Letters From a Sugar Rush.
I hate those nights when I lie awake staring into the darkness with my heart pounding so loud I can hear the blood pulsing in my ears. It usually means I had too much sugar to eat too close to bedtime – tonight, I blame the insomnia on my own homemade pumpkin pie (which was totally worth the crash in insulin levels that I am now experiencing).
Why is it that nighttime is usually the only time we take to pause and evaluate the state of our lives? I suppose it’s the only time most of us stop running around doing the important business that life requires, but still – it’s awfully inconvenient. Nighttime is for sleeping, not self-reflecting. Yet my brain won’t let me sleep.
A couple of thoughts are bothering me this particular night:
Every time I return to my hometown, I’m instantly struck with loneliness as I realize that I really don’t have any friends here anymore. I did, once. I had friends in high school – I certainly wasn’t popular, but what’s popular when your graduating class is only around 150 people? But as soon as college struck, they all but dissipated. Is it my fault? Theirs? Is it just the natural course of growing older? I’m not sure. I know quite a few people who love going home because their social schedules are instantly filled with catch-up visits with old friends. When I go home, I sit by my fireplace and read and watch movies with my mom and my brother.
Does that make me a loser?
The thing is, I have the most wonderful best friend in the entire world – better than anyone could ask for. I’ve known him about 9 years now, and we’ll be soul mates for life. And he’s more than enough to satisfy my back-home friend needs.
But still… when he’s not around, I’m not going to any parties. I’m not having lunch with anyone. I don’t even have anyone to call. I just get to sit and wonder what I did wrong, because I seem to have lost anyone I used to know in this dusty old town.
Along the line of parties… I don’t get them. I like parties every now and then, with people I know, but I’ve just never been a big party-er. I don’t like to drink, I don’t do drugs, and the claustrophobic superficiality of most large parties makes me want to cry to the heavens for the Gatsby-esque loneliness that encompasses me. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I don’t like them – it’s difficult for me to feel really close to anyone. Part of it has to do with the barriers I throw up, wishing to save others from the ill fate of having to know the truths that reside within me. And part of it has to do with the fact that I just don’t think most people are genuine. I don’t want to have anything to do with someone who can’t look me in the eye and be real. I guess friendly frivolities aren’t my thing. So why do I belabor the fact that I feel so disconnected?
Also, I don’t understand drunk hook-ups. Everyone’s had them, I know. And I’m not being judgmental here, I’m just trying to understand them. Because I really don’t get how they happen. I’ve only made out with someone whilst drunk once, and I instantly regretted it. I felt vile and disgusting, and all I did was kiss the guy. I just hated the fact that he wouldn’t be able to pick me out in a line of girls. I meant nothing to him, nor he to me, and I found that revolting. I suppose the fact that it was the worst, sloppiest kiss of my life doesn’t help support the cause. But I made a vow – never again. I’m too valuable to sell myself so cheaply.
Ha. I just reread that last sentence. I sound like a prude, or a snob, or just utterly self-absorbed. Why am I so self-important that I feel like a kiss from me has to be earned?
I recently heard a story about a girl who was willing to give up her virginity to someone who was drunk. And that just made me sad. Sex is great, people – trust me, I’m a big fan. But again, I think the boy should be able to remember it. He should know that he’s the luckiest boy on the planet to even be looking at you.
On a totally random side note, in two days I will be 22 years old. And I will be celebrating my birthday at home, with only my mom, brother, and best friend beside me. And I will be up at four a.m. doing Black Friday shopping. I hate my birth date and the fact that everyone disappears around Thanksgiving. Thankfully all my best friends in L.A. showered me with love before we left, and for them I am incredibly grateful. Even if I feel lost here, I know that I’ve made a new home for myself out there, with people that really matter to me.
Lastly, I have the background vocals from Pink’s ridiculously catchy song Please Don’t Leave Me stuck in my head, and I blame them in large part for keeping me awake.
Ba da da, ba da da – DA da da da da.
‘Till Death Do Us Part.
I went to two weddings today. It’s kind of random, actually, how that fell into place, but here I am, lying in my old twin-sized bed in 32-degree-weather Albuquerque, strung out on too much cake, getting ready to turn right back around and jet to L.A. again tomorrow.
I know weddings are supposed to be a time of celebration, but they always make me a little sad. I always question just how long the bride and groom are going to stay wrapped up in their matrimonial bliss. I want to believe in happily-ever-after, but I really don’t know if it exists. I’ve never witnessed it, at any rate.
