This weekend a lot of stuff happened. I felt mad, ditched, and unappreciated for different reasons and by different people. But I also felt achieved, loved, and helpful to others for a few different reasons and different people as well. Let me rant first and then I'll gloat.
Here's a tip to any male readers that are thinking of me in any romantic or inappropriate capacity: if you want anything from me, you will not even get a hint of the color of my panties unless you also want to know what my favorite color is. Or my favorite food, what I like to do in my free time, what my hobbies are, what makes me laugh, annoyed, sad, mad, or anything related to the above. I'm a girl who's all the over the place with my likes, dislikes, emotions and creativity. I do a lot of things, I like to be busy, and I'm a giant ball of energy that's going to be in your face and never misses a beat, especially if it's a beat of bullshit waiting to be called out.
Long story short: a date. Girls want dates. It has nothing to do with money. It has nothing to do with being spoiled. It has to do with the fact that two people who are interested in each other should get to know each other on an intellectual level of intimacy before getting intimate, *ahem* on other levels. If a guy makes an effort to show that he has respect for a woman that he admires, then he gains her respect in return. By hanging out with a female before 10pm in public, you are saying that you are proud to be with this girl for all the world to see that you have positive intentions. And a date does not mean girlfriend, it just means you're being a decent human being by getting to know someone and going about it in the proper order. I went to college, and hookups and backwards "relationships" that are nothing like having an honest and real connection with someone, are just not my thing anymore. Pretty sure I quit my sorority days of making myself a little too available. The next guy that says to me, "Hey come over to my place" I just want to punch you in the dick.
I guess it would be mildly appropriate that this 50th post is a post of a new beginning. I post a lot of those. I usually say, "This time I'm serious" or "I really mean this this time." But what are you gonna do, right? You live and you learn to make the same stupid mistakes over and over again until your head hurts to much to get back up and make the mistake again. Your tears dry up and you just can't even cry anymore over the things you used to cry over, even though you really want to and maybe being sad was a comfort of familiarity. Being happy is almost too foreign to enjoy. Something is bound to go wrong when you're this happy. Then somehow you're right. But that's the lesson of stupidity. Hit yourself in the head with a rock enough times and thinking that the rock will squeeze out water is just giving you a headache. (I'm not always good with metaphoric rants at 2am)
OK done with this subject. I'm moving forward with myself and I refuse to get into the nasty habit of dwelling anymore. IN OTHER NEWS I ran a 5k this weekend. There is nothing better than doing something you thought you could never do, and actually succeeding without fucking up. The first mile, I was basically pulling The Tortoise and The Hare routine. I started off much slower than most people around me, but ended up passing them by maintaining the speed and then ran the first mile in under eleven minutes, and ended up power walking a lot of the second mile, but then started running again in the third. I could barely believe it!!
I was convinced I was in terrible shape, and there I was doing something to prove that I had it in me. As I'm jogging along and squeezing my side to hold in a cramp, I thought, "It's just you and me, God. We doin this thing? For everyone else who's running and for the homeless coalition, it's just you and me keeping this pace." An older gentlemen came up alongside me as we had been passing each other a good deal of the second mile, and he says, "Come on now, you have to beat ME!" We finished together, as I decided we were in the same team of attempting to not puke or lose a lung. (It wasn't that bad...)
Running has always been something I thought, "I can't do that. I'll never have the stamina or lung power to run." Guess what? I proved myself wrong. Maybe I'll keep doing more of these. Maybe I'll even keep running as something I do on a regular basis instead of the elyptical.
Crazy times for Miss India Pearl changing herself in a lot of ways this past year. We're all here to find happiness whilst running along the road of life, right? Is that the finish line? Well I'm getting there, no matter how many times I fall on the pavement on the way.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Librarian(ism) is a SCIENCE... right?
As most of my friends know, I like to tell stories. I love to tell big, tall tales, and see how many people I can get to believe them before I say halfway through the story, "just kidding, I'm making this up!" and we have a laugh. Of course this isn't mean-spirited, it's all in good fun and I never make things up to hurt people's feelings. But my favorite stories are the ones that I tell to complete strangers. Like the math teacher that I met at the bar a few weeks ago and told him I was a librarian. I felt that this was a perfectly boring thing to be in a man's eyes, and he wouldn't ask me more questions before buying me a drink. Boy was I wrong!!!
I had to remember everything I had ever learned about becoming a librarian when I was supporting this scheme I had come up with for a free cocktail.
"Where did you go to school? What did you major in to become a librarian??" he asked.
