"It's all about the triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism." Okay, so that's Craig Ferguson talking about Doctor Who, but this blog endeavors exactly that. Lofty yes, but what the hell, why not. Onward, my romantic intellectual companions!
This week has been a busy (and unexpectedly dramatic) week in apartment management. I attended the housing fair (on the correct day this time) and got at least six people to give me their info to schedule a tour. However, [Львица] and I have been trying to find someone to move into our apartment in June so I can move in next door and the girl living there doesn't have to worry about subletting. But it's been hard to find two people who want to sublet so early, so we wondered if it might be easier for Britney, the girl who lives in the apartment I'm planning on moving into next year, to find a short-term subletter.
Except that, suddenly, it's not okay to sublet for less than three months in the building; they look for long-term leasing so they don't have high turnover. Which makes sense... but that was NOT what we were told upon filling out the lease. And that's not what any of the other tenants were told by the previous building manager either. So now we have that tricky little issue.
Our boss and building owner had decided to make an exception in order to let someone lease short-term, but before this [Львица] and I were both certain he alluded to giving me another apartment, not the one I wanted. I was unsure how this would solve any problems, but I'm certain that's what he said on the phone the other night. Not that it matters here; there are some battles I can't win and trying to justify myself and show that I am not in the wrong will solve nothing; it is not the point and it doesn't matter here. Unfortunately for me, I have a long history of hating any situation that makes me feel wronged and blamed when I feel I don't deserve to (something I deeply have in common with the protagonist of Jane Eyre) and it's been hard for me to see this situation clearly. However, this situation came up the other night and our boss took offense and [Львица] had to work herself out of a very awkward situation. Every time I think I've gotten better at communication and I think I'm good at what I'm doing, the stark reality of how much work it takes to attain good communication hits me.
http://www.examiner.com/
But instead of focusing out how far I've got to go, I'd rather commend myself for how far I've come. Yes, I could communicate better with my boss. But this is the first real job I've had, I've never met him or spoken with him face-to-face, and sometimes it's hard to express what [Львица] and I have discussed to our boss with just one of us trying to summarize. And given my history of introversion, slight social anxiety, and loathing of talking on phones (which has all but dissipated this year), I'm pretty goddamn pleased with myself. I have become a stronger person - in words, in actions, in many things. And for that, well, I'm quite happy.
Of course, I still have ways to grow and change (who doesn't?) and I'll harbor regrets about not being afraid to speak up sooner. Maybe it was because of Catholic school, maybe it was just who I was or what I was taught when I was young, but arguing with authority is something I had to learn myself, something I never saw accepted or allowed. If it weren't for [Львица] and, oddly enough, my father's new outspokenness about politics, and the fact that I've allowed myself to get really pissed off about some things, I might have never learned to speak my mind. I regret not doing it more in the past; I'll always wish I had spoken up in my high school Biology class when my teacher said that it was possible for AIDS to be passed through kissing which was SO WRONG, instead of just fuming about it later; I should have stood up and TOLD HIM he was wrong.
But the environment and person I was in high school was far, far different from where I find myself now. In college, there's a sense of freedom that I often take for granted. In college, you can break some of the rules. In high school, rules are the only structure there is to cling to.
Not that college is anywhere near perfect. [Львица]'s English class this semester has exemplified over and over again how easy it is for someone to take away the ability of expression (even when they think they are actually opening doors wider when in actuality they are slamming them shut). But I'm infinitely grateful for those who have allowed and encouraged me to speak out; the only thing I have too keep fighting for is the belief that I have the right to do so and that I deserve it. It's not always an easy feat; but I'm working on it. :)
I'm hesitant about writing this since I recently advertised my new blog on Facebook and the fact that Google + has officially and finally changed my name to my actual name on here. But, based on the fact that I haven't gotten any backlash as of yet and that most of my friends don't talk to me on Facebook let alone read my blog, I don't think I have anything to worry about. But still, I feel like a backstabber. A bad friend. A traitor. All because I need a place where I can pretend someone is listening to me because I don't know how to deal with one of my closest friends becoming a stranger.
Last night, [X] and a co-worker of her's were in town for a comedy show at Coffman Union - "An Evening with Bo Burnham." Now, I didn't know anything about Burnham and [Львица] and I just decided to go because it seemed like a good gesture, to meet up with [X] and see her since I haven't spoken to her since Christmas.
Except that it was totally awkward. Namely because both girls from out of town felt the need to compare everything on our campus to their school. And because [X]'s co-worker didn't seem to like us (paranoid me wondered if perhaps [X] had already told her a thing or two about us before they arrived). And Burnham wasn't my cup of tea. At all. (You can read about that on [Львица]'s blog, if you're so inclined).