The first wedding of the day was for my 21-year-old cousin (or second cousin once removed, to be exact), who is getting married because her boyfriend knocked her up with twins.
Now, consider this: She’s younger than I am. Neither she nor her now-husband went to college (he works at Wal-Mart). They’ve been together about two years. And she’s giving birth to two screaming babies in a few months.
Tell me, how is that supposed to be a cause for celebration? It sounds more like a death sentence. Thankfully, the other wedding was a bit more classic, so at least there’s hope for the bride and groom there.
But despite the second couple’s likely brighter future, I still felt that wave of lonely sadness come over me as the ceremony took place. To see the bride and groom look into each other’s eyes and declare to be loving and loyal to one another until death separates them always stirs up feelings of intense longing within me. I want so badly to have that. I want someone, someday, to want nothing more than to spend the rest of his life by my side.
It’s true: I think I’ve finally caught the wedding bug.
When I was younger, I swore I would never, ever, EVER get married. Of course, I was a bitter child, tarnished by an entire family of severed marriages. I never really saw a demonstration of true love growing up. I believed it didn’t exist.
But after attending a wedding, and looking at the light in the groom’s eyes as he watches his future wife walk down an aisle to commit her life to him… and after I think about how long my defenses have been up, keeping me hidden from the happiness that does exist, the force that spawns the writings of humanity’s greatest love stories… I begin to wonder if maybe it’s possible…
Maybe it really is possible for true love between two people to last a lifetime.
Processed Snack Foods.
I want to create art that matters.
I’m getting more and more frustrated with the drivel that’s currently being showcased on our national megaplexes. It’s all meaningless filler – here today, gone in three weeks when the next Hollywood formula attempts to woo viewers out of $12 for two hours of mush. I’m getting quite weary of it all.
I saw Zombieland in a film class this past week (don’t ask my why I’m being forced to watch crap when I pay $50,000/year to attend the finest film school in the nation), and my feelings of artistic unrest were stirred up once again. Enjoy it if you like – I admit that parts of it are quite funny. But check back in 5 years and see if anyone really cares about this thing.
I’m all for mindless entertainment – it has its place and purpose in our society, especially considering the current state of affairs… our nation is depressed in more ways than one. But I believe it needs to be balanced with art that enriches our lives, makes us better, forces us to think. One cannot subsist on a diet of Twinkies alone (see: Zombieland).
I watched Saving Private Ryan for the first time ever this evening (it’s sad, I know, that I’d never seen it before…) – and finally, FINALLY, I felt that tiny little spark of creative fulfillment that inspired me to first enter this business. It did what all great films should aspire to accomplish: it moved, it informed, and it entertained.
I realize that a film like Saving Private Ryan will only occur once in a great while, but I would at least appreciate the effort. The Hollywood suits seem to be quite content churning out awful movies if it means that their pockets bulge with the weight of all of their earnings. As hopeless as the industry appears to be, perhaps others share my longing for more creative satisfaction – perhaps we’re ready for a change.
At any rate, I’m going to do my best to encourage the movement. I want movies to start providing sustenance. I want to express a concept that matters.
Throne of Lace and Silk.
I used to want to be great.
I used to believe that nothing short of mortal reverence would satisfy my limited existence on this earth, that I would not feel whole until I became something revolutionary, did something that touched countless others, something that altered the course of our communal lives.
Is this merely a universal fantasy? Was I so foolish and self-absorbed to believe that perhaps my aspirations indicated my positive chances for success?
Is that all anyone wants in order to to feel like his or her life matters? Does it just happen to be that my particular need for acknowledgement took the form of a desire for nothing short of greatness?
Now I understand that such dreams are folly. Greatness, as we understand it, is merely a product, a conceit pieced together by those few unremarkable individuals who happen to stumble into positions of authority. How is notariety bestowed upon anyone but by sheer fortune of fate?
It seems to matter not how hard you work, nor how gifted you may be, nor even how badly you want it – that which you so desire may only happen to fall in your lap by sheer coincidence or deciet.
How hard it is to find inspiration to strive for your best when you know that the effort leads to nowhere of significance… the work is wasted, the energy released into the winding world only to be caught by a man less clever and more blessed than you.
Steps Across An Unknown Land.
