So I was going to write something about the current surreality of my day-to-day, but i got distracted....
helllloooo mister eastwood. why are you ancient again??
Friday, July 24, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
i get banged up alot, like a pinky toe.
Things are going okay, things will continue to get better; as they say in those self-help circles, we must keep comitting to recommit. Tell me-- am I approaching this from the wrong perspective? Should I stop listening to the affirmation of Aimee Mann, A Weather, and everyone else that sings like they are Sylvia Plath's distant relatives? Is it better to feel like you're not alone in your worries etc or is it best to believe you have none? Can you really trick yourself into getting better, or in the end will you keep coming back to the fundemental problems?
Actually I know the answer to that question- yes, you will keep coming back to them because problems do not merely vanish. They intensify the more they are ignored, like a bad infection, like a cavity... like a twinkie, like a twinkie. Scratch that last part. But for real, now, I don't know how to strike at the heart of it, I don't know HOW TO CHANGE IT, damnation, I don't know how! Doesn't it take a little outside help? Don't freakin' flowers need sun and cute watering cans with rust and polka dots, memphis? Yes, they do. All I want to do now is make the noises of frustration, that damn, no one is helping me, no one is picking me up and giving me what it is that I need to fix me. COLDPLAY, WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I WANT YOU?!?!!! But anyway, I am not upset as I write this, just annoyed, grumpy at myself for wanting change, mostly disgruntled that I don't know what to do next. Just "plugging away" is not appealing right now, can we change that? What the devil does that even mean, anyway? Plug away? As in keep plugging the dam, keep the water at bay, is that what that is? Finger in the dyke, hm? No thank you, I don't want to be a beaver [haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa bit of an entendre there. bad. but still]
Well, enough of that. What else?
I have found a semi routine these days. It is the life of a nomadic writer, and I both like and dislike it, if i may offer a riddle. I get up late (or at least, always later than I would like), I get all of my stuff together, I haul myself to the gym (sometimes) and then to the coffee shop. I stay all day, I write, I facebook, I write, I read email, I write, I submit, I organize shot lists, I beg people to help me feel fulfilled by working on projects with me. I have been somewhat productive, but I feel myself waning. Must not do that. Must hop back to the drawing board every day. Must make some money, please oh please. Must be a grand success.
Things are actually off to a good start. A story: Once I established a bit of resolve, back in June, I had a bad night, as referenced somewhat in my last whatchamacallit. I was dreadfully down and pissed off that I was down because things were meant to change, right? Right? So I was thinking ah, it's all been for naught. So the next day I slothed to my computer and checked the ole gmail only to find that the Whom It May Have Concerned was very interested in my meager offerings- hurrah! Published, me! Online, yes, noir story of four years ago, yes, but regardless this was encouragement! A publishing credit! 30 dollars! PRESTIGE- sort of. So back to the drawing board I went with great fervor because things are getting better, getting better all the time.
I have also made an important decision, one I know will get me into a scrape, probably, like every stupid bright idea I have, but here we are (sunset and camdennn): I am going to DO things. Things that are probably not advisable-- I am going to go places, and I am going to FIND ways to go there. I will not be restricted because I have been restricted for too long. For much of my childhood, for some reason or another, there were so many things that I knew I couldn't do. Things I could not attend, places I could not go, things I should not try. I just assumed that experience would chalk up once I got older just because I was getting old, but this has not happened.
Today, my father told my mother and my mother told me that I should not go to San Francisco now- I should go someday when I have money, when I have the means. Well, look here. I agree. Going now may not be satisfying because in my mind I will be thinking that I am spending money I do not have, or I will not spend money on things that I will regret not buying. I will be stressed at this fact, but I shouldn't be, because LOOK HERE- we never went anywhere, we never did anything. I have so few genuinely good memories of us doing anything, trying anything, enjoying ourselves. We did not go on travels, and Dory restricted us, money restricted us, mom's anxiety and dad's protectiveness and our mutual apprehension- natural and learned- kept us from participating in life. Goddammn it, how have I not played pool in my life? How have I not played party games, how have I not had childhood boyfriends and why can I not rollerskate? Why are my nicest family memories connected only to our moving from state to state and breaking down at strange truck stops with Elton John and Woody from Toy Story to keep us entertained? No, it wasn't tortorous, and it wasn't always like that- there was Disneyland and such. But still, I did not have a childhood. I am cool with that, because I think it made me concentrate on the things that were actually important, things like morality and knowledge and character and dynamics and caring for the other people in your life, but I still miss those experiences that everyone else seems to have had. Damnation, I am going to have them. I do not care if I put myself into even more debt-- it is worrisome, but aren't experiences more important? Isn't seeing life more important? Yes, a resounding yes, and so I will go to San Francisco, I will take my typewriter, I will wear flowers in my hair and I will be very happy to spend at least a little bit of the money I don't have on San Fran chocolate.
Freakin' yes.
