, you don’t really care about going back to or not. No stakes. But things that have kicked your ass a bit, they feel great both leaving and returning to. Must be some kind of co-dependency. Whatever it is, it’s powerful.

In fact, it’s so powerful that I actually think my biggest reason for quitting comedy is so that I can make comebacks. I say this because I start to envision the comebacks almost immediately upon quitting. I’ll have a bad night, a boring night, or a really good night on stage that I can’t imagine topping, and I’ll go straight into fantasy mode. First, it’s the “Save the Planet before you Save your Career” phase. Then, it’s “Oh, I just need a break. Maybe I can find another huge obligation or twelve to put in the way so that I can subconsciously destroy any progress I’ve made”. And soon after that, about a week or two later, it’s “One day, I’m gonna’ go in there and take the open mic world by storm! Glory will be mine goddammit! But not right now. Right now, I’m going to go home and dust my shoelaces. Or maybe do a thread count on my new towels. You can’t trust the manufacturers. They always exaggerate.” Then, about a month later, the aching desperation starts to kick in and lull me into a stupor of inertia and inner rage. What can I say? It’s a gift.

I should note that the comeback to comedy, although characterized by the same euphoria and idealism that all comebacks are, has a little bit of gravitas to it that doesn’t show up with other things. It’s not as embracing as other things. Like, in the above metaphor of the lover on the train platform, well, comedy is like a former lover too, but it’s different. Comedy is more like that depressingly comfortable lover you know will never leave you but you just always wish was a little nicer to you. So, one day you leave them to find something better. And you think all the other lovers are going to be so good. But you go and realize how those lovers aren’t that great either, and you see how cold the world is without that lover so you run back to them. And they accept you, but instead of telling you how much they missed you and need you, they tell you to shut up cuz’ they’re watching the game, and not to expect a ride to work in the morning. But it’s still love.

 

BUT WHY?!!!

How did my addiction begin? I can’t be sure but if I were to take a stab, I’d say there were two major contributing factors.

1/ “ROCKY 3”: The film in which Rocky Balboa, for a number of reasons, falls from pugilistic grace, only to come from behind and reclaim victory from challenger Clubber Lang (Mr.T!). The guy had fucked things up for himself big time so I could relate. At a young age, I was already starting to get those feelings of being a fuck up, but one with a lotta’ heart. But the real culprit in my comeback addiction was that damn song. I loved that song and think that perhaps I grew to identify with it to a dangerous degree. You know the song.

 

2/ The WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION (now WWE): I was a child of the eighties. And even though I was a girl, I didn’t really become aware of that fact until some time later. As an only child, I think I had to double as son and daughter for my dad. He taught me how to be strong, kick a ball, eat a chili dog in three bites, and go insane for fake sports.

Wrestling was full of constant, perpetual comebacks, one after the other. Just when you thought you had seen the last of the Junkyard Dog, man, here he was again ambling into the ring ready to pile drive some poor fucker into the floor and get back to glory. If it wasn’t him, it was Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka or Andre the Giant or the Iron Sheikh. They’d lose. They’d scurry off with their tales between their legs. Then they’d be back to show the world what they were made of. As a fan, you could never ever relax. You were forever on call to have to witness a new and “unexpected” resurrection. (*4). And you loved it. It was great. It was an era. But it came with a price. It damaged me. In fact, had it not been for puberty, I’m not sure I’d be alive to tell the tale.

 

OUTLOOK:

So where do I go from here? What’s the best way to deal with this? Seeing as how they haven’t found a cure for the old CRUD yet, I think the best thing to do is to embrace the condition and try to work with it. Maybe outsmart it? I don’t know. I think the key to success this time around is to think of it all as one big extended neverending comeback. Like me getting my band of one back together. But forever. Like the Stones. Or Bell Biv Devoe. (*5) So, when I go back to stand up (shut up!), I will be on what I call

THE PERMANENT COMEBACK TOUR.

Maybe.

Wish me luck.

I just have to say that I have really enjoyed writing this blog post. It’s been almost a month since I last wrote, and it was starting to feel as if I had drifted away and abandoned the blog. I’ve been wanting to write for a while, but have been busy with other considerations and obligations. But I want to express how wonderful it feels to be back. It always does.

 

FOOTNOTES:

*1—Not a real entry, so don’t waste your time looking for it.

*2—It’s actually me, and my name’s not “Cindy”, but I figure if I can make this look like a “study”, we might actually get the funding we need in order to find a cure for this horrible disease.

*3— I’ve been watching a lot of 1930s films lately. Lots of couples on train platforms.

*4—I think we all could have done without Hulk Hogan’s last comeback.

*5—See “Drop the Mic” (TBS)