Tis for you that I stutter, for you that I draw in this hesitant breath
For you that I clench the flesh of my lip beneath my teeth and wait
The passage of the sun mocks me as I twist, as I yearn
Wanting nothing more than to spend the hours smelling your sweet skin and kissing the freckles on your back
With you, I evaporate, captivated by the glimmer of light that catches in your eye
No longer, I plead for death to save me from the pain
To lose you would mean an end to all that is me, all that existed before
I should crumble, I should sink into the earth were I not able to spend one more moment looking into your soul
Mud flowing across my body, absorbing me with the rush of my tears
For with you, without you, I am no more
I long for the dance of your fingertips to coerce my blood into flowing once more
Your breath to inspire my heart into resuming its ceremonial march to my last day
My last day, which comes only with the parting of you.
Beware, My Lord.
Quiet night, nothing to do, naught but the air conditioner’s hum to keep me company while I sit and think and wait for night to come and pass.
All is well in my world right now… I have no complaints. In fact, I have much to look forward to in the coming month: trips to Vegas, home, and Chicago – one for each weekend until the middle of October. Wow.
What’s interesting is that I’m so incredibly comfortable right now, yet I’m going through a senior-induced panic about what I’m doing with my life. Because, honestly, I still have no idea. And that makes me feel so pathetic.
I’m ashamed to admit I’m scared. I’m ashamed to admit I’m not sure of what I want to do, or who I want to be.
I just want to be happy…
Besides, who am I to think I can dictate where my life will turn? I keep trying to control it, and it keeps slipping away from my iron fist as smoothly as a wisp of air. I could not have guessed where I would be today if someone had asked me that question a year ago, so how can I possibly hope to speculate what I will be doing one year from today?
I’m just trying to survive and stay happy. The bigger things – well, as much as I’d like to adopt bragging rights about my superior position in the young-20-something world, I’m afraid I may not so quickly rise to the top, if ever.
Every day I try to be productive, try to do something worthwhile, something that allows me to nod with satisfaction and a smug smirk on my face… to be able to say, yes, I did that. But those days are so hard to achieve. Rather, most days I come home at night and shake my head in shame and swallow back the rising bubble of self-disgrace rising up from within me. I feel like I’ve lost my ability to be really good at anything. I worry I’m settling for mediocre because I can’t handle the pace.
And jealousy… it curls within me, because I am so uncertain of anything I do or even anything I think. There’s always that one person, too, who always seems to get it all. It’s even worse when they’re supposed to be your friend… How can you ever be friends with someone you’re in competition with? Brains, talent, looks… no matter what the medium, competition and friendship will inevitably smother the other to ashes.
It is rare to find someone you feel completely comfortable with… someone who you know will never judge you, someone who loves you for exactly who you are, inside and out. How hard it is to stand in front of another and say, this is me – take me as I am or leave me. How hard it is to fear that the way you are is not worth the other’s time or affections.
I hope I can surprise myself, and everyone around me, and become all that I hope to be. I hope I may one day look down from the top and face myself with a wink, because, after all, I made it.
—-
O! beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.
~William Shakespeare, Othello
Irrational? Maybe. Upsetting? Yes.
I’m having trouble lately determining boundaries. I’m not sure what is appropriate and what crosses the line.
I don’t want to be completely irrational, but it’s difficult to know how to act when you’ve never been in this situation before.
One thing I know, however, is that I’m sick of feeling shoved into the shadows. I hate feeling second best. I hate doubting who I am.
Some people have it easy. They get told repeatedly how beautiful they are, how intelligent they are, how creative they are… the source has become indistinguishable, because it’s been echoing in the space around them for their entire lives.
What’s worst is that I feel like I am frequently helping some of these already advanced individuals and getting nothing in return. Why should I work harder to make you look even better? It only pushes me further away as everyone is overwhelmed by YOU. It’s bad enough that you already get the attention physically… at least let me have my brains.
I hate feeling jealous because it is a low, vile emotion that does no one any good. Still… the silver medal is forgotten when it’s lying next to the gold.
Lessons Learned.
Right now, I’m sitting at a desk in a giant corporate office building in the heart of the Hollywood entertainment industry, listening to Pandora and twiddling my thumbs until 1:00pm arrives and I am free to explore the nearby mall on my hour-long break.
Being an intern really sucks sometimes.
Usually, it’s fantastic, but when there aren’t any tasks for me to do, I can’t help but stare at the digital clock on the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen and fight back tears as I realize I’m slowly wasting my short little life away doing absolutely nothing. Being a thankless, unpaid intern is a rite of passage, particularly in show biz, but it’s hard not to get frustrated being so far down on the totem pole. I keep looking up and realizing how difficult the climb is going to be.
