My college has Independent Study during the entire month of January. A few friends and I decided to read all of the books that Bill assigns to Charlie for our ISP. We each wrote a letter from the perspective of a character in each novel to Charlie and then, did a creative project. My project was to take a Polaroid of something symbolic or important from each novel. I decided I'd post my letters to this community and I will post my Polaroids once I've gotten a chance to scan them all. Each letter will be under a different cut in this post because that's the only organized way I can think of to do it without spamming up your flists with 12 different posts. I hope you guys like this as much as I did. :)
My best friend was at my wedding. He was one of 25 there. His wife came and we had a great time.
There was a lull in the party and he came to stand by me. "You remember in Middle School when we were never apart?" I smile in thinking about it. "Yup."
"I just want to...apologize. I know it's a decade too late but...I knew you liked me. Liked me enough that it made you cry and I didn't know how to deal with that so I ignored it. It probably made it hurt worse. You were my best friend and--"
"Best friends don't like each other. I know. I tried to set you up with girls, hoping it'd go away but," I shrug. "I was dumb and 14. It never would've worked anyway."
"Truth. Because that man over there is the luckiest in the world."
He was my first crush but he was right. It never would've worked out anyway. And I'm glad it didn't because I have my best friend and my husband.
I am living on an island where all things not only ARE old fashioned, but FEEL old fashioned, as well. A couple nights ago I had the luck I had sought so often before, I got to attend a live performance of the Rocky Horror Picture Show! I felt so entranced and amazed, so excited. It flew into my mind like a reminder that I want to be a part of something creative like that. Some artistic journey.
There are signs in white posted a new on the fading builboards of downtown. I shriek and shrug. I notice an add, which says: Auditions for a play! I will call these people up and suggest my painting talents for their set design/. Also, I will request a copy of the script and perhaps audition.
In all cases, I want to remind you all that all is possible. I think the books main message is to participate in life in order to discover its joys upclose-firsthand-in REAL. and the rocky horror show also kind of encourages one to step away from their comfort zones in order to truly become amazing. (Dont dreaaam it.....be-hee iiiiit)
I had not written to you in a year and needed too, for this community is held in importance in my memory. Nice to be back, fellow journalers....I have stories to share and cant wait to explain them with the computer key. IN the mean time. Have a great day.
A line I found amusing and know I heard somewhere before.
And no, not particularly mushy. Or at least I wasn't trying to be. More thoughtful/thinking outloud than anything else.
I was asked about love today by my 40 year old co-worker; she wondered why she still loved her husband after 8 years and he's not a very good one. Not terrible but just not very good. All I could do was shrug and offer this: Love is blind, love is relative, love doesn't let you pick, and love can be one of the most beautiful or most foul things in the world.
People love you until they don't. And then what?
She looked at me funny but *is* dependent on someone loving you back. They say it and you have to believe it--or not. There's really no other way to go about it. We choose to believe. We've got to believe because it matters so much to us. Take away the structure of it and then what? You get songs and poems and movies and stories about love gained, love lost, searching for love, looking for love. It's half biological function designed for two humans to stay together and raise children, half social construct, half part of the intangible matter of the universe.
Yes, too many halves.
So you could end up in a situation like M* that places the woman on a pedestal, a thing to be worshiped from far away--or like many of the people I know and end up in hot, passionate burn-to-brightly affairs. Two things seemingly wrong. Or in stable, boring, mundane sort of love. Sweat pants love. I-can't-do-any-better love. Comfortable love. Another thing seen as wrong.
I can't speak on the matter accurately. I fell in love, it was puppy love that morphed into something that grabbed me by the nose (perhaps both of us by the nose) and demanded that nothing and no one forced us apart no matter if it was parents or schools or money. A priestess to the whims and idea of love, giving everything to it that I could so I could wrap myself in it.
And now? More rational. It simmers like a roast that will take hours to make but is more soul satisfying than fast food. But I've only loved one man and occasionally I feel...awkward?--unable to empathize with certain situations that present themselves to my friends whom I consider family when they ask relationship advice. What do I know?
I try to approach them, my friend's problems I mean, rationally. Really, I do. But it wasn't rationality that made me turn down a full ride to the University of Florida and put myself $30,000 in debt. It wasn't rationality for D* to give up his inheritance from his grandmother, something on the order of $100,000. Presented by any of those things and rationally, I'd say, "Take the money!"
But I said, this love thing isn't rational. So I think my advice would be bad because I try to see it that way for their benefit and I know they're thinking with their heart. The problem being I do as well; the whole 75% heart/25% head thing. But like I told D* two days ago, there's not much room for people like me in the world. I speak from within, my goal and my career is something I want to be...loving. Helpful. Warm. Thoughtful but inspiring others to learn and grow, to become more than they are in that moment.
Corporate landscape however (and hell, even at some scholarly institutions) require guile and tact--honey tipped tongues and well timed shank-eyes. Cold, calculating, with only the barest hint of feeling. Which I can do but it wears on me. Slowly like water drained from a cup.
So there's really no point in this entry. Just me, thinking quietly with the fan on, remembering the events of last night.
I think too much. I cant help myself. I analyse how people act around me and how the speak; the words they say, and all the sub-text that comes with it. It shuts me off from people a little. I can never be certain of people or if they are just humouring me. I'm quite an odd girl; Even if I am only twenty years old, I feel like I have lived alot longer. I think sometimes I come across as shy, or rude because I don't know what to say around new people; New people never know how to re-act to me (they think I'm pretentious).
I have a few good friends, and I love them dearly, but I just wish that people could see past all the odd and obscurity, and see the kind, sweet, endearing person I am told I am. Why can't people see this?
The Razor's Glide You drag the silver blade across your skin And coax the blood from deep within your veins. Those salty tears that come from deep within Attempt to dull and deaden all your pains. With anchored eyes that cannot look away, You gracefully observe the razor’s glide, Surrendering to predator as prey, As torture and tranquility collide. This peaceful painful haven you have made, Converting inner pain to open gash, Deceptively assures your grief will fade, But only gives you reasons more to slash. Because of this, the agonies of life Will never find true solace in a knife.
It happens too much anymore -getting stuck between the wearing pages of my thoughts- and I don't know how to escape it. People say that the only thing you can never be safe from is yourself; I think the only thing you can never be safe from is your mind. Your mind isn't your entire person. Your mind houses everything you know you've done wrong, every secret you should have told, every bad thing you've witnessed. It houses your guilt, your anger, your happiness and your depression.
And here I sit -typing away at the keyboard- the setting is my mind, the cook's special is everything I know. The day my childhood best friend moved away, the day I figured out how to ride a bicycle, the moment I realized she was a mistake, the one person I want back in my life. Everything playing, playing, like it's a made for t.v. movie that was cut after it's debut.
And I find myself asking, 'Maybe it's too late to change what's happened in the past, but is it too late to change the future?' I don't know.