someday we'll be drinking with the seldom-seen kid...

So my room-mate is moving out this week. We haven't had problems or anything- she's friends with a girl down the hall who just had HER room-mate move out on her, and since my roomie and her friend are going to live together NEXT semester off-campus they thought it'd be a good way to prepare. Moving in together, that is.

So what does this mean? This means I get 226 to myself, baby.

The other night at rehearsal I practiced my "big scene" for the first time outside with the other actors, completely off-book and I sucked. Unless I was better than I thought I was. But I thought I was damn awful. It's so hilarious how one can build up an image of themselves in their own minds and once they begin the process of actualizing it-- well, it doesn't always work out. In my defense.... I was going on 2 hours of sleep (strange thing-- I went to bed at 5 and woke up at 7 feeling as if I just couldn't sleep any longer, so I just got up... whereas most times it's me going to bed at 1 and feeling like I can't get up until almost 11, wtf), not very much food, I hadn't been to Fr. Grant's rehearsals since we had moved outside, and I had no freaking idea how the staging was going to work (we weren't even rehearsing where we were going to perform... confusing). Still. I really thought I had my lines down and that I could pull it off, but as I started to speak I realized I sounded TERRIBLE. Placeless. I had no clue who the eff this guy is- strong, emotional, crafty- or just sad?- my voice sounded incredibly flat (though i had been in the cold doing nothing but watching them rehearse for 3 hours) and all of a sudden I was putting inflections on syllables I had consciously chosen beforehand to avoid. The worst part was everyone was not only present to witness it, they were held up by my error. Oh woe. Been awhile since I was embarrassed.

I was pretty much kicking myself for the rest of the night (though I had other extremely emotional things going on that day-- funny, also, how I could cry at the drop of a hat ALL DAY-- two hours sleep, mind you) yet when it came to my scene I was emotionless as a stone. Anyway, I felt horrible for the rest of the night, but come this morning I was refreshed. Rededicated to the whole thing and glad to have something that will iron me out and stretch me in ways that I hadn't really planned on. I opted to do this so that I could prove to myself that I am a multi-talented person, that I could just have more in my life to show for my existence. You know. "What, second semester Junior year? I was in a play!" And yes. I wanted to be different, I wanted to prove myself to other people who seem so quick to classify me as unworthy and uninteresting (my fault, as I don't seek their attention but somehow resent their disinterest-but still). But that's not what this is going to be, apparently. This going to be... a learning experience. DAMMIT!! Who knew? Anyway, on the one hand I'm pissed that I'm not just a natural (like it seemed I was once) but on the other... and ultimately... I'm glad overall and I'm very motivated to do this learnin'.

Lately I've reignited my appreciation for Grounds for Divorce, an Elbow song that was pretty popular last year after it was in Burn After Reading. I liked it and all but this week I CANNOT GET ENOUGH.

What else?

So far school's been okay. Great at moments, not so at others. Screenwriting-wise I've learned that the quirky comedy thing probably isn't going to work so well for me in the long run- it'll be alright for the shorts and I'd really like to have a sense of humor present in everything I write, but overall I think I'm the most interested in writing fairly dark, serious dramas. I like the tone of the classic films and darker, grey sort of subjects keep me more on task. There's alot to explore there. Though I wish I could balance the two- one About A Boy this year, one No Country for Old Men the next, I don't think I quite have that capability. All this to say, I'm trying my hand at comedy and my screenwriting teacher has a very broad sense of it- she's wonderful, but her direction is taking me somewhat away from what I'm seeking to express in my story. I really, really like the story but I don't know if I'm fit to tell it- or funny enough.

Been dealing with doubt in a very weird form- distrust of everlasting love. When feeling what I perceive to be its absence I begin to doubt it's existence. Not concretely, and... I mean, I believe technically in its existence, or that I should, but I don't FEEL it as I tell myself I should. Also, I know where it comes from- a genuine dislike for myself, currently the root of all of my issues (issues? yes. I have actually regressed in the past month. terribly. I spent 4 days in bed at one point, and I can't even put into writing the sort of thoughts that kept me up at night talking to myself like a crazy person. but that is another story). But still, this doubt becomes very pervasive... I have spent alot of time just seeking comfort as I've been told I can, but I feel the equivalent of a spiritual cold shoulder. Why, when I need it so much, is warmth absent? And the wheels churn. I don't have an answer to that- my guess is there's something internally at work preventing the peace that I'm looking for- but my friend did say something to me in regards to my doubts and God's expression of love. It's something that's definitely been discussed, but I don't suppose it ever sunk in for me: God expresses his love and insures our comfort by giving us loved ones. By providing us with friends and family and sometimes even strangers he gives us a piece of Himself and a method of cheer and consolation every day- even when these people are not about their presence and thoughts of them remain. IN THIS WAY (preacher man speak) we are provided for and loved.