"Well, I went to Simmons of course, and I studied... library... science?" Somehow, that part was actually true. Librarians go to school to be librarians. It's not the easiest job in the world, and apparently there's a science to it. And maybe there was another reason why I knew all about this...
My grandmother was a librarian. Was? IS, she is a librarian I should say, because I don't think that when you are something for thirty-plus years you can just give it up and not be that thing anymore. She still socializes with her librarian friends, reads more books than I can possibly imagine, and is so smart and articulate. She's also fair, has a mind for equality, not the least bit racist or prejudice, (except maybe she doesn't like Muslims, but who can blame her when our family came to America after the Christian Massacre in Turkey? Don't comment on that) and an all-around great woman to have for a grandmother.
When my grandpa Henry died 23 years ago, that was it. She still wears his ring and she'll meet him in Heaven. What a love she must've had for him, right? So admirable.
I think it's because I hate the idea of her getting old when she wasn't always that old, or because my Nana is so young in comparison, but I just can't believe she's almost 80! I mean, she's perfectly fine and doesn't seem inhibited in any way so far as I can tell. I hate to even think about it when she says, "I'm old, this isn't my real hair color you know!" and she's laughing while I'm already sad. I'm a very pathetic human being when it comes to sadness. Nostalgia creeps up on me before there's a real reason to get nostalgic. It's like I'm revving up for what I know is coming, and pre-programming my thoughts for what they should be about for when I'm sad and missing the moment that I'm in right now.
The fact that my grandmother reads so many books, is one of the things that I admire most about her. I wish I had the time to read more, because even though I read the paper every day, I want to read so many things that I probably should have already! I've never read Jane Austin, I've only seen the movies. Lord of the Rings? Nope, never did it. The Great Gatsby? I could keep going all night with all the classics that "everyone's read" and I haven't. She's not even a working librarian, and she's still reading all the time! What's wrong with me??
While I work on my time management skills and my polish up on my common literature, I think I need to make the following thing a goal of mine: Before my grandmother passes away, I want to write a book. I want to write a book that everyone will want to read. As she sits in her backyard on a nice warm sunny afternoon and sips lemonade, my grandmother could be reading my book that I wrote, and that's one of the things that i want the most. She'd really be proud of me.
(And for those doubters out there, her mother lived to be 94 so I think I might have a realistic amount of time to complete this goal.)
I had to remember everything I had ever learned about becoming a librarian when I was supporting this scheme I had come up with for a free cocktail.
"Where did you go to school? What did you major in to become a librarian??" he asked.
"Well, I went to Simmons of course, and I studied... library... science?" Somehow, that part was actually true. Librarians go to school to be librarians. It's not the easiest job in the world, and apparently there's a science to it. And maybe there was another reason why I knew all about this...
My grandmother was a librarian. Was? IS, she is a librarian I should say, because I don't think that when you are something for thirty-plus years you can just give it up and not be that thing anymore. She still socializes with her librarian friends, reads more books than I can possibly imagine, and is so smart and articulate. She's also fair, has a mind for equality, not the least bit racist or prejudice, (except maybe she doesn't like Muslims, but who can blame her when our family came to America after the Christian Massacre in Turkey? Don't comment on that) and an all-around great woman to have for a grandmother.
When my grandpa Henry died 23 years ago, that was it. She still wears his ring and she'll meet him in Heaven. What a love she must've had for him, right? So admirable.
I think it's because I hate the idea of her getting old when she wasn't always that old, or because my Nana is so young in comparison, but I just can't believe she's almost 80! I mean, she's perfectly fine and doesn't seem inhibited in any way so far as I can tell. I hate to even think about it when she says, "I'm old, this isn't my real hair color you know!" and she's laughing while I'm already sad. I'm a very pathetic human being when it comes to sadness. Nostalgia creeps up on me before there's a real reason to get nostalgic. It's like I'm revving up for what I know is coming, and pre-programming my thoughts for what they should be about for when I'm sad and missing the moment that I'm in right now.
The fact that my grandmother reads so many books, is one of the things that I admire most about her. I wish I had the time to read more, because even though I read the paper every day, I want to read so many things that I probably should have already! I've never read Jane Austin, I've only seen the movies. Lord of the Rings? Nope, never did it. The Great Gatsby? I could keep going all night with all the classics that "everyone's read" and I haven't. She's not even a working librarian, and she's still reading all the time! What's wrong with me??
