The Videoblogs

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I haven't seen anyone

outside of work and

therapy, not for weeks.

I haven't talked to my parents.

We've texted here and there.

But that's it really.

I'm going to hate

text messaging.

When it comes to

conversations about real life,

what the f*** is a text anyway?

Except a way to get

what you want and need

without having to earn

the right to a response.

I don't know what's

going on with me.

I don't even know myself.

I don't know if I should care.

I haven't consistently, no.

[Man] Why not?

You don't have a reason?

[Woman] I'm sure

there must be one.

[Man] What's the first

thing that comes to mind?

That it's boring.

It's tiring.

It hurts my hand.

[Man] It hurts your hand?

When I write for a long time,

I don't hold my pen right.

I hold it like a fork.

And there's no other

way you can do it?

What do you mean?

Like type it all out,

save it to a folder?

[Man] Yeah, why not?

Whatever.

[Woman] It still

just seems boring.

It is boring.

I can't keep it up for

more than a few days

at a time.

So you're bored with efforts

to communicate with yourself?

Are other people

usually bored by you?

When you talk with them?

No, not usually.

[Man] Maybe you could think

about some more interesting ways

to keep this record of your

feelings from day to day.

(sighs)

(Apple startup tone)

It is important for me to

journal right now, I know that.

I accept it.

It is essential that

I learn to reflect.

So this is me, reflecting

In a way that's more

appropriate to the current age.

But is it better?

Writing by hand is

archaic, I know this

to be a true feeling,

I have vetted it.

I am doing this

not as a means of

finding an excuse not

to journal, but as

part of an experiment,

an adaptation.

Feels different.

I don't know if it's different

in necessarily a good way,

but I don't not know either.

Not sad tonight.

So that's a plus.

Except

because I'm not sad I don't know

what else I'm feeling either.

That doesn't mean I'm

happy, just because

I said I'm not sad.

Maybe this is an excuse to

not write my feelings out.

Maybe I'm just indulging my own

personal form of television.

Maybe I'm just years late

to the YouTube impulse,

only I'm not even

doing it right,

because it's just me.

Not watching.

Maybe I'm on to something here.

Maybe this is the

next best thing

in media entertainment.

Soon, we'll all be staring

into our own cameras

talking to ourselves

alone in our homes.

It's like the worst

mirror in the world.

One that remembers.

I don't know, mirror,

nothing happened today.

Nothing worth talking about.

I clicked around the

internet all day,

did maybe an hour's

worth of work,

got praised for it.

(scoffs)

This little entry

is hardly worth

the cost of data storage.

You hear that, mirror?

You're a waste today.

You're worthless.

It's already getting

significantly colder out,

but I wanted to be out here.

I feel better out here.

The city seems quiet.

Almost peaceful

when you look at it

from just a few floors up.

It's neither, though, obviously.

It's weird

that we don't talk

about it anymore,

all the noise and the

conflict and the pain.

I guess we're used to it.

There's some joy too, I suppose.

But that might be harder to see.

Maybe I'm just not

looking closely enough.

(sighs)

I'm angry.

I'm angry that I can't

just go away somewhere

and fix all of my problems

I'm angry that a lot of

them aren't even my fault.

I know I'm underdeveloped

emotionally,

but what about the

world that chewed me up

and spit me out into

this moment, huh?

I mean, how f***ed up

is it that I resorted

to talking to

myself into a camera

in order to stay grounded

between therapy sessions?

How f***ed up is it

that I still think

this is good idea?

I know what this is.

This is the only way

for me to be able to

delineate between what is

real and what I am imagining.

So it's a crutch.

So what?

This is better than

doing it to a person.

An unconscious, unfeeling

machine is not capable

of being hurt by my bullshit,

and it doesn't judge.

Yeah.

A mirror that remembers

but does not judge.

Maybe there's some

value in that.

I don't know what's

going on with me.

I don't even know myself.

I don't know if I should care.

Cass keeps trying

to get in touch.

She's not giving up.

But what the f*** am

I supposed to say?

I'm sorry I've been

out of touch but I've

pulled myself apart and

I don't know what to

make of what's left.

What's the difference anyway?

I have to go through this alone.

(crying)

It's not completely true.

I'm going to talk

to Cass, I'm going,

I'm going to end it.

I stopped communicating

with people.

I'm afraid of what

they'll think of me

as I actually am.

I wanted to record a quick entry

before I fell asleep.

Cass let me borrow

Zelda for the weekend.

I called her.

That's why I'm so tired.

We spent the whole

day out at the park

and we talked for hours.

I told her what's

been going on with me.

She's known that

I've been in therapy

and she's known for

longer than that

that I'm

that I've struggled.

That I'm a little damaged.

But she didn't know...

(sighs)

It's good that I reached out.

I'm never alone,

even if I feel

that way sometimes.

I know that on a

reasonable level,

but emotionally I forget.

(acoustic guitar music)

By the one thing you love

Pull with the threads

Say I'm not letting go

But what is the world

That we cling to it's old

Did we fall up or down?

Once we were sure

But not anymore

You know what to do

Oh it's coming around

Still you are invest

'Cause you want

what comes next

So you (mumbles)

Thanks y'all, my

name's Mike O'Malley,

I'll be your entertainment

for at least the next hour.

I promise it'll be

relatively painless.

(voices talking over each other)

[Voiceover] It's Friday.

[Voiceover] I want wine.

It's a wine kind

of night for me.

Okay, okay, I think wine

is for other weeknights.

What's the best

shot and beer combo

I can get for 10 bucks?

They're on the board.

I was halfway out the woods

And things were looking good

A herd of goats and babies

And a fence made out of wood

And horticulture's

not my thing

But mercy me you

had a pretty garden

Hey.

Hi.

You're...

Margaret.

Writer, right?

Yeah.

Sometimes.

Yeah, Brett.

I remember.

Yep.

My wife is grabbing

a table in the back

if you wanna join.

It's gonna get pretty

slammed in here later.

I'm meeting a friend.

Gotcha.

Well, we're not on

a date or anything,

so we're meeting friends

too if you change your mind.

Okay.

You should totally hang.

(cheering)

Hi.

Hey, who are you?

This is Brett.

Hi.

Hi.

I was just inviting

Margaret to come join

me and my wife in the back.

A few other friends are coming.

Cool.

Let's do it.

Okay?

Sure.

Cool.

I'm gonna go put my sh*t down.

(murmuring)

Sure.

(cheers)

It's the first coat he

ever bought for himself

as an adult.

No it's not.

I bought the last

one you replaced

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