The chance I did get to talk to [X] felt forced, meaningless small talk with me rambling on about psychology or Sherlock or how Benedict Cumberbatch is the greatest thing ever, only to have [X] either say little in reply or have her correct me that, in fact, Cumberbatch is ONE of the greatest things ever (not the point. Not even close). Even bringing up the Scotland trip felt sort of weird and forced, as if that wasn't us, that was some other life, some other world, not ours. Maybe it was because her co-worker was there that she didn't talk to me much. Or maybe I should just accept that she no longer puts me first in terms of friends, she probably never did, and I should just get over it. But sometimes I wonder if anyone's ever put me first, or at least equal to someone else, and it's a nagging sense that I don't amount to anything and that I've failed somehow. But I know that isn't true - I gave it my all with [X] and it just didn't turn out. She and I will never have the deep conversations we used to have on occasion - the deep conversations [Львица] and I now have at least once a week (thank God for [Львица] and [the Question]. I don't know what I'd do without them). Even conversations with people I've just met or acquaintances from my classes (like [amante della musica] and Ellie, a girl in my music as discourse and comedy class): seem simpler than talking to [X] now. Maybe she really just has become someone that I used to know.
[Львица] came across this article the other day and I had one of those instances where I wanted to attach a big giant "this" photo to it to express how much I agree with the author is saying. You can read the whole thing here but I'm going to post the first two paragraphs to segue into it:
Successful women know only too well that in any male-dominated
profession, we often find ourselves at a distinct disadvantage. We are
routinely underestimated, underutilized and even underpaid. Studies show
that women need to perform at extraordinarily high levels, just to
appear moderately competent compared to our male coworkers.
But in my experience, smart and talented women rarely realize that
one of the toughest hurdles they'll have to overcome to be successful
lies within. Compared with our male colleagues, we judge our own abilities not only more harshly but fundamentally differently.
Understanding why we do it is the first step to righting a terrible
wrong. And to do that, we need to take a step back in time.
Perhaps I find this so timely because it just occurred to me over break that all the really terrible things that combat me (my weight, my appearance, my grades, my future, my attitude, my relationships) have rarely been outwardly criticized by anyone. No, in fact the thoughts that hurt me most come from ME. I think I won't succeed at something or that I'll fail or something or that I'm bad person and it hurts me and I see it as true just because I THOUGHT IT. I remember this really taking off around fifth grade, all these negative self-thoughts, and that's when I first remember having blue days and feeling incompetent and disliking myself. And woe and behold, at what age does the author say little clever girls suddenly feel less confident? FIFTH GRADE.
Girls see things as innate and unchangeable; boys see through effort and practice, they can get better at things. Why this is... well, I'm sure I could come up with a lot of hypothesis. But it seems so true. I mean, it's certainly been a hurdle I've been trying to overcome in a lot of things - music, math, social skills, you name it. Part of me wants to get all feminist and freak about this and get pissed off that this difference in learning exists. Part of me just wants to sit back and think this through and find a way to overcome it. Another part of me just wants to go out and hug every girl this has happened to.
Sometimes, life just isn't fair. I think about how people sometimes treat me, being an assistant building manager, acting like because I'm a girl I can't handle working with hardware and plumbing and other assorted home improvement things. This hasn't happened often and it hadn't blatantly been expressed but it's just a feeling I've gotten from some of the people (okay, men) who've come out to the apartment to do repairs. As if just because I'm a woman, I can't learn how to do repair stuff.
Yeah, and you came out of the womb knowing everything you ever needed to know about home repair. Right.
Fortunately for me, around the time I started getting serious about music, I started trying to believe that things are not innate and unchangeable, that I could learn flute and kick ass at it (okay, so I didn't get into music school, but I do kick ass at it). I could do math if I really put my mind to it (but I found myself having more fun writing and doing psych stuff). I can freaking light a pilot light and re-attach a shower head to the wall. I CAN LEARN SHIT.
So, girls: you can do it. Whatever it is. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And boys: share the love. We can both do it - and screw insecurity.
This has dissolved into a fluffy, poorly written pep talk. Sorry, but in my defense, today's the first day of spring semester and my brain is rather exhausted. So maybe I should call it quits for the night and let all you philosophizing pseudo-feminists do whatever it is when you're not reading my blog. Not that philosophizing pseudo-feminists read my blog but... never mind. You know what I mean.
So [Львица] stayed up late last night, having a conversation about how I was feeling in regards to the situation with [X]. She told me to stop beating myself up and blaming myself for things. Along with many other genius thing, which I will attempt to briefly reiterate here.
