If you live with me for longer than a month, you realize

A) I like to sleep alot.
B) I hate to wash dishes.
C) I always talk about writing but never seem to do it.
D) About every few weeks I binge on Flaming Cheetos and some kind of dairy product (but not milk, which I hate) to wash it down with.
E) I shower constantly but never seem to brush my hair.
F) I often parade around with a blanket cape. It's just a thing.

that would be something, to meet you in the pouring rain, mama.

So. Last week I sort of made the commitment to try really hard to stay positive, push for change, and search for direction. I haven't been consistent, but that's part of the struggle. Gettin' back on that horse, and having the presence of mind to get back on the horse quickly, rather than sleeping and crying for 3 more months. Anyway, I'm trying. I really need to make major changes. Mainly on the employment front, but also just internally, as previously discussed. I am so defeatist, and so ready to feel inferior. I go through phases of pretty intense insecurity. I suppose everyone does, but mine can really overtake me. I'm pleased to know that I don't overwhelm people with it anymore. That used to be a problem. I guess now I can just call a spade a spade.

Self-deprecation is good in some ways, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get past the habit, however it is ultimately not the best attribute to lug around with me. True self-deprecation, anyway. I think there is a kind of deprecation that can serve to improve self-esteem in a sense, so long as it's not pointed or harsh. The Jason Bateman, Michael Cera, Robert Downey sort. It's more to do with knowing who you are and being honest about it rather than being afraid that someone is going to identify a flaw of yours and therefore wanting to beat everyone to the punch. Or just hating yourself in general. I am guilty of all of the aforementioned uses.

Anyway. I'm challenging myself to see if I can stick to running, writing a short story, and reading a chapter of the Bible each day. Oh, and drinking water. That would be good. Also, wrapping up projects, applying EVERYWHERE and editing and submitting my stories and scripts to various things.

I finally cleaned my room today, so that's something.

In other life sort of happening news, alot of friends have had their birthdays recently. The most fun I've had in a while was my friend Kate's birthday. The youngun' turned 20, and her parents and half of her siblings were scattered about, so I spent the night before at her house and we dined on store-bought pizza and white wine (not the best combination, but it was all there was, truly) by candlelight (yes, this is what single girls do). 10 minutes till her birthday, we played Birthday by The Beatles and danced around like madmen for the duration, then went outside to enjoy the remainder of our wine and the evening air before midnight struck. Then the old lady fell asleep while watching Yellow Submarine (gasp. i may never trust her again). The next day I snuck downstairs to put up the birthday sign that another friend and I had worked on (Kate's family has a hand-made birthday sign tradition. like giant birthday cards). Afterwards, we tromped to muffins and coffee and downtown thrift store shopping (I procured a coat and outrageously odd shoes that... oddly match. I am Doris Day!). After that, we sauntered to The Old Vienna, a German resturant that we used to go to long ago when our group of friends all happened to attend German classes at VC. And after that, what ho. There was ice cream and old friends and shenanigans, but finally we all ended up back at Kate's house with creative drinks. We all sat around chit-chatting and generally feeling happy until Jon fetched his guitar and started playing Bowie songs (the theme of the day)-- we all lept into action and marched to bring out the cake-- a glorious cake with a picture of Bowie in his sequined jumper on it (dreamt up by myself). That really was a fine moment, all of us singing "STARMAN" instead of the birthday song and she blowing out the candles with glee. It was one of my happier moments, anyway. The whole night was generally fantastic-- we just ended up with cake, drinks, toasts, and lots of songs. We essentially sang all night long, silly voices that we all had (exception of Megan). Magic. Marvelous. I will think of it fondly for some time.

Jon also recently had his birthday, which only Megan was able to celebrate with him as he was working in LA that day. However I did bequeath to him a nice little photo album intended for his collection of disorganized photos. On the first few pages I included some to get him started-- some nice pictures from old times. Those were nice to sift through. I have many on my computer, and looking at Old Me just reminded me that I was actually quite nice-looking, and not fat as I repeatedly told myself I was. Of course, now I truly AM fat again... curses. Anyway. These are encouraging for me-- all I really need do is get back to THAT. I don't have to be skinny. Just normal-sized. That would be nice. I need to get some sort of weight loss plan going... I am open to suggestions, other than the obvious. I was large as a teen up until 16, then I lost a TON as soon as we moved here. By graduation I looked GOOD. And then I got all depressed in 2007 and I haven't made it back since. I don't know how to find that old, motivated mindset anymore, I just kind of feel dead in that way, about alot of things. Sigh. Look at how cute I was:

dang it all. i'll get there. that's what i mean-- that's what i have to keep saying. no more of this "fuck it all." you'll just get there.