Which is an excellent thought. On the other hand. I don't feel that in my current state that I have too much of that going on... most of the people that I felt made life livable are pretty far away from me- not just physically- so I suppose it makes sense that their absence would lead me to doubt- but eff. It does not make life pleasant sometimes.

On that note, I've been thinking quite a bit about love and relationships and whatnot. The other night I had a quiet epiphany about the subject, which I will put into the immortal text of the blogosphere once I've formulated an appropriate description of it, but I will say this little thought: I do think I'll be "alone" for most of my life- that is, not partnered. This is because of my clamhood and my self-dislike and, let's face it, I'm not pretty. Never was, and I could never fool anyone for an extended period of time into thinking otherwise. Pity party aside, I think I can accept this if I don't think about it too much-- but if this is the case I think what is desperately necessary is platonic male companionship in general. No-- not creepily, as some sort of boyfriend/husband REPLACEMENT-- you know, the guy friend who's essentially used as a romantic/chastely sexual character in one's mind without it being too clear in one's actions (ie flirtatious objects of projection). No, I just think true manly company is essential, at least to me. It reminds me of the wholeness of us as the human race and the goodness that can be found in figures that I can't seem to help finding pretentious or intimidating in theory or image. My guy friends, few as they really were (the close ones) have not been in my life so much lately, and for some reason interaction with the opposite sex on this campus is too painfully postured for my functionality. This must change.

Today, I was walking in U-hall and fell down a frozen (nonworking) escalator. I gashed my knee. I would have laughed, because I usually do at my ridiculousness, but coming after my rehearsal last night I was very quick to hop up and carry on. If I were watching me, however, falling forward then down an ESCALATOR I would have laughed.

I GOT SOUL BUT I'M NOT A SOLDIER!

My Prod 200 class has been really interesting... I can't tell whether or not I'm any good at what I'm doing, but I think I do have an eye. I got an A on my first project, which I didn't think was going to be very impressive. Though I have to say when we watched it in class, projected onscreen all big and with the music all loud, it looked really beautiful to me (and I got alot of positive response). For my second project I hatched a plan to do a silent film- in the spirit of the real silent films- and thus grabbed Laura Mueller, she of the adorable face, to do my bidding. I haven't edited it yet, but I think it's going to be pretty cute. I also filmed something with Kate, she of the beautiful blue eyes, which could turn out very interesting if it's ever completed, and still intend on drowning Ophelia one of these days in preparation for a big script I plan to write on the subject one day. My final for the class is going to be a love story about a shy record store clerk (jon of the golden flecks) and a girl who is terribly hard of hearing. Very O. Henry cliche, but I'm excited.

To wrap up:

bothering me: doubt of God's love, essentially. Struggle with self-dislike. Homelessness (a topic, along with the concept of Family, that I would like to go on about ad infinitum.. and probably will eventually). My lack of get-up- but I think that's changing.

good: Yeah- it's changing. I'm getting better. Remember that epiphany I mentioned? Emotionally, things seem strangely clear on a few subjects that have been somewhat murky as of late and I'm very glad. Also, in the face of feeling a little loveless I've been pleased at my capacity for love and that I have been able to help some people out recently as best I could.

I GOT RINGO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am at my best when creative. I feel so much more purposeful.

And, finally, a quote that has given my existence meaning this evening:

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”

C.S. Lewis was one of the most incredible insights in the history of the world, in my humble opinion.

Goodnight moon.

between march 22nd and the 23rd something changed.