Like how people who used to be shy (I am certianly one of those) aren't used to no one liking you; we're afraid of making enemies when it's time to say our own opinion. It's why [X] is afraid to say her opinions, afraid of what it's going to be like. Because she doesn't want to lose people. And it's the same for me.
But we're going to lose people. We're going to make mistakes. That's why regret exists in the world. We have to fight. Because it's sadder to let someone win without a fight
There is something to be learned from how [novel killer] acts - she doesn't concede. I wouldn't want to be that extreme (especially in light of recent events). But she at least what she gets what she needs to say out there. Otherwise, as [Львица] it's like a film on top of the water, with people not saying everything they want to say.
"I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did," [Львица] told me. She described to me how we're a lot of different people in our lives and, as we grow up, we have to let one go and it's like grieving for a person who's died. We have a fantasy of ourselves in our heads, a fantasy that [Львица] said she lived for eight years of who she could be. Yet she never touched who she was - she had no real idea. She was a soul untouched and the time to find out who she was had arrived. She likened it to idealizations of love - how after you really fall in love, you read books and hear music in a different way. You can think about what it will be like, but you won't really know until you know.
There's a barrier between us - a barrier of time and life. But you have to press up against the glass, to make it your own words, to make it your own.
http://tuttoinbiancoenero.tumblr.com
So it was with these thoughts that I started today. And started it very well, I might add. Until the shit hit the fan once more. [novel killer] has sent me a message about doing Secret Santa for the Christmas part and I told her this:
I think [X] is still in charge of Secret Santa, actually. [Львица] and I weren't planning on doing it.
And then she said:
All right. She said you wanted to be in charge, so I figured I'd ask.
And then I said:
Well, we just offered to let her have the party here and she misinterpreted it as us wanting to take over the party; we just wanted to offer our apartment as a venue. Sorry for the confusion .
And then it ended up at this from [novel killer]:
Stop stop stop. No. [X] informed me last night that you had messaged her asking if it was okay if you did, and said said it was fine if you did, but she'd be upset about it but if some something she had to work out by herself. That would be you wanted to take over the party. Which is fine, there's nothing wrong with it, so that's why I asked you this. And yes, she was upset, but it was more of because she'd been doing it for years.
Frankly I think everyone needs to get over their hatred for the little stuff. It's stupid. Everything's not about you (as in individuals). It's about together. [X] being upset about losing control is not about you wanting to take it over, it's symbolic of the fact that the times have changed and she's trying to deal with it. It's Christmas. I don't need this, no one needs this. I have familial stuff going on right now that's going to be a huge sour note during Christmas, so the last thing I want it to have a petty party with friends that I won't enjoy the company of because they're all being petty. And it's not just you. You'll probably take it that way and tell [Львица] and then people will hate me, but whatever. Just try to remember the things people do usually have nothing to do with you as a person. (That goes for everyone.) I would give everyone this speech, but unfortunately you're the message I got this morning and therefore you get the brunt of it.
I know you're not very happy with [X] for whatever reason, but you know what? Whatever it is, I guarantee it's a stupid reason. I don't even know what it is, but I know it's stupid. So you know what? Get over it. Everyone should get over their stupid things with each other and move on. Why? Not because it's Christmas. Not because we want to be the bigger person. Why? Because we're friends. And good friends should love near-conditionally. {I think she means non-conditionally.} Because people fuck up, and your friends are supposed to forgive you for it. Like if I yelled at you for an hour because I was so angry from outside sources and your little thing happened to be the thing that set me off? As a friend, I would expect you to forgive me without be having to say anything once we cooled down. Because that's what friends do. And we were great friends. Unfortunately college has separated us. And now we're not during the year, but we still should have that bond. And if we don't, why are we having Christmas with one another? Because if we're not friends enough to forgive each other of expressing opinion and not get catty and guilt-trippy, then we shouldn't have Christmas at all.
And that's the reason I haven't even posted on the Christmas thread yet. I wanted to see how this played out. And I hope my friends prove me wrong, but we'll have to see.
Also, thanks for completely ignoring [musical queen]. (note the sarcasm). I know she can be a handful, but she is our friend, and either you or [Львица], since you decided the date seeing as it's your place, could've politely told her that you can't have the party when she's in town because of [Львица] not being in town.
Anyway, I hope you give this some thought instead of taking it as [La Maga]-bashing and hate me forever instead of something our entire group needs to work on. (Except for maybe [foxy lady], and ha, ironically [musical queen] who has never passed judgement on any of you because she genuinely likes you.)
