Dr. Mario or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Collapse

I wrote this essay to be performed live on The Racket reading series in October of 2020. I was really struggling with the prompt “Try To Stay Calm,” and in order to get through it, I allowed the essay to remain in a manic state with ideas popping in and out.

Let begin by saying I’m sorry. I’m not going to do a very good job explaining how I “try to stay calm.”

When I consulted a friend about how they “stay calm” they recommended meditation. I’ve tried meditation, I’ve done my best. I’ve practiced the whole “clearing my mind and bringing my consciousness into the present” thing, I’ve fully occupied the fuck out of my body, I’ve lived in the now. Inevitably the grainy black and white reruns of past trauma creep in to view, the slimy tentacles of the unknown future tighten their grip around my throat, and the “Now,” oh the blistering, howling “Now” envelopes me in it’s yawning void, and I feel myself begin to drown in the inky obsidian of nothingness. 

Again, I’m sorry. For a minute there I lost myself. 

When considering what might work for me, how I might “try to stay calm,” my first thought is “unconsciousness,” which is a tad hyperbolic but only a tad. To be completely honest “Try To Stay Calm” is a kind of a stressful prompt which is ironic I think but then again I am one of the millions of people who struggle understanding the meaning of irony. At this point I think that anyone who claims to know the true meaning is lying. Not to be a bitch or anything, I just don’t buy it. 

 The problem I’ve had with writing towards this prompt is that it feels like a “pass/fail” kind of situation. Suddenly my resolve is on trial. Like I’m supposed to tell you how I stay calm and if I don’t present an accurate method, I’ve somehow let you down. I am a Libra, we are notorious people pleasers, and as I approach my 35th birthday during a pandemic, in a state that has been on fire for several weeks, in a country that’s currently being ravaged by late stage capitalism and white supremacy, I must apologize. I’m afraid I am very rarely calm. Honestly, I’ve stopped trying.

That’s where Dr. Mario steps in. That’s right, I’m talking about Dr. Mario Mario, Master plumber, fantasy hero, rescuer of princesses, tennis pro, circuit racer, olympic medalist, and PhD? Doctor of plumbing? Or would that be civil engineering? Who knows. Did I google “can you get a doctorate in plumbing,” while working on this essay? I’ll never tell. While writing towards the prompt I took a break to play the 1990 classic NES game with my friend Hieu and I discovered that the cure for my modern anxiety is the blessed mechanical flow of bi-colored capsules tumbling down a digital screen into a bottle riddled with corresponding red, blue, and yellow viruses. Dr Mario is simple. Dr Mario is fair. Dr Mario makes sense. 

But wait, Dr. Mario can’t possibly keep me calm. Maybe Dr. Mario makes me numb but that can’t be what people mean when they say “stay calm.”

Outside my window while I write this the sky is a jaundiced yellow as ash rains down from above, tiny white flakes of burnt animals, plants, and homes, coating the leaves of the Split Leaf Philodendron in front of my apartment until it looks like the velum-y ghost of its former self. Fire season came early this year and still there are thousands who deny that climate change is an issue affecting the whole world. Everyone I know is struggling to keep themselves afloat as a mishandled pandemic keeps them separated from their support structures. It truly feels as though everything around me is collapsing and so in turn I too collapse into a smaller, denser version of myself on a daily basis.

I did it again. I’m not staying calm. Here I promise I can course correct. I want to help.

Not to worry, that’s when I turn to Chris Clairmont and Louise Simonson’s quintessential work on The Uncanny X-Men and the New Mutants. The X-Men aren’t numb, they’re pure concentrated feelings! When things get really rough all I have to do is retreat into the comforting embrace of 1980s mutant melodrama. In case you're wondering if the American political and economic landscapes have become better in any way since the 1980s, they haven’t! These mutant heroes struggle every issue with bigotry, hate, corrupt politicians, and super evil billionaires. The key difference is I’ve read all of these stories a dozen times, so I can try to stay calm in knowing exactly what’s going to happen. Knowing what’s going to happen protects me from that dastardly fiend: The Unknown. 

See, that’s not calm. I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry.

When stuck, I turn towards the definition of Calmness. Once again, I’m back in school trying to ferret out the correct answer rather than answering honestly because my honest answer might get me in trouble. Oh, how desperately I’ve tried to stay out of trouble but then trouble always finds me. When taken back to its definition, the idea of calm is all about absence. The lack of wind, the lack of movement, or intense feeling. I’ve come to the realization that for me calmness seems directly connected to numbness, a fact that I find troubling. The absence of thought and feeling couldn’t possibly be what they mean when using the word “calm,” that seems too...dead?

Whoa, wait a second. That’s not working. 

Shut up, stop writing, there’s always horror movies! I’m an October baby through and through. Hell, the kids in my old neighborhood called my mother the “Halloween Lady.” Horror films function like a sort of vaccine to panic. Or perhaps it’s exposure therapy. As I watch the spooky and the terrifying, I am placated by the idea that at least I’m not currently being stalked by an undead boogeyman or haunted by the ghost of the previous occupant of my apartment, so perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem. When I was a kid I used to fall asleep watching A Nightmare On Elm Street and I never had bad dreams like I do now. 

Again, I’m sorry. (This is a thing I do when I’m anxious, please understand that I’m not trying to let you down.) I keep avoiding the “Now,” but you have to understand that the “Now” has fangs and it’s hungry. I promise I’m here. I can be here. See, watch me being here. I’m not thinking of capsules that are guaranteed to eradicate the virus. I’m not politely feigning being present, biding my time before I can return to my comic books with their guarantees of resolution. I’m not imagining the comforting embrace of a horrific nightmare that I’m promised could never happen in real life. I’m here with you right now and I am trying my best to stay calm. Stay with me.