My writing, too. I've been much better this past week at taking advantage of the fact that I'm unemployed. All writers are unemployed for forever anyway, aren't they? Yeah. They are. Still, sometimes I just can't handle this moneyless existence. I can't handle asking people to help me financially. I can't handle being even vaguely thought of as someone who's a bit of a loser. I keep thinking my non-immediate family must think that of me, mainly because they know I'm poor and unattached. All of my cousins except for the youngest (boy) are married now. Four of them have children now. Not that that is the end-all be-all of success, however I do believe that
1) Family and companionship, if desired, is definitely some measure of success.
2) Those who have it will usually deem those that have not as unlovable in some way. They either understand or they understand too well. Both are frightening.
3) If you are going to be "unlovable" as defined by other people, then you must at least be successful somehow. In my case, I should be a wunderkind. Sadly, I am just a semicreative person. No fireworks here.

Going it completely alone is a rough business. I like to think that being an artist basically instills you with a constant feeling of loneliness, which is why you have to produce constantly. I suppose I'm alright with that. Nevertheless, as I have said recently, going it alone during tough times is... tough. Especially very lately. I feel like I really need someone who can relate but who is also a bit stronger than I am.

Patricia Clarkson, the actress, when she spoke to us at LMU said something that I thought rang really true- that we as artists trying to "make it" should surround ourselves with people who GET IT, who will support us emotionally and appreciate us, who will encourage us, who will beat us up when we're being defeatist or ridiculous. Not to say that the relationship should revolve around the artist, obviously, but it's good to make friends with other artists or with those who have an appreciation. I feel tremendously on my own. And I feel tremendously selfish. I want someone to listen to ME talk about my ideas without my [insecure] feeling that that someone has a stopwatch behind their back.

OKAY that turned into a rant, what I started with originally was the fact that I need to be more positive. I'll get there. Something'll happen. I need to be that way about my writing as well as my personal development and every other bloody thing. As for being lonely, I don't suppose lonely, insecure people attractthose that might appreciate them (and i'm not even talking about just soulmates here).

Right now I'm looking into finding a venue and getting the a-ok from the publishing company to adapt and put on Franny and Zooey as a play. It would be a great outlet for me, and if it turns out as I would like, a tribute to my most favorite book and its author. I'm currently brainstorming about a creative way to tackle it.

Back to the old drawing board. And I say that in the most positive way.

i am bipolar,

when i'm up late at night and not super productive, i can't help but seep into a dark mood. i've been reading old emails and blogs from a rough time ago and its as though i'm back there again. what i wouldn't give to go back and to know to release my talons, that while it may seem worth it now for the support it may have been best for me to have simply walked away. i realize now that i was in a defining stage, a pretty impressionable stage where i was looking for people who could confirm or deny who i hoped that i was or might be. if i had only had enough awareness to stand by myself then perhaps i wouldn't have to've groveled. i have this mental image of me breaking my own heart, throwing it on the floor and then realizing i have to walk across said floor to get out. so i do, and the pieces of the glass heart get stuck in my skin. i don't say that to be dramatic. i just hate how i feel about myself, perhaps more than i hate my real self much of the time, and while i guess i've been working on that all my life there was a window of hope that was open for awhile. but it got slammed shut, and i've spent the last two or three years trying to get the fucking thing open again.

maybe i'm ayn rand's least favorite character, maybe i'm the person who thrives on other people, maybe i'm a vampire and i drain them to keep myself alive, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. oh why don't i fit? what a silly child my parents have.

in a monty python interview, john cleese says of graham chapman that he was BROKEN, he was DEFECTIVE. he needed to be sent back and fixed. that's how i feel when i'm like this, and i just wonder if there was a chance that i could have been better if i had just made the choice to walk away.

on writing and happiness. i suppose.

I WANT TO WRITE

but i can't even do that right now.

my mind is so full of people; souls storming the gates to be free, but when i pull the latch all they do is stand there and stare- surprised. like any life-long prisoner they don't know what to do once they stare freedom in the face. where will they live? who will they love? most of all- what will be their method for walking out the gate?

sometimes i think i am wasted potential, sometimes i think i runneth over with genius or magic that must be shared, and sometimes, like now, i think that potential was just a dream. a pleasant thought to cling to in order to get through the days. yes, there will always be someone better than you. but what if you're really no good at all? then where will all these souls be? that's the most horrific of all-- would they be better off in someone else's prison, do you think? would someone else be better equipped to take their hands and help them down the steps and into the garden or the spaceship or the courtroom or the river or the studio or where-ever they belong?