While I work on my time management skills and my polish up on my common literature, I think I need to make the following thing a goal of mine: Before my grandmother passes away, I want to write a book. I want to write a book that everyone will want to read. As she sits in her backyard on a nice warm sunny afternoon and sips lemonade, my grandmother could be reading my book that I wrote, and that's one of the things that i want the most. She'd really be proud of me.
(And for those doubters out there, her mother lived to be 94 so I think I might have a realistic amount of time to complete this goal.)
Saturday, September 24, 2011
cold is the water, it freezes your already cold mind (but you are not alone in this)
I think I should delete Mumford and Sons off of my computer, out of my phone, and hide the cd away in my Europe box with my other memories. Some people love the band so much, and I won't lie and say I don't think they're an amazingly talented band with great tunes. But I will say that I have too many memories attached with that music, and right now I need not remember them. Sometimes music can alternate your mood so much, that it affects you for days. I'll listen to some country tunes and feel ramped and happy, but I'll turn on The Weepies and wonder why I even bother. I think bands are ruined when I share them with other people. Some of my favorite songs used to make me smile and now I have to skip over them in my playlist.
One year ago, I went to England. It's about the one year anniversary to the Fresher's Ball. There's a picture of me and my two French friends, such great and wonderfully goodhearted girls. And now they are living in France, and I am here. Laicia loved Mumford, and so did practically all of our friends.
There was someone I dated briefly, before or in between when I was seeing my Irish boy (I don't always like to talk about the Irish one, it's a very long story on its own). I'm almost ashamed to bring it up, because this English one really was such a nice guy, but I wasn't ready for nice. He played guitar at the church, big buff blue eyed blonde, and on our first date he bought me the Mumford & Sons cd. I had never heard of them, and according to him, that was unacceptable. I really got into them, and was very impressed that he played guitar so well because he played a few of their songs almost to a tee. He didn't take our split very well. A part of me wishes I had gotten along better with him, but life can't be about what-ifs. Maybe I just wish I could apologize. Or maybe the music is messing with my head. Oh goodness, my church friends I miss entirely too much as well.
This week has been especially hard because not only have I been wishing I could go back, but I've been dreaming about my friends and hanging out with them in our kitchen, drinking cheap wine and getting terrible Domino's pizza, laughing about playing "Never Have I Ever..." with bad English. We told secrets, shared stories, laughed, cried, fought, got drunk, had goodnight kisses at the back door, did homework, avoided homework, cooked, people-watched, and squeezed as many people as we could into this little tiny kitchen of our flat that had no livingroom and a couch.
That was what I dreamed about twice this week, at least. Our awful, bare, cheap kitchen, that ended up being our favorite room in the house. We'd knock on the back door and enter each other's flats through these kitchens in the complex of Park Wood, making faces through the window until someone came to answer. We had a Thanksgiving dinner with what may have been almost 30 people, and multiple goodbye parties the last couple weeks of school. I remember my first cup of tea at the table was with Auggy, and I felt so grownup talking about our new friends over a cup of tea. Many cups of tea were poured over discussions and one-on-one sitdowns. That was our social life outside of the pub, gathering in all of our kitchens, maybe bringing a guitar and keeping the back door open for all the smoking and drinking that would go on outside. The table saw every kind of cheap alcohol, roasted birds, pancake and egg suppers, and more junk food and baked goods than we needed to take note of. And it was ours. Our little kitchen.
I hope I don't dream tonight. My friends are living all over the planet, and I don't know why I miss Kent so much when it's all lost now. Not so lost in our hearts, but we graduated and most of my closest friends are no longer students there, so it would never be the same. A part of my life really is over, so I hope I don't dream about it because my dreams are always so real. As much as I would love to see my friends, I'll wake up and our kitchen will be my bedroom, with no electric kettle, no curry-stained dishtowel, no plexiglass uncomfortable chairs that I miss even though I hated those too, no sink that always seemed to splatter water all over everywhere, and no laughter from those that I wonder if they miss me as I miss them.
They'll never know how much joy they really gave me by being such great friends. And sometimes it's painful to try to stay in touch; who can keep up with schedules 6 hours apart? But really, my sanity was found when I was there. Sure I missed home, and I was sad for it around the holidays, but I'll say it again I found out what a real friend is when I got away. I had support for all my acting shows, hugs and kisses and tea when I was crying over a boy, motivation and cookies when we all had ten or twenty page papers, and everything in between.
I had fun and friends at UMass, but looking back at Kent I know exactly how my friends felt when they were sad at graduation. I won't miss Amherst like I miss Canterbury. I was free at that college, and not shut up in a cage with no growth in my skills in school or begging for friends like a lost puppy in a meaningless house. I mean at least the few friends I did make at UMass I still have here, because if they were thousands of miles away I would have absolutely noone.
