I started watching Jenny Slate's Stage Fright on the following week(s) it was first dropped on netflix, but due to limited access to wifi (am looking at you, indie) I was unable to finish it in one sitting. Was actually pretty glad I didn't.
Finished up my usual birthday post on this blog which have been weighing on me for quite a while, turns out (I have at least composed two different drafts on several occasions, each going over around tens of pages but well bc it is a smol notebook I carry around on a daily basis) it is really marvelous, hearing yourself talk almost 24/7 and never shutting up on demand that you'd think you know yourself/how you sounded like, only to pour it out all candid and raw in words and find it is a different voice that shouts back. Whose is it, really, I wonder?
At one point of the documentary, Jenny goes on to explain her awful stage fright and her words just pierced through. It was like that for me, too, but that stage was having to exist on a daily basis among society. Having to be seen, to be perceived and misunderstood, simultaneously, day by day. I sort of have this grasp/guess on the things that could & would make me happy, but too often it is myself that hinders/manipulate/debilitate/deny myself of feeling good.
[…] the thing that I’m the most scared of about tonight, is that, […] I will deny myself the moment to have fun. And I’m so angry at myself that that might happen, that I’m probably gonna make it happen.
The worst thing [to say] is “Just be yourself!” ‘Cause I’m like, “Oh, okay. You should see how many selves there are in my psyche, ‘cause some of them are fucking murderers, and they’re trying to kill me.” Like, I’m surviving them and living with them, you know?
[…] right before I go on stage, I am, presented with this essential question, which is, ‘Will they like me?’ And I know that they will once I start to talk. But I don’t earn the love unless I give something beautiful that goes out.
What will happen if they don't? Will it matter?
Maybe I'll have a drink alright.