Actually I know the answer to that question- yes, you will keep coming back to them because problems do not merely vanish. They intensify the more they are ignored, like a bad infection, like a cavity... like a twinkie, like a twinkie. Scratch that last part. But for real, now, I don't know how to strike at the heart of it, I don't know HOW TO CHANGE IT, damnation, I don't know how! Doesn't it take a little outside help? Don't freakin' flowers need sun and cute watering cans with rust and polka dots, memphis? Yes, they do. All I want to do now is make the noises of frustration, that damn, no one is helping me, no one is picking me up and giving me what it is that I need to fix me. COLDPLAY, WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I WANT YOU?!?!!! But anyway, I am not upset as I write this, just annoyed, grumpy at myself for wanting change, mostly disgruntled that I don't know what to do next. Just "plugging away" is not appealing right now, can we change that? What the devil does that even mean, anyway? Plug away? As in keep plugging the dam, keep the water at bay, is that what that is? Finger in the dyke, hm? No thank you, I don't want to be a beaver [haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa bit of an entendre there. bad. but still]
Well, enough of that. What else?
I have found a semi routine these days. It is the life of a nomadic writer, and I both like and dislike it, if i may offer a riddle. I get up late (or at least, always later than I would like), I get all of my stuff together, I haul myself to the gym (sometimes) and then to the coffee shop. I stay all day, I write, I facebook, I write, I read email, I write, I submit, I organize shot lists, I beg people to help me feel fulfilled by working on projects with me. I have been somewhat productive, but I feel myself waning. Must not do that. Must hop back to the drawing board every day. Must make some money, please oh please. Must be a grand success.
Things are actually off to a good start. A story: Once I established a bit of resolve, back in June, I had a bad night, as referenced somewhat in my last whatchamacallit. I was dreadfully down and pissed off that I was down because things were meant to change, right? Right? So I was thinking ah, it's all been for naught. So the next day I slothed to my computer and checked the ole gmail only to find that the Whom It May Have Concerned was very interested in my meager offerings- hurrah! Published, me! Online, yes, noir story of four years ago, yes, but regardless this was encouragement! A publishing credit! 30 dollars! PRESTIGE- sort of. So back to the drawing board I went with great fervor because things are getting better, getting better all the time.
I have also made an important decision, one I know will get me into a scrape, probably, like every stupid bright idea I have, but here we are (sunset and camdennn): I am going to DO things. Things that are probably not advisable-- I am going to go places, and I am going to FIND ways to go there. I will not be restricted because I have been restricted for too long. For much of my childhood, for some reason or another, there were so many things that I knew I couldn't do. Things I could not attend, places I could not go, things I should not try. I just assumed that experience would chalk up once I got older just because I was getting old, but this has not happened.
Today, my father told my mother and my mother told me that I should not go to San Francisco now- I should go someday when I have money, when I have the means. Well, look here. I agree. Going now may not be satisfying because in my mind I will be thinking that I am spending money I do not have, or I will not spend money on things that I will regret not buying. I will be stressed at this fact, but I shouldn't be, because LOOK HERE- we never went anywhere, we never did anything. I have so few genuinely good memories of us doing anything, trying anything, enjoying ourselves. We did not go on travels, and Dory restricted us, money restricted us, mom's anxiety and dad's protectiveness and our mutual apprehension- natural and learned- kept us from participating in life. Goddammn it, how have I not played pool in my life? How have I not played party games, how have I not had childhood boyfriends and why can I not rollerskate? Why are my nicest family memories connected only to our moving from state to state and breaking down at strange truck stops with Elton John and Woody from Toy Story to keep us entertained? No, it wasn't tortorous, and it wasn't always like that- there was Disneyland and such. But still, I did not have a childhood. I am cool with that, because I think it made me concentrate on the things that were actually important, things like morality and knowledge and character and dynamics and caring for the other people in your life, but I still miss those experiences that everyone else seems to have had. Damnation, I am going to have them. I do not care if I put myself into even more debt-- it is worrisome, but aren't experiences more important? Isn't seeing life more important? Yes, a resounding yes, and so I will go to San Francisco, I will take my typewriter, I will wear flowers in my hair and I will be very happy to spend at least a little bit of the money I don't have on San Fran chocolate.
Freakin' yes.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
amazement
You know, not to look at things as simply as my Bible-Belt Loving mother does, but for lack of better terms I must say: the stronger my resolve to change or do something good, the stronger I am struck down, Brought Down, I suspect, by something beyond my power, something that's got It's Eye on me and knows how to affect me.
In the past week I've made huge leaps and bounds in my life towards my betterment and my mental health and my relationships. But in my resolve to change and keep full speed ahead I've been stopped with urgings to slow down, to fall down, to relapse. I have been steadily down for many months. This week, following my resolve, I have felt decidedly suicidal. I have no reason for this, and as I am too rational it is of COURSE not a threat to me, but it IS amazing to me that it has struck out at me now. Why now? Nothing bad has happened. Quite the opposite. All quiet on the homefront. Depression is such a fucking monster.