And then her heart exploded, and love went everywhere. It dripped from the ceiling, soaked into the floor, stained the curtains. it ran into the street, richocheted from the buildings, flooded the beaches, enveloped all of them in its permanence; love love love.

i sense it most late at night

i miss you.
in the words of holden caufield, never tell anyone anything. as soon as you do you start missing everyone

[there's an archway between wings of mckay, where the door is. it's about five paces or something. there's a daycare out towards the parking lot, and every other day the kids get taken out on a stroll on the campus. going by mckay is first, so the archway is very exciting. they think it's a tunnel and when they go under it they make as much noise as possible to hear the echo (though there's not really one). so around 10:30 many mornings one hears a group of little voices going "LALALALALA!" it was annoying as hell at first, but I look forward to it now.]

crying jag today

In order for me to be honest with myself, I have to be honest with someone else.

Books Read Since Christmas

go cry about it, why don't you

Today is the wettest, dreariest, most beautiful, most tragic looking day I've seen in a long while. It rained a bit while I was in Ventura over break, but not like this. Here, from my dorm-room window, the sky seems so much bigger than it does in Ventura, and thus so much cloudier, darker. The rain is the sort that blows with the winds- that sideways rain that's gonna get ya no matter what you do, rendering umbrellas- even cute green ones direct from Ireland with clovers all over it- useless. The buildings look older and more surreal on days like today; that have more character than usual. I want to talk to them about everything that they've seen- as I was climbing the steps today I wanted to ask them how old they were. How many students have marched up and down them, which one person in all of their history has walked them the most and why. This is a day to tuck oneself up and not participate in life, this is a day of observation. It makes me feel content, in a sense, but there is an edge of despair. Not a fully realized one, but there is a concious, very aware feeling all of this atmosphere gives me. It's the contemplation that this, this huge brooding sky is what sadness looks like. While it gives me a dream of possibility it represents the blues, essentially. Didn't the clouds appear when Jesus died? Didn't it storm? Do you suppose there was a rainbow after all that? Doubtful.

Yesterday I did alot of reading about certain writers that I've had a curiosity or admiration towards for a long time but never thought to research them. Oftentimes I regret researching them. Their lives are edgey and troubled, and they never look how I want them to. Well, I suppose they look fine, but their expression is so rarely right in my mind. Chuck Palaniuk is the only one who suits my imagination- except for the fact that he is apparently gay, and mad about it. He's the type of gay that you call homosexual, you refer to their boyfriend as their "partner" and continue on with life. If you mention anything verboten to him he WILL probably bite your nose off and feed your sexual organs to dogs or something. Sounds like him. Jonathan Safran Foer is one that I think I could be friends with, maybe. One of the few writers out there I suppose I could bond with (well, he and Sofia Coppola. Maybe Diablo Cody, but probably not). His outlook is something I seem to understand, though I can't relate to him as a person. He's soft-spoken, which I like, and though he takes his whimsicality seriously he knows that he's somewhat different from the other types of whimsy. And that's fine.

I also read some about Ellis. He is gay. I find that interesting and weird. I read about Hemingway and his endless stream of shock treatments, about Fitzgerald and his marriage issues (Zelda) and how his wife made him tone and adjust many of his short stories so that they'd be more marketable. I don't know what to think about that.

I've been thinking more about writing, and I can't figure it out. I really want to be an essential writer. I want to write truly great pieces. Not really for me- I've considered that a good deal, what my motivations are etc, and I think so far as selfish encouragement goes I'm more drawn to expressing myself in order to be understood. I'm glad of this- I mean it honestly when I say I don't really set my sights on high praise for what I churn out. I don't want to be a great writer so that I might be esteemed- I would like to be esteemed, but as a person, not a writer. And everyone wants that, of course.

But back to topic. Essential writing. I want to accomplish it. I want to say everything. I want to be a powerful voice and a tool and yes, dammit, make the world a better place but doing what I can with what I can. I know I can't bring about world peace, or drag someone to God, or change someone's mind when they've made a solid decision, but I can make the world MORE peaceful, point someone towards Higher Things. I can- ideally- leave an impression on someone that will alter their perceptions for the better. I don't necessarily have the desire to uplift anyone's mood- I couldn't if I tried anyway- but I have the desire to lift up their thoughts the way great literature has propelled me.

Fitzgerald published This Side of Paradise by the time he was 23. Two more years left.