today i was so depressed. i reached a point where i just wanted to cease to be myself. and i hate myself for moments like that because i think it's brought on by how we live- we are so selfish. i don't mean children die in africa while we eat mcdonalds and complain about our parents selfish, but how often we turn inwards rather than to our fellow man selfish. i was so sad that i cannot be who i want to be, who i feel i need to be, and that i constantly destroy or am destroyed and all it takes for me to rebuild is me standing up, but i don't want to stand up. but i do. but i don't do it. and oh, i feel so sorry for myself. i have "PROBLEMS". and everyone else, especially the needier, more emotional, sometimes more insightful ones have their problems, and we all have these problems and no one understands us and OH we are so unhappy. these problems are made only worse by how we live, the pigeon holes we are fitted into while we are simultaneously being told that we are individuals and therefore meant to be misunderstood. No one gets us, and at the same time pretty much everyone in America is depressed. Reason says we should at least have something in common, but we are determined not to see it. again, we do not- i do not- reach out. we have forgotten we belong to each other; by trying to care for others our own pain will decrease-- in fact, this depression, this pain which we feel is so individual and so hard to understand to everyone else through empathy for another person will become universal. i know i need to work on understanding that, but i don't know how right now, and i still feel so sad! sometimes i think i was merely cut out to be like this. i'm having alot of struggle with understanding my own power to change, i suppose.

but oh, i want to, i want to write. maybe freeing them will make me happier, or maybe doing them justice, having some satisfaction with their existence, will be the only thing to make me satisfied.

TMI, the world screams, but I don't care: horrible, horrible cramps today. Curse Eve, curse babies, curse the female species. This suffering is entirely uncalled for in light of the fact that I probably will not have children. And even if I did--- years of monthly pain, courtship (ie years of awkwardness and an expensive wedding), a ridiculous 9-month pregnacy (huge feet, huge self, morning sickness) all for what will probably be an ugly baby?

I'm being silly now, but really. Come on. They weren't always painful, it seems like just this year they've moved from uncomfortable to unbelievable. People don't understand it if they haven't experienced it-- it's as though a tiny steel fist has grabbed ahold of all of your lower abdominal organs and is squeezing them from the middle. Because of the source of pain being essentially in your stomach you assume you can breath and that will change it, but no. You think a shift in position could make it more tolerable- like a stomach ache. But no. You think relieving yourself will help. But no. Today it was so painful I was sweating and very near throwing up. Eventually I popped 2 tylenol and 3 ib profins-- not reccommended, but finally did the trick. Or maybe it was my plea to God to make the suffering stop. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible to be under strain like that in a house that is not your own-- though going through it in a dorm with a clueless room-mate was also not entirely comfortable. UGH. STUPID.

So someone in my life needs to get married. I have a fever and the only prescription is more weddings. This will also be a plus if I am made godmother to all the little tots that result from said weddings... twill save this period-sufferer from providing myself with my own children. Everyone wins.

So a few months ago I did a happy exercize, listing 5 good things. wir beginnen again.

1. Pride
Yes. Pride comes before a fall, and I am aware of the scrutiny that I will have to handle after this statement, but it has just occurred to me and it has made me very happy, again, especially given my stance on remaining single: i think i have had a good hand in helping people i love. In the past it has been very hard for me to see any positive effect that I could have on anyone. Surely I have been the only person to benefit from friendship, surely I am the one that needs. I have been accused of being needy and weak before, and I have taken it to heart. That is a painful idea to face, but I don't think it's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. The details of that are for another time, but my point is that I have given alot of myself and I think I have left somewhat of a good impression on the recievers. I think those that know me have grown more honest because of me, I think they have grown more affectionate through me. I think more people can say "I love you" now than they could before, and not worry, not be concerned that it is not a cool or manly thing to say. I think more people can talk about themselves with ease, I think more people can read aloud and not worry so much about messing up. I think more people know not to identify a tear with a child. I think more people can be comfortable with themselves, safe in the knowledge that someone loves the daylights out of them.

2. Classes start soon.
I am not relishing my return to the fake-Catholic land, but I am psyched, psyched to the max to be educated again. 2 film studies (Irish and Women in Film... rad), 1 philosophy, 2 screenwriting classes (directing- ie production!!, and writing the sitcom, oh no), and 1 english class (chaucer! all chaucer!! all the time!!). Not to mention a job, volunteering, going to the gym, joining CLC (finally) and the possibility of an internship. I need to find a church, too. I think maybe I will be better this year about going to class...

3. Lack of depression
I don't know if it's because I haven't had the chance, but it seems as if this summer that I've slowly, subtley become less prone to collapse. Maybe I was right back in June after all. I'm still no good at getting up, no good at anxiety, and somewhat lax about hygeine (comes from understanding your own level of attractiveness. a difficult reality when spending time around friends who are 10's while you remain a 3... but wait this is a good list..). I did have a random outburst of emotion at an uncalled for moment, but I think I'm going to be OK.

4. I went to San Francisco.
I have to spare the details of it here because it was a pretty stressful trip for me, but good lord. What a wonderful city. I would like to live there for awhile. It's so alive, but it's not like LA. It's not crudely made, it's historic and beautiful and bridged. All LA has to offer is Hollywood, and even that is grimy and cold in many ways.

5. Sadly I have run out of time. I will think of another good thing or perhaps five more later. Sleep now.