God, I hope I don't dream tonight.
One year ago, I went to England. It's about the one year anniversary to the Fresher's Ball. There's a picture of me and my two French friends, such great and wonderfully goodhearted girls. And now they are living in France, and I am here. Laicia loved Mumford, and so did practically all of our friends.
There was someone I dated briefly, before or in between when I was seeing my Irish boy (I don't always like to talk about the Irish one, it's a very long story on its own). I'm almost ashamed to bring it up, because this English one really was such a nice guy, but I wasn't ready for nice. He played guitar at the church, big buff blue eyed blonde, and on our first date he bought me the Mumford & Sons cd. I had never heard of them, and according to him, that was unacceptable. I really got into them, and was very impressed that he played guitar so well because he played a few of their songs almost to a tee. He didn't take our split very well. A part of me wishes I had gotten along better with him, but life can't be about what-ifs. Maybe I just wish I could apologize. Or maybe the music is messing with my head. Oh goodness, my church friends I miss entirely too much as well.
This week has been especially hard because not only have I been wishing I could go back, but I've been dreaming about my friends and hanging out with them in our kitchen, drinking cheap wine and getting terrible Domino's pizza, laughing about playing "Never Have I Ever..." with bad English. We told secrets, shared stories, laughed, cried, fought, got drunk, had goodnight kisses at the back door, did homework, avoided homework, cooked, people-watched, and squeezed as many people as we could into this little tiny kitchen of our flat that had no livingroom and a couch.
That was what I dreamed about twice this week, at least. Our awful, bare, cheap kitchen, that ended up being our favorite room in the house. We'd knock on the back door and enter each other's flats through these kitchens in the complex of Park Wood, making faces through the window until someone came to answer. We had a Thanksgiving dinner with what may have been almost 30 people, and multiple goodbye parties the last couple weeks of school. I remember my first cup of tea at the table was with Auggy, and I felt so grownup talking about our new friends over a cup of tea. Many cups of tea were poured over discussions and one-on-one sitdowns. That was our social life outside of the pub, gathering in all of our kitchens, maybe bringing a guitar and keeping the back door open for all the smoking and drinking that would go on outside. The table saw every kind of cheap alcohol, roasted birds, pancake and egg suppers, and more junk food and baked goods than we needed to take note of. And it was ours. Our little kitchen.
I hope I don't dream tonight. My friends are living all over the planet, and I don't know why I miss Kent so much when it's all lost now. Not so lost in our hearts, but we graduated and most of my closest friends are no longer students there, so it would never be the same. A part of my life really is over, so I hope I don't dream about it because my dreams are always so real. As much as I would love to see my friends, I'll wake up and our kitchen will be my bedroom, with no electric kettle, no curry-stained dishtowel, no plexiglass uncomfortable chairs that I miss even though I hated those too, no sink that always seemed to splatter water all over everywhere, and no laughter from those that I wonder if they miss me as I miss them.
They'll never know how much joy they really gave me by being such great friends. And sometimes it's painful to try to stay in touch; who can keep up with schedules 6 hours apart? But really, my sanity was found when I was there. Sure I missed home, and I was sad for it around the holidays, but I'll say it again I found out what a real friend is when I got away. I had support for all my acting shows, hugs and kisses and tea when I was crying over a boy, motivation and cookies when we all had ten or twenty page papers, and everything in between.
I had fun and friends at UMass, but looking back at Kent I know exactly how my friends felt when they were sad at graduation. I won't miss Amherst like I miss Canterbury. I was free at that college, and not shut up in a cage with no growth in my skills in school or begging for friends like a lost puppy in a meaningless house. I mean at least the few friends I did make at UMass I still have here, because if they were thousands of miles away I would have absolutely noone.
God, I hope I don't dream tonight.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Something I have noticed (or not noticed)
I have somewhat been realizing that when I go go go for a long period of time, my days feel so rushed and anything I do while I'm doing it, (cooking dinner, having a conversation, doing comedy) it's over so fast that I barely remember it happening. It's like I'm waiting to be done with everything, so much so that I don't take the time to be present and enjoy anything. I don't even like being drunk anymore, because this effect is put into hyperdrive. When drunk, it's almost like I'm pushing fast forward on my entire night and it was already going by very fast to begin with.
