To say that my mood was a little down when I got back to the frosty embrace of the Berlin winter is putting it mildly.
I was downright depressed again. And there’s nothing worse than that feeling of being back in the grips of an emotion that you really thought you’d shaken.
I even started re-reading the LA Stories post “Love is a Stranger”, hoping that the final paragraph where I let all those bad feeling slip away would somehow ignite that purge in me again.
Instead, all I could think about was what a fucked up year it had been. And that I was back in Berlin again, in the winter again, living out of a suitcase again with no films made again.
I was grateful for the work, monetarily of course, but also the nice patch of sand that it let me bury my head into. And bury my head I did. But that still didn’t erase the black cloud that was hanging over my head.
Then there was this one morning where I was lying in bed, up early again from the jet lag with nothing to do but go over the low-lights of 2008 just one more time for the cheap seats at the back.
The dating disasters, the friends lost, the half-life I was living in two cities, that everyone but me had their shit together and that these feelings were never going to leave me.
Then I heard a little voice, “Um, hi, remember me?”.
I looked around the empty room.
The voice was coming from my tattoo. When I was in Berlin 9 months ago, on a total whim, I had “Love” tattooed across my right wrist.
Love: Hey Misery, how’s it going?
Me: Oh, hi. Not so great.
Love: Personally, I think it’s nothing short of a minor miracle that no one’s made a masturbation joke, considering where you had me done.
Me: Oh yeah, hadn’t thought of that.
Love: I know… Anyway, enough about me. You my friend, are on the express train to Dulls-ville.
Love: You. All I hear all day long is you bitching about everything you don’t have and honestly…it’s as boring as a gay bar name. If I could leave, I would.
Me: Well, you know, you could have helped.
Love: I’m a tattoo. You want magic, rub a lamp.
Me: Don’t be mean to me, I’m sad…
Love: Shut up. Now, remember when you split up from Peter five years ago and all you did was talk about that shit for three years, until your friends had that glazed over look in their eyes…
Me: Oh, is it that bad?
Love: Mmm-hmm. And this new batch of Dunn Downers is about as welcome as Xmas Carols in October. As tired as Lindsay Lohan’s lesbo-rehab antics. As overplayed as an Obama HOPE poster. As…
Me: Alright, I get it!
Love: So, you need to have a little think about what you do have. Like soon.
Love: And stop wearing that leather band over me. And less with the long sleeves.