This is my last week, which means that summer is almost officially at an end. My last summer. Ever. For the rest of my life.
Dear god.
To say that I’m freaking out is simultaneously unnecessarily self-indulgent and far too much of an understatement. What happens after this year? I graduate from college and then…what? Adulthood? Who honestly looks forward to that state of their life? For two decades now, summer has been the light at the end of my school-plagued tunnel. Now I get to look forward to a job, and rent, and health insurance, and death. Awesome.
This summer at least has lived up to its high level of esteem as the Last Summer of My Life; it’s been one of the best summers I think I have ever had. And I have learned a lot this summer… I think it’s safe to say I now feel comfortable adopting the title of Adult once my 22nd birthday arrives in a few months and I have to leave behind reckless childhood and celebratory birthdays forever.
It would be selfish of me to keep my newfound wisdom to myself, and so here I offer you a few of my most recent and poignant discoveries.
1. People come first. It’s actually pretty surprising how many conflicts and problems can be easily swept aside if this little adage takes a place in the forefront of your decision-making process. My mother said this to me one night when I called to gripe about some little something or other (of course now the unspecified problem has become so insignificant that it’s faded from my memory altogether). And honestly, what do we have if we don’t have other people? Whether it’s in love or friendship or work, the value of a person you care about should always take priority over your own convenience or comfort level. Because when you need something, you’ll want someone else to do the same for you.
2. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. I’m the person who will send my dinner back at a restaurant if I asked for no blue cheese and there is a giant clump of it in the middle of my salad. I have no problem insisting that I get my way in most arguments, much to the frustration of those who know me best. And yet, somehow, there are certain situations when I have found myself trembling, afraid to ask for what I most desire, because I’m scared of what the other person’s reaction will be. This has been particularly true in work situations; I’m afraid to be anything but a yes-man to my superiors. I want them to love me and value me and somehow read my mind and give me everything I want without me having to ask for it. Something at work had been bothering me for months, and once I finally worked up the courage to ask for what I wanted, I found that it was not a big deal at all…and I kicked myself repeatedly for not asking sooner.
3. Don’t forget about you. No one else is going to look after you like you are; even those that love you most can turn around and stab you in the heart in a moment, leaving you helpless and vulnerable and caught off-guard. Yes, other people are important, but I know now that I am the most important person in my life. I deserve respect, I deserve unconditional love, I deserve to feel safe, I deserve to feel wanted, and I deserve to feel special. I am realizing just how rare it is to find that. So I’m going to make sure I at least look after myself, because no one else will.
My pool of knowledge spans far beyond these little life laws, but I’ll keep them to myself for now, in order to appear all the more confident and mysterious. Because, you know, it’s also a good thing to always keep them wanting more.
It’s You.
Though we may be apart,
I can still feel your presence, your comforting warmth wrapped around me.
I can still hear your voice, your sweet assurances that together we will overcome whatever life throws our way.
I can still see your smile, lighting up my room in the dark hours of the night.
You are part of everything I do, a constant presence in the back of my mind.
I am reminded of you when I think of this and this and this and this, and every time I picture your face, my heart soars.
It may be terribly lonely, our days apart painfully long, but still I am sure that I will never be alone.
You see,
I’ve got you.
Trying to Forget That Which Is Pounding On My Door.
There are certain thoughts we all have from time to time that are poisonous. If we dwell on them too long, the vile toxin begins to seep through us, into our veins, destroying those parts of us we value most. These poisonous thoughts are also the hardest to dispel, for the more you try to ignore them, the larger and more venomous they become. Something is introduced to us: an idea, a suggestion that all may not be as it appears, and we begin to wonder, and doubt, and question all that we’ve believed to be true. It’s hard not to ignore these thoughts sometimes, especially when the memory is so raw.
At any given point in the day my mind begins to wander and suddenly I’m staring straight into a black abyss churning with fantasies that threaten to consume me. I know I’m supposed to turn back, run away, but I’m sucked into it until my brain is drumming with the monotonous repetition of that thought, that thought, that thought.
How do you make these infectious imaginings go away? The harder I try to pretend the thought does not exist, the more I think about it - and my heart sinks further and further into nothingness. There’s no remedy; we have not yet discovered how to erase memories, how to banish the illusions that shimmer in the darkness. We would all be so much happier if we could forget every careless utterance, every word accidentally spoken.
All we can do is swallow, take a long breath, and remember that as time passes, the poison will dissipate and the pain will become diluted, until all that is left is a hollow shell of a bad memory.