I find myself barely becoming engaged with anything, and when I think about the past few weeks, it seems like it all happened months ago. Staying present in a moment is like grabbing onto something inches away that keeps inching further and further away until my brain gives up all hope of sanity. It's scary, I think about how I don't remember things and enjoy the memory as if it were today, it's as if I think of something recent and struggle to feel as though it just happened because it's all cloudy.
I've felt this before, where I feel like I'm floating and barely conscious; am I overtired? anxious? dead and don't remember dying? having a mental breakdown? on drugs?
Well I'm alive, and I haven't had any anxiety lately, and I'm certainly not on drugs. So overtired and mental breakdown seem to be going neck and neck.
My current theory is this: I am alone A LOT throughout the day, and a lot throughout this past summer I was alone. This is due to always going going and more going. Go on the bus, go on the train, go to work, go to make a bottle, go to get something to eat, go to use your phone, go to dinner, go to the bar, go up onstage, go home, go to bed. When I'm around other people it's so easy to be present, but I also find myself to be tired and I don't always have interest in keeping all the conversations that I have, and somehow want to just go to bed or do something else. Then when I'm alone I'm upset with everything because my brain seems to be malfunctioning and I'm trying to remember someone's name I just met and if I had fun when I was at the comedy club. Yes, it's that bad.
So I'm aware there is an issue, right? Why am I not seeking help? Because I have a distinct feeling that if this is related to being overtired or having some sort of crazy bipolar disorder, then I will have to be on meds for something and that will just make my floating feeling get even worse. So then what? Well, I find my mind much more snappy when I am conversing with others and around people, so my solution is to get out and force myself to be more social I suppose... thought I was doing enough already. I've gotta be overtired, that's probably key here somewhere. Isn't there something written somewhere that says your brain barely sucks in information when you're overtired? So that's it then, right? Or maybe I'm slipping away slowly but surely. Who knows. But it's very hard to find motivation to do anything lately and I'm very upset about that.
I find myself barely becoming engaged with anything, and when I think about the past few weeks, it seems like it all happened months ago. Staying present in a moment is like grabbing onto something inches away that keeps inching further and further away until my brain gives up all hope of sanity. It's scary, I think about how I don't remember things and enjoy the memory as if it were today, it's as if I think of something recent and struggle to feel as though it just happened because it's all cloudy.
I've felt this before, where I feel like I'm floating and barely conscious; am I overtired? anxious? dead and don't remember dying? having a mental breakdown? on drugs?
Well I'm alive, and I haven't had any anxiety lately, and I'm certainly not on drugs. So overtired and mental breakdown seem to be going neck and neck.
My current theory is this: I am alone A LOT throughout the day, and a lot throughout this past summer I was alone. This is due to always going going and more going. Go on the bus, go on the train, go to work, go to make a bottle, go to get something to eat, go to use your phone, go to dinner, go to the bar, go up onstage, go home, go to bed. When I'm around other people it's so easy to be present, but I also find myself to be tired and I don't always have interest in keeping all the conversations that I have, and somehow want to just go to bed or do something else. Then when I'm alone I'm upset with everything because my brain seems to be malfunctioning and I'm trying to remember someone's name I just met and if I had fun when I was at the comedy club. Yes, it's that bad.
So I'm aware there is an issue, right? Why am I not seeking help? Because I have a distinct feeling that if this is related to being overtired or having some sort of crazy bipolar disorder, then I will have to be on meds for something and that will just make my floating feeling get even worse. So then what? Well, I find my mind much more snappy when I am conversing with others and around people, so my solution is to get out and force myself to be more social I suppose... thought I was doing enough already. I've gotta be overtired, that's probably key here somewhere. Isn't there something written somewhere that says your brain barely sucks in information when you're overtired? So that's it then, right? Or maybe I'm slipping away slowly but surely. Who knows. But it's very hard to find motivation to do anything lately and I'm very upset about that.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
your dreams can tell you things
I have a history of having dreams about people or events and then feeling as though it were God telling me something. Afterwards I'll wake up, have a sinking feeling in my stomach because I probably know exactly why I had that dream in the first place. I've also had many dreams that have taken place in another period of time, a huge reason why I'm a Christian, some people call it dejavous.
When a person is the subject of a dream I have, there aren't usually any special circumstances or a dialogue that happens between us. They're always just sort of... there. We're hanging out, or maybe I realize I haven't seen them in a while and we hug. I've had occurrences where I only see them standing there and smiling at me, but the smile always seems to be saying to me, "Hey, remember me? You forgot for a little, but I'm still around and we should catch up." And I wake up with a pangs of something, maybe nostalgia, guilt, or even just missing them a little.
