i didn't write in my journal last night. instead, i lied down in my bed, after watching about 2/3s of rebel without a cause.
it was one of those nights when you think "ok, if i fall asleep NOW, i will get 4 hours of sleep," as if that will magically cure you of your insomnia. i used to get insomnia all the time. i'd lie awake for hours, damning the inevitable day that was awaiting me at school. if only i spent those hours reading or writing or watching movies even, i'd be a much smarter lass than i am now.
the one thing that sticks out from yesterday, was my dad. he, after that breakdown we had, has been more tabula rosa about me. instead of this habitual rapport, defined by lazy convenience, and cliche conversation, he seems to willfully try to allow the unexpected to be spoken about.
he looked so vulnerable. he sat down and asked me if he'd be good at improv. i told him he would. he has always wanted to act. he loves making people laugh. he'd be good at some truthful, high-quality comedy. i told him we'd take a class at the magnet theatre together, with armando diaz. my mom laughed upon hearing this, as she does to most people who exert any type of interest in that which is atypical for themself. fuck her. he should. i'd die a happier woman knowing i took an acting class with my dad. what a supportive, kind man he is. i wish i had been better to him in the past.
the one realization i had today though is, better late than never.
we went to hollywood video last night, where i rented rebel..., and he stared at the classics section for quite sometime. "i have seen this, this, this... my god, i've seen them all.... what a wasted life." my dad has a feel of a woody allen film.
today i woke up, half of me happy that i slept at all, half of me damning myself for having to lug myself back into work after my hung-over induced hiatus. the day went quickly.
i ran into my 3rd grade teacher who recognized me. she was my least favorite teacher from elementary school, but i made conversation with here nonetheless. no use to hold grudges because she picked up my messy desk over her 4'11" frame, slamming all its contents on the ground, and forcing me to clean it up during recess. it's one of my most vivid memories of middletown village though.
we talked. she told me updates on people i went to school with, as i did her. she sang my dad's praises, as most women do. they think he's so nice. they're right.
everett also came into my work. "becky, i just paid $45 to see a psychic and she told me that the reason amadeo (his lover in rome) didn't see me before i left rome, was because he couldn't deal with the emotional impact of not seeing me, and it was his way of dealing. he texted me goodbye, because he couldn't deal with saying it in person."
everett takes psychics so damn seriously, that it would be like condemning someone's faith in religion, if I werent to laugh at him.
she told me to go find my passion and follow it. Wow, Everett. What a shocker. As opposed to what? Finding your passion and then doing everything humanly possible NOT to follow it. Or how about just not finding a passion at all, and becoming an apathetic person with no reason for living?
i took it seriously, despite these sarcastic thoughts streaming through my mind, and said the psychic might be right. he knows i think they're quacks, so there's no use in me ruining his fun by reiterating that. i am more or less glad people come to me about stuff they're excited about, however far-fetched it may be, and i revel in it with them. i used to squash. squashing is no fun.
my uncle, a few weeks ago, read me poetry he wrote about this woman he met in las vegas. she has a live-in boyfriend. from the sound of it, he is attempting to buy her love with vacations, jewelery, etc. it's not working. but i still listened. if they ask my opinion, i'll be candid. no need to be debby downer about it though.
ummm, so i came home and saw moira. we talked movies. she's so excitable when it comes to movie stars, the oscars and film.
i told her of seeing my 3rd grade teacher, and remembering how mom didn't like her much. she said it was because "mom doesn't like anyone that doesn't treat you well." she's right. my parents love me more than life itself. it scares the shit out of me.
When Everett came in, he asked me to go see bareback mountain. i said yea. So later he, haley and myself went to see it.
i kind of wish i didn't see bareback mountain with them. it was wonderful; just a beautiful love story. it was so well done. the acting, cinematography, the story... everything. such a great picture. everett and haley of course, completely incapable of feeling any sort of sensation other than the joy of heckling, laughed at some of the best scenes. "for one fucking second can you please attempt to feel something other than your ego inflating as you find low-brow humor in a film that is actually quite sad, truthful and honest depiction of something that is rarely spoke about? Can you realize the significance of this film, being that its the first major film, with major stars, and a major director, to address a homosexual romance with the same respect as great heterosexual romances are given," i wanted to say to them. instead i said "shhh" or tapped them on the leg. i would have rather have seen it alone. experiencing stuff alone sometimes gets lonely, as i always seem to be off on my own, but it's far superior than stooping down to some 3rd grade level of stupidity, impatience and immaturity.
i guess i, like how everett's psychic said, have the relationships in my life that i am only ready for. up until recently, i was only ready and willing to take in rather shallow friendships. i want something more, not even romantic love necessarily, but definitely some sort of connections that can extract something more deep than the bullshit of everyday life.
the masters of the mundane, create a world that is always the same, in order to maintain what they can just barely sustain, not realizing how much more there is to life, if truth, love and passion, is contained.
that sounds so corny.
ummm, it's sort of true. i don't write poetry because it always sounds like a parody of bad poetry. i write good letters, and when not totally wallowing in self-pity, somewhat decent journal entries. once in a blue moon i'll spit out a story that isn't worthy of instantaneous deletion, but that's it really.
c'est tout et bon soir.