One thing that calms me down when I get like this is reading about other people who have suffered. It's good to know someone can relate, someone could put my own feelings into better-formed sentences than I could even begin to attempt. Elizabeth Wurtzel, the notorious bitch and depression poster girl, happens to be unbelievably relateable. Everything I've read of hers resonates. Amazing that reading about something so depressing can have the opposite effect.
Right now I am very tired of being alone. I would like Elizabeth or Sylvia or Susannah or someone else completely different to come and pat me on the shoulder and say... well. I don't know.
I wrote the following while in "a mood". I fell asleep before I could finish it.
I always thought when I finally did it I'd make it look like an accident. Ultimately, I kind of wanted something more dramatic and obvious-- images of me hanging from a noose in the corner of an attic somewhere were hauntingly horrible and entertaining. Drowning myself in my own bathtub. I always thought the easiest, kindest way to go would be the sleeping pills bit, though to help oneself along you should slit the wrists- not across the street but down the road, maybe just a little bit, just to expedite the journey. Just a little bit. A part of me wanted to do that, so people would know. The typical "dramatic effect" idea, that show 'em all concept. That's weird, I think, because there's really no one I wanted to show. I was not particularly bitter at/with anybody. I guess I just wanted to make my point that I was capable of it, that I was serious, that I had that darkness in me. That I was not a joke, that this pain was not imaginary. I wanted them to know that, I wanted myself to know that.
ugh. i am being tough and telling this to take a hike, but right now i feel spectacularly unsatisfied.
In the past week I've made huge leaps and bounds in my life towards my betterment and my mental health and my relationships. But in my resolve to change and keep full speed ahead I've been stopped with urgings to slow down, to fall down, to relapse. I have been steadily down for many months. This week, following my resolve, I have felt decidedly suicidal. I have no reason for this, and as I am too rational it is of COURSE not a threat to me, but it IS amazing to me that it has struck out at me now. Why now? Nothing bad has happened. Quite the opposite. All quiet on the homefront. Depression is such a fucking monster.
One thing that calms me down when I get like this is reading about other people who have suffered. It's good to know someone can relate, someone could put my own feelings into better-formed sentences than I could even begin to attempt. Elizabeth Wurtzel, the notorious bitch and depression poster girl, happens to be unbelievably relateable. Everything I've read of hers resonates. Amazing that reading about something so depressing can have the opposite effect.
Right now I am very tired of being alone. I would like Elizabeth or Sylvia or Susannah or someone else completely different to come and pat me on the shoulder and say... well. I don't know.
I wrote the following while in "a mood". I fell asleep before I could finish it.
I always thought when I finally did it I'd make it look like an accident. Ultimately, I kind of wanted something more dramatic and obvious-- images of me hanging from a noose in the corner of an attic somewhere were hauntingly horrible and entertaining. Drowning myself in my own bathtub. I always thought the easiest, kindest way to go would be the sleeping pills bit, though to help oneself along you should slit the wrists- not across the street but down the road, maybe just a little bit, just to expedite the journey. Just a little bit. A part of me wanted to do that, so people would know. The typical "dramatic effect" idea, that show 'em all concept. That's weird, I think, because there's really no one I wanted to show. I was not particularly bitter at/with anybody. I guess I just wanted to make my point that I was capable of it, that I was serious, that I had that darkness in me. That I was not a joke, that this pain was not imaginary. I wanted them to know that, I wanted myself to know that.
ugh. i am being tough and telling this to take a hike, but right now i feel spectacularly unsatisfied.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
i am tortured, ever tortured.
because i have an urge to declare my love for musicians who don't care about me. ah tom waits, does not the fact that i love you mean anything in this world?
writing agenda for the next couple of weeks:
1. reconstruct rusty. adhere to screenwriting rules. adjust structure a bit and tweak dialogue a tad. submit to final draft by the 1st. party.
2. work on new script. hurrah. finish.
3. reconstruct rhymes with orange. make amazing shot list. assemble places. organize. do not sleep through existence.
4. look at one scholarship thingy per day.
5. write on fantastic novel.
6. at end of each week, send off various stories to various places. hurrahhhh..
7. write some excellent emails
just keep swimming...
writing agenda for the next couple of weeks:
1. reconstruct rusty. adhere to screenwriting rules. adjust structure a bit and tweak dialogue a tad. submit to final draft by the 1st. party.
2. work on new script. hurrah. finish.
3. reconstruct rhymes with orange. make amazing shot list. assemble places. organize. do not sleep through existence.
4. look at one scholarship thingy per day.
5. write on fantastic novel.
6. at end of each week, send off various stories to various places. hurrahhhh..
7. write some excellent emails
just keep swimming...
Monday, May 4, 2009
can't do right tonight
I am fascinated by the middle class.
I also had screenings today.
Gotta pack
Gotta move out.
hurrah.
I also had screenings today.
Gotta pack
Gotta move out.
hurrah.
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