Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

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Yesterday was the day without motivation — having used it all up on Friday. I was recharging… incapable of doing anything with any amount of zeal. So, to follow it up, today was a day consisting of all of my energies focused into one thing that i absolutely know how to do right: clean. Yes, i just cleaned for seven straight hours. And, do you know what? It feels good.

It feels good because i spent the sum total of my emotional and mental energy on something entirely unlike cleaning on Friday, and was horrible at it. Or, alternately, i was terrific at it and it wasn’t well-received. Either way, i’m not entirely happy about the whole affair. By contrast, with cleaning you absolutely cannot fail. If you mop long enough, scrub hard enough, and fold precisely enough, everything will turn out absolutely perfect and no one can possibly argue with you. There is no arguing with something that is spotless; you can’t decide to like it a little while not being really thrilled by it. The sight and smell of something that is like Brand-New cannot be deflected or denied.

I did seven loads of laundry in industrial strength machines with spin cycles that lasted me through whole chapters of Infinite Jest. I mopped every piece of tile in our apartment, going back over the tough spots with All-Purpose cleaner and then clean water so that the floors wouldn’t be sticky. I refolded every piece of clothing that vaguely rotates into my daily wardrobe and reorganized my closet and bureau. I got down on my hands and knees with an industrial strength sponge and a can of Ajax and scrubbed the floor of my shower until all i could smell was the activated bleach and all my eyes were tearing up and i couldn’t even see if i had gotten the floor white yet through the haze of scrubbing bubbles.

It wound up pearly white. I had no idea.

Seven hours later my back hurts, my hands are dry and aching, my eyes are red-rimmed and sore, and i owe Lindsay a new sponge. And i did it all absolutely right, and no one can argue.

Meanwhile, i am inexplicably one of the only six hits for the term “boywhore.” When it comes to search placements one thing i’ve learned is to never ask questions…

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7975856/

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Today is a lack of motivation in progress. I really don’t mean it to be… I’ve tried typing something, thrashing at my guitar, cooking, eating, and working on Uprush. None of it seems to head anywhere… everything feels just like treading water. I’m just wholly unmotivated by anything i can reach out and touch in this place, and the result is my sitting in this dumb plastic lawn chair staring dumbly at the screen while i blast Juliana Hatfield and sing along in falsetto. I can’t seem to manage to do anything else.

That’s what i get for pouring out all of my energy into one laser small focus for an entire day… now i’m just fizzled out. I can’t focus on anything.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7956764/

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All this kvetching about things related to my (ever-precarious) gender role and identity may have to do with a date i may have tonight. May. It may be a preliminary evaluative “check-out-the-goods” opportunity where i’m supposed to try my best to be coherent while maintaining a vague sense of romanticism. Or, it might be two friends going out to dinner. Except, i think it could be a date… you know, Friday Night and all that. But, i don’t want to assume. So, it’s really out of my hands. I have nothing to do with it. I just need to shave and shower and show up looking pretty. Well… pretty for a guy. You know what i mean.


Thus all the anxiety about the razor. And the fairy.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7924634/

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I happen to really need a razor. Like, alot. I am down to my last disposable razor, and it seems to have lost it’s sheen. This is not to say i suddenly have some sort of mutant five o’clock shadow or anything of the kind, but i definitely start looking like a gang-member if i don’t shave in any given 36-hour period. It all would seem to add up … lack of razor, razor in the checkout aisle, me with a large margin between the price of eggs and saran wrap and the $20 i have in my hand. But, do i buy the razor? The shiny, new, rubber-grip, extra-blade, sleek, black, razor? Do i?

Of course not. Why? Because i am too embarrassed to pick up a razor and have it rung in the middle of a supermarket. I might get away with it at CVS, where they deal regularly in those sorts of things, but i feel like if i had attempted to buy it last night the cashier would’ve responded in the fashion of “Damn, boy, if you’re gonna buy your daddy a razor for Christmas least you could do would be get him an electric.” Or, you know, something else to that incredibly embarrassing and demeaning effect.

I’m afraid to buy men’s toiletry products in public. God help us all if i ever have to go and buy condoms*.

It’s just as if i’m done being a boy, and we all know i’m not a boy anymore, but the Man-Fairy will not come down and wave his magic wand to make the whole thing official so i can do things like buy shaving cream, or fuzzy-handcuffs, or anything else a man might buy.

I mean, i…. um, did i just say Man-Fairy? With his magic wand? Was i seriously blogging about that for, like, an entire second there?

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7924530/

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I have become totally domesticated in my living with the gals. It’s not as though it bothers me, but i just feel like they’re intruding upon my messy bachelor years, or something. For example, yesterday i actually called home from work to see what they would prefer my nighttime culinary endeavor to be. So, not only did i premeditate my potential meal (based upon leftover supplies from the dinner i made on Tuesday!), but i decided that i needed to clear it with the roomies before i made the decision on my own. Sadly, I didn’t catch either of them, and seeing as i had the sneaking suspicion that one of them was highly alarmed by eggplant i refrained from shopping for the supplies i had in mind until i got a verbal “okay” from them. After a few hours of lounging on the couch when i should’ve really been doing the Business final i’m taking a break from now i was greeted by Erika, who came bearing groceries of her own! I started helping her with dinner until we realized that we were out of eggs, and so off i went (in my pajamas) to the grocery store — without a second thought.

It seems likes common courtesy or just being thoughtful roommates, but i really feel as though i’ve gone from being one of those cats that the neighbors leave food out on their porch for to being a house cat that occasionally struts around the lawn just to affirm his outdoorsyness. It’s not that it bothers me or anything, i just think it’s incredible what a difference a year makes; this time last year i was spending $60 a week on takeout food and eating a box or two of granola bars every weekend. Now i’m spending $60 a week on making dinner for the three of us, and eating leftovers all weekend.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7924253/