I think it's a mix between my personal preference to avoid losing touch with my friends, like, ever. And I'm serious, because my longest friend is from kindergarten. I would hate to see her in ten years and say, "Oh we haven't even spoken during that period of time." This week I had a mixture of old friends and newerish friends with me on a mini vacation, and I couldn't have been happier. It just goes to show how truly amazing my friends are to mutually want to continue our friendship. But getting back to dreams...
The other night I dreamed that I was at my home church, Millbury Federated. I saw that the church choir was missing a member, and I wanted to be in it. They said, "Sure, Tuesday night we're just having a small audition process, you should totally come!" So while I'm thinking I have an "in", I show up and it's like frickin American Idol! Hundreds of people are lining up around the stairwells of the church waiting to try out for the church choir, including a large group of gospel singing high school students from a southern background. I felt horrible, like I couldn't ever do it, like I sucked and didn't have a chance. There were too many others there, and I would never be in that choir. I tried practicing songs, and I forgot all of the words. They kept telling me I was next in line, but people kept cutting me and trying out before I even had a chance. The judges were going to sit near the altar, and our audition was up in the balcony, which makes perfect sense right?! This dream was absolutely ridiculous.
Suddenly, I remembered all the words to a worship song that I love to sing because it's beautiful and says all the things I wish I could've thought up to say. Right when I was feeling confident, I woke up. Maybe that was God's way of saying, "Hey, you're gonna be ok you just have to trust Me and yourself." Geez, I hope so.
When a person is the subject of a dream I have, there aren't usually any special circumstances or a dialogue that happens between us. They're always just sort of... there. We're hanging out, or maybe I realize I haven't seen them in a while and we hug. I've had occurrences where I only see them standing there and smiling at me, but the smile always seems to be saying to me, "Hey, remember me? You forgot for a little, but I'm still around and we should catch up." And I wake up with a pangs of something, maybe nostalgia, guilt, or even just missing them a little.
I think it's a mix between my personal preference to avoid losing touch with my friends, like, ever. And I'm serious, because my longest friend is from kindergarten. I would hate to see her in ten years and say, "Oh we haven't even spoken during that period of time." This week I had a mixture of old friends and newerish friends with me on a mini vacation, and I couldn't have been happier. It just goes to show how truly amazing my friends are to mutually want to continue our friendship. But getting back to dreams...
The other night I dreamed that I was at my home church, Millbury Federated. I saw that the church choir was missing a member, and I wanted to be in it. They said, "Sure, Tuesday night we're just having a small audition process, you should totally come!" So while I'm thinking I have an "in", I show up and it's like frickin American Idol! Hundreds of people are lining up around the stairwells of the church waiting to try out for the church choir, including a large group of gospel singing high school students from a southern background. I felt horrible, like I couldn't ever do it, like I sucked and didn't have a chance. There were too many others there, and I would never be in that choir. I tried practicing songs, and I forgot all of the words. They kept telling me I was next in line, but people kept cutting me and trying out before I even had a chance. The judges were going to sit near the altar, and our audition was up in the balcony, which makes perfect sense right?! This dream was absolutely ridiculous.
Suddenly, I remembered all the words to a worship song that I love to sing because it's beautiful and says all the things I wish I could've thought up to say. Right when I was feeling confident, I woke up. Maybe that was God's way of saying, "Hey, you're gonna be ok you just have to trust Me and yourself." Geez, I hope so.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
lessons of trust
I have a hard time trusting people. I think it's because I used to feel like I could trust anyone, and I've gotten screwed too many times to delve into the behavior again. I learn hard lessons between always wanting to see the best in people, wanting to believe that everyone is inherently good or friendly, that I can connect with people and make lasting friendships or connections, and then having relationships not work out and fizzle, or having friends do shitty things to you, or trusting when someone says they'll do you a favor or stay in touch, and then they simply disappear.
This week I have been severely questioning my own ability of skepticism. Maybe I need to be more critical of others and their words. Maybe when someone says, "Hey I know so and so at this theater," or "You should call me because I want to help you out and connect you with this casting person for such and such commercial blah blah blah" Even non career-related connections where you think you'll become good friends with someone you just met and you can't really be sure if they mean what they say. Maybe people do mean what they say, but their lives are too busy and you're too new in their life to matter as much as other things. I guess we've all done it to someone at some point where we couldn't come through on a favor or a promise because we don't consider it vital to do so. But what happens to the person we slowly forgot?