Ps: if anyone can hook me up with jake Jake Gyllenhaal, it would come much appreciated.
it was one of those nights when you think "ok, if i fall asleep NOW, i will get 4 hours of sleep," as if that will magically cure you of your insomnia. i used to get insomnia all the time. i'd lie awake for hours, damning the inevitable day that was awaiting me at school. if only i spent those hours reading or writing or watching movies even, i'd be a much smarter lass than i am now.
the one thing that sticks out from yesterday, was my dad. he, after that breakdown we had, has been more tabula rosa about me. instead of this habitual rapport, defined by lazy convenience, and cliche conversation, he seems to willfully try to allow the unexpected to be spoken about.
he looked so vulnerable. he sat down and asked me if he'd be good at improv. i told him he would. he has always wanted to act. he loves making people laugh. he'd be good at some truthful, high-quality comedy. i told him we'd take a class at the magnet theatre together, with armando diaz. my mom laughed upon hearing this, as she does to most people who exert any type of interest in that which is atypical for themself. fuck her. he should. i'd die a happier woman knowing i took an acting class with my dad. what a supportive, kind man he is. i wish i had been better to him in the past.
the one realization i had today though is, better late than never.
we went to hollywood video last night, where i rented rebel..., and he stared at the classics section for quite sometime. "i have seen this, this, this... my god, i've seen them all.... what a wasted life." my dad has a feel of a woody allen film.
today i woke up, half of me happy that i slept at all, half of me damning myself for having to lug myself back into work after my hung-over induced hiatus. the day went quickly.
i ran into my 3rd grade teacher who recognized me. she was my least favorite teacher from elementary school, but i made conversation with here nonetheless. no use to hold grudges because she picked up my messy desk over her 4'11" frame, slamming all its contents on the ground, and forcing me to clean it up during recess. it's one of my most vivid memories of middletown village though.
we talked. she told me updates on people i went to school with, as i did her. she sang my dad's praises, as most women do. they think he's so nice. they're right.
everett also came into my work. "becky, i just paid $45 to see a psychic and she told me that the reason amadeo (his lover in rome) didn't see me before i left rome, was because he couldn't deal with the emotional impact of not seeing me, and it was his way of dealing. he texted me goodbye, because he couldn't deal with saying it in person."
everett takes psychics so damn seriously, that it would be like condemning someone's faith in religion, if I werent to laugh at him.
she told me to go find my passion and follow it. Wow, Everett. What a shocker. As opposed to what? Finding your passion and then doing everything humanly possible NOT to follow it. Or how about just not finding a passion at all, and becoming an apathetic person with no reason for living?
i took it seriously, despite these sarcastic thoughts streaming through my mind, and said the psychic might be right. he knows i think they're quacks, so there's no use in me ruining his fun by reiterating that. i am more or less glad people come to me about stuff they're excited about, however far-fetched it may be, and i revel in it with them. i used to squash. squashing is no fun.
my uncle, a few weeks ago, read me poetry he wrote about this woman he met in las vegas. she has a live-in boyfriend. from the sound of it, he is attempting to buy her love with vacations, jewelery, etc. it's not working. but i still listened. if they ask my opinion, i'll be candid. no need to be debby downer about it though.
ummm, so i came home and saw moira. we talked movies. she's so excitable when it comes to movie stars, the oscars and film.
i told her of seeing my 3rd grade teacher, and remembering how mom didn't like her much. she said it was because "mom doesn't like anyone that doesn't treat you well." she's right. my parents love me more than life itself. it scares the shit out of me.
When Everett came in, he asked me to go see bareback mountain. i said yea. So later he, haley and myself went to see it.
i kind of wish i didn't see bareback mountain with them. it was wonderful; just a beautiful love story. it was so well done. the acting, cinematography, the story... everything. such a great picture. everett and haley of course, completely incapable of feeling any sort of sensation other than the joy of heckling, laughed at some of the best scenes. "for one fucking second can you please attempt to feel something other than your ego inflating as you find low-brow humor in a film that is actually quite sad, truthful and honest depiction of something that is rarely spoke about? Can you realize the significance of this film, being that its the first major film, with major stars, and a major director, to address a homosexual romance with the same respect as great heterosexual romances are given," i wanted to say to them. instead i said "shhh" or tapped them on the leg. i would have rather have seen it alone. experiencing stuff alone sometimes gets lonely, as i always seem to be off on my own, but it's far superior than stooping down to some 3rd grade level of stupidity, impatience and immaturity.
i guess i, like how everett's psychic said, have the relationships in my life that i am only ready for. up until recently, i was only ready and willing to take in rather shallow friendships. i want something more, not even romantic love necessarily, but definitely some sort of connections that can extract something more deep than the bullshit of everyday life.
the masters of the mundane, create a world that is always the same, in order to maintain what they can just barely sustain, not realizing how much more there is to life, if truth, love and passion, is contained.
that sounds so corny.
ummm, it's sort of true. i don't write poetry because it always sounds like a parody of bad poetry. i write good letters, and when not totally wallowing in self-pity, somewhat decent journal entries. once in a blue moon i'll spit out a story that isn't worthy of instantaneous deletion, but that's it really.
c'est tout et bon soir.
Ps: if anyone can hook me up with jake Jake Gyllenhaal, it would come much appreciated.
heavyhitterlarry:
wow! what a very long and interesting post. if i ever meet jake, i'll be sure to tell him about you.
mastercraftsman:
The main reason I like you is that you have great relationships with parents and friends and roots(like running into a 3rd grade teacher). I actually shed tears for my lonely self when I read about your daily life. My neighbors think I'm doing well and only a few select friends know that I haven't seen my dad for ten years. Shocking as it may seem, when we parted I don't think he really wanted to see me back unless... unless. Haven't figured that out yet. We never hugged my whole life. I ran away from everything and it calls me back constantly. I just hope that one day when I DO figure it out I'm not too late....