33: Brainache

I'd love to paint the image that I'm some kind of happy-go-lucky comedian that people tend to hope that all of my breed are; spending my downtime whistling showtunes or getting into scrapes like a heavily tattooed Norman Wisdom. Unfortunately, that's not the case.

I've not done any kind of survey amongst comedians, but I'm fairly sure that the majority - even if it's only 51% of us - are mentally ill in some way. Either keeping to themselves (as I have no doubt my Mother wishes I did) or like me, being a big old show pony about it.

I'm not proud of being bipolar, I don't view it as a selling point or anything like that. I mean, how could it be one? Imagine my agent ringing people up trying to get gigs for me purely based on that:

JON: Fancy booking Jim for a gig?
PROMOTER: Not seen him before, what's he like?
JON: He can be quite funny and full of energy...
PROMOTER: Excellent...
JON: Or sometimes he just sits in the corner of a green room, rocking backwards and forwards whilst sobbing uncontrollably.
PROMOTER: There's a call on the other line...

I have my condition under control, with medicine and positive thinking. The fact that I have my dream job of course helps - but that doesn't mean that I'm not prone to bad days. I am. Today was one, for no real reason. Let me talk you through it.

9am: Got up. Ate chocolate weetabix - a cereal guaranteed to get you off to a bad start as there is clearly NO FUCKING CHOCOLATE IN IT.
9.15am: Tire of the day. Have a massive wee and go back to sleep.
1pm: Wake up. Check emails. Send some texts. Go back to sleep.
5pm: Wake up. Remember I need my prescription. Get dressed, collect it, visit my parents, feel vaguely human, come home.
9pm: Start writing this. Goal: Do something productive with my day.

I've got a tattoo on my arm of a power switch. I had this done to symbolise that I never switch off - fuck it, I'll take a gig in Azerbaijan at the drop of a hat if I have to. Even if it's a Mirth Control one and I have to drive people back to London afterwards.

(Non comedians: Just trust me, that last bit is funny. Do what my mum does and laugh, pretending you get it. Thanks)

Of course, the power switch does also say, apparently, that I'm permanently turned on. That's regrettable. Thank fuck it's funny.

Point is that I don't like having days off. If I sit at home I have time to think and worry and panic and fret. That's all I've done today. I've worried about all of the following:

1: My weight
2: My appearance
3: Money, or rather my lack of it
4: Edinburgh
5: My career
6: My daughter
7: My lack of friends
8: My teeth
9: The environment
10: The crack in my car windscreen
11: My fines at Blockbuster
12: Bills
13: Whether I've had too much sleep
14: If my neighbours might try to kill me
15: The economy
16: What to eat
17: My heart
18: My liver
19: Whether my penis is too brown (it is freakishly brown)
20: My website
21: Whether I worry too much

When I got to number 21, I started the list again in a different order. That is what the inside of my brain looks like, a constant ticker whirring by listing everything in the world that I can worry about. If I'm having a bad day like today, I can't convince myself to do anything other than worry. I can't even play videogames to distract me, because I worry that I'm playing too many videogames.

The way out of this is of course to face my worries and do something about them. If I don't like my body, I could go out for a run. If I'm worried about money I could put a load of my stuff on eBay. If I'm worried about my car windscreen I could call Autoglass as I'm led to believe that they are able to both repair and replace.

I don't do any of those things though. I sit and mope and can't drag myself out of the gloomy pit that I've made. I don't like being this way, I just can't get out of it on a bad day.

I may have been addicted to a lot of things, and they've all done me a lot of harm. I do have an addiction still though - an addiction to being onstage. If I didn't have comedy I don't know what I'd do.

It's interesting that I NEVER have a bad day if I'm working. No matter how bad the gig is, I'd rather be doing that than sitting at home on my own. I spend most normal days writing to get better at what I do - god knows I've got a long way to go yet. I may spend a lot of time sitting on the M1 or M6 but at least that means that I'm on my way to a gig. 20, 200 or 2,000 people - it doesn't matter. I have the greatest job in the world and it's ironic that making a few people happy makes me more happy on the inside than they'll ever know.

There's no real point to this little rant, no punchline at the end, nothing that I want it to achieve other than pull me out the funk that I've been in all day today.

Just bear in mind next time you see me onstage that if I make you giggle even in the tiniest way that you're helping keep me on the straight and narrow. If you look at my daft tattoos and grin then that makes me happy.

For every day I have like today, stupid little brainache day, I have a dozen great days. I see the world, I meet great people, I ignore my stupid brain and have a blast entertaining as many people as I can. You'll note that I didn't worry today at all today about having a purpose in life. As silly and frivolous as mine is, if I am forced to be a jester for the rest of my life than I'll die a happy man.

I know it's surprising. Who'd have thought that a man who listens to loud music, has a ton of tattoos and wears a lot of black t-shirts could be such a fucking emo?

If you take anything away from this posting, take this: If you ever see me away from my comfort zone of being in a comedy club and I'm moping, quiet and miserable: Slap me around the head with a large fish and remind me that I'm one lucky fucker who, most of the time, adores life and everyone in it.

No punchline, as I said. So I'll give you a sentence and you write your own joke around it. I'm off to try and enjoy chocolate weetabix again.

Here goes:

It turned out it was swarfega!

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