I find in this business, I am going to have to not let myself initially believe what people tell me until I have some sort of proof. I can't let myself depend on a favor or someone simply saying that they will help me out or they have something for me. This sounds negative and sucky, but it's more like I'm growing up a little bit with each month that passes since my moving to the city. You can't put all your eggs in one basket, and you shouldn't, because there are more baskets than you think if you keep looking for them. And most of the time you'll lose those eggs when the basket is given to someone else.
I guess I just have to keep crossing my fingers that things don't keep seeming as though they're in my favor and I have prospects, and that I really will actually have fucking prospects. In a slight moment of anger, instead of excusing a behavior that I probably have had in the past as well just like everyone else, I think that it's actually really fucking rude to not keep your word to someone. I'm pretty sure the bible says something about meaning what you say to people.
But instead I'll just move on I suppose, work my job, look for opportunities, take another acting class, keep involved, keep on my feet, not get too down on myself, and remember that I'm trying. Even if I have to be a little more selfish and a lot more skeptical, at least I'll be trying.
"You have a disadvantage as an actor, because you're a young, Irish looking female, in Boston. You have to prove that you're not like everyone else, and it's going to be hard for you. But if you want to do it badly enough, you'll get there."
Ugh. Believe me, I know.
This week I have been severely questioning my own ability of skepticism. Maybe I need to be more critical of others and their words. Maybe when someone says, "Hey I know so and so at this theater," or "You should call me because I want to help you out and connect you with this casting person for such and such commercial blah blah blah" Even non career-related connections where you think you'll become good friends with someone you just met and you can't really be sure if they mean what they say. Maybe people do mean what they say, but their lives are too busy and you're too new in their life to matter as much as other things. I guess we've all done it to someone at some point where we couldn't come through on a favor or a promise because we don't consider it vital to do so. But what happens to the person we slowly forgot?
I find in this business, I am going to have to not let myself initially believe what people tell me until I have some sort of proof. I can't let myself depend on a favor or someone simply saying that they will help me out or they have something for me. This sounds negative and sucky, but it's more like I'm growing up a little bit with each month that passes since my moving to the city. You can't put all your eggs in one basket, and you shouldn't, because there are more baskets than you think if you keep looking for them. And most of the time you'll lose those eggs when the basket is given to someone else.
I guess I just have to keep crossing my fingers that things don't keep seeming as though they're in my favor and I have prospects, and that I really will actually have fucking prospects. In a slight moment of anger, instead of excusing a behavior that I probably have had in the past as well just like everyone else, I think that it's actually really fucking rude to not keep your word to someone. I'm pretty sure the bible says something about meaning what you say to people.
But instead I'll just move on I suppose, work my job, look for opportunities, take another acting class, keep involved, keep on my feet, not get too down on myself, and remember that I'm trying. Even if I have to be a little more selfish and a lot more skeptical, at least I'll be trying.
"You have a disadvantage as an actor, because you're a young, Irish looking female, in Boston. You have to prove that you're not like everyone else, and it's going to be hard for you. But if you want to do it badly enough, you'll get there."
Ugh. Believe me, I know.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
swiss cheese hearts attract menacing rats
swiss cheese hearts attract the most menacing rats
they have no heart, they have no tact
only teeth that grow and grow and nibble more holes into your empty soul
...Sounds like a start to a very depressing song. I'm good at that. Writing depressing songs and coming up with lyrics in a thirty second whim. For those of you who keep track of my blog and read it on a regular basis, you'll slowly start to figure out a pattern that I have. I go to a new place, I get really excited about going there, getting started, I feel refreshed, new, reborn, in love with life, and overall joyful. Then after about a month I start to worry, and then a month after that I slip into my own head, get lost in my own thoughts, and have crippling bouts of nostalgia.
While I am incredibly aware of the unhealthy patterns my brain decides to go through, I am reminded of something that a pastor said to myself and some other youths a long time ago: "Why would I want to give my wife a heart full of holes?" and that never left my mind. As I dip into the duldrums of morbid reflection, and tumble deep into the catacombs of my past, I sense the same pattern repeating over and over and over again. So as I start to reflect on how my heart is full of holes because of all the shitty relationships I've been in, some happy and then ending abruptly, some horrible and ending like a slowly screeching car wreck, I can't stop thinking about what went wrong and why. Then I snowball that negativity into other areas of my life and I feel like nothing will ever work out and my life absolutely sucks.
What the heck is my problem?! God is going to continue to shove the hard lesson of patience in my face until I get the picture. There is no perfect place to live, there is no perfect job, there is no perfect man who will make all my fears and worries disappear. I am an emotionally fucked up human being, and my life will only be perfect when I stop to heal all my brokenness. I go go go go GO GO GO so much so that I don't have to think about the fact that I'm not always very happy. My schedule is so packed that I barely sleep, because I hate being alone all by myself late at night and getting caught up in my own thoughts. Haunting thoughts that say, "you're alone" "you're never going to be an actor" "you're never going to finish that book" "you're going to end up 30 and in the same place you are now" "(literally any past relationship's name inserted) was too good for you" "(insert random lost friendship) was your fault because you didn't try hard enough"
My. brain. won't. stop. killing. me. inside.
My dear friend listened to me cry on the phone tonight; a friend that used to be one of my failed relationships, turned into one of the most amazing people that I know and we equally confide in each other about how much our lives can suck sometimes. Then again, I think we're both so positive about other people's lives working out because SOMETHING has to make up for ours not always working the way we want them to, and then we say the most encouraging things possible to uplift each other's spirits. I'm going to miss his words of wisdom, and he'll miss mine as he is on his way to the Peace Corps this week. Good friends that keep in touch are hard to come by these days.
I need prayer, and I need to meditate and calm the fuck down so I can focus long enough to figure out how to reach my goals so I'll stop worrying all. the. time.
...and I need to slow down a little so I'm not always going. Go go go doesn't exactly help me practice guitar or write.
In other news, I lost five pounds and I fit into my clothes again so at least my body isn't another awful part of my issues at this moment in time. I can only handle so many things on my list of "things to obsess over at one in the morning".
they have no heart, they have no tact
only teeth that grow and grow and nibble more holes into your empty soul
...Sounds like a start to a very depressing song. I'm good at that. Writing depressing songs and coming up with lyrics in a thirty second whim. For those of you who keep track of my blog and read it on a regular basis, you'll slowly start to figure out a pattern that I have. I go to a new place, I get really excited about going there, getting started, I feel refreshed, new, reborn, in love with life, and overall joyful. Then after about a month I start to worry, and then a month after that I slip into my own head, get lost in my own thoughts, and have crippling bouts of nostalgia.
While I am incredibly aware of the unhealthy patterns my brain decides to go through, I am reminded of something that a pastor said to myself and some other youths a long time ago: "Why would I want to give my wife a heart full of holes?" and that never left my mind. As I dip into the duldrums of morbid reflection, and tumble deep into the catacombs of my past, I sense the same pattern repeating over and over and over again. So as I start to reflect on how my heart is full of holes because of all the shitty relationships I've been in, some happy and then ending abruptly, some horrible and ending like a slowly screeching car wreck, I can't stop thinking about what went wrong and why. Then I snowball that negativity into other areas of my life and I feel like nothing will ever work out and my life absolutely sucks.
What the heck is my problem?! God is going to continue to shove the hard lesson of patience in my face until I get the picture. There is no perfect place to live, there is no perfect job, there is no perfect man who will make all my fears and worries disappear. I am an emotionally fucked up human being, and my life will only be perfect when I stop to heal all my brokenness. I go go go go GO GO GO so much so that I don't have to think about the fact that I'm not always very happy. My schedule is so packed that I barely sleep, because I hate being alone all by myself late at night and getting caught up in my own thoughts. Haunting thoughts that say, "you're alone" "you're never going to be an actor" "you're never going to finish that book" "you're going to end up 30 and in the same place you are now" "(literally any past relationship's name inserted) was too good for you" "(insert random lost friendship) was your fault because you didn't try hard enough"
My. brain. won't. stop. killing. me. inside.
My dear friend listened to me cry on the phone tonight; a friend that used to be one of my failed relationships, turned into one of the most amazing people that I know and we equally confide in each other about how much our lives can suck sometimes. Then again, I think we're both so positive about other people's lives working out because SOMETHING has to make up for ours not always working the way we want them to, and then we say the most encouraging things possible to uplift each other's spirits. I'm going to miss his words of wisdom, and he'll miss mine as he is on his way to the Peace Corps this week. Good friends that keep in touch are hard to come by these days.
I need prayer, and I need to meditate and calm the fuck down so I can focus long enough to figure out how to reach my goals so I'll stop worrying all. the. time.
...and I need to slow down a little so I'm not always going. Go go go doesn't exactly help me practice guitar or write.
In other news, I lost five pounds and I fit into my clothes again so at least my body isn't another awful part of my issues at this moment in time. I can only handle so many things on my list of "things to obsess over at one in the morning".
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