Needless to say, this kind of tore me up when I saw it. Okay, that's a lie. IT FUCKING DEVASTATED ME. This isn't the first time something like this had happened between [novel killer] and me though. She sent me a really terrible message on Facebook back in my freshman year, one that made me hate myself so much I actually toyed with the thought the thought of jumping of the Washington Avenue bridge because I felt like entire world loathed my guts. I don't think [novel killer] realizes how much power her words have - especially over me.
We didn't exclude [musical queen] from party plans - [Львица] talked to her separately. As for the rest of it... I don't know. She clearly blames me for everything that happened here - and then some. A lot of it doesn't make sense. How can she say my problems are just stupid without even knowing what they are? How can I non-conditionally care about a person when they write poisonous things like this and don't seem really reciprocate that? Why is okay for people to take out their cathartic problems on me but when I actually have a problem, it's stupid?
Beats me. I think it's crap. Really, I do. Despite how shitty I felt during social psych (which was ironically about female aggression, in which we discussed Mean Girls - which I'd actually just seen) I was feeling much less shitty and blame-worthy. I'm not gonna take it, dammit. I have feelings - I have rights. I am my own woman. And though I did what she expected I would - I showed it to [Львица], I don't hate her as a person. I hate some of the things she does but I don't hate HER. I'm just worried about her. Because this and what she was telling [Львица] isn't healthy. There's a lot of hate built up there and I'm worried for her.
Good thing is, I talked with [X] tonight and straightened some things out. We're back on friendly terms and I feel like we could be moving to a much stronger, healthier relationship. I hope so at least. And the funny thing about anger - once you get an apology, you can't remember why you were mad in the first place. This new bridge into... wherever....It's not going to be easy, but I'm going to stick to my guns. I'm going to find out what's going on with [novel killer] and I'm going to keep working to be the strong, fabulous woman I know I can be. I've seen it. I can do it.
Well, [X] has done it now. She's now tainted one of the few sacred things I've got: Christmas.
Here's the deal: my group of friends have this annual tradition of having a Christmas party at [X]'s house every year. Although, because of insinuating circumstances, [X]'s family now lives with her grandmother and she doesn't feel comfortable/isn't allowed to have guests over. And, because I realized that I hadn't heard anything yet about a Christmas party, I messaged her about it. She wasn't sure whether she was up for it, but I told her that [Львица] and I were certainly interested and so she sent out a Facebook message about it. Because she said she couldn't have guests over, [Львица] and I offered up our place. She seemed okay about it, but when I did message her, she sort of flipped out. This was the message:
Me: Hey, you seem busy and I don't want to pressure you into doing the Christmas party if you don't want to, so if you're not interested in doing it, Sarah and I would be cool just hosting a little get-together at our apartment. I don't want to take over the Christmas party from you or anything and we wouldn't do Secret Santa or anything like that; just dinner and hang-out-ness up here. Lemme know what you think.
[X]: I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I want to be honest. It's really hard for me to turn over running the Christmas party to anybody, since I've been hosting it since I was in the sixth grade--before I even knew you or Sarah or most of the people who are invited to it now. It's been my way of giving my friends a holiday gift, hokey as that sounds. So not being able to throw it makes me feel really irrelevant. (Some period of time later) With that said, I'm not eleven anymore. I know that more people than me feel a sense of ownership over the concept of a "Christmas get-together" now and have every right to host it. And the truth is, I don't really have anything to give right now. I don't have a home to welcome anyone to. I don't have a lot of time or energy. I don't even feel like I have the right "spirit" to do this. So if you and Sarah want to host this get-together, then I'll honestly be okay with that. I may even be relieved. Just please don't think badly of me for not getting to the point of being absolutely ok with not hosting this immediately. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty by being honest with you, I just want you to see all my cards laid out on the table so that nothing gets bottled up to fester.
Me: Okay, this is not what I expected at all and it makes me really sad. I think you, [Львица] and I need to have a talk about this.
http://mendokusee.deviantart.com/
So she called me and we talked. Sort of. I don't know why but every time I get on the phone, all of my gumption fails. Oh, wait, I know why. Because I'm a coward.
Yep, that's the truth. I'm a sniveling little coward. I can say exactly how I feel about [X] to [Львица] but when it comes to actually telling [X}, I hear her voice, that sound like she's on the verge of tears and suddenly I'm back to square one. I can't tell her that I'm pissed - though I did tell her I was upset and was audibly angry on the phone yesterday. But somehow, I just can't manage to find the words to tell her how I actually feel. Despite the fact that when her I read her message I was shaking and ended up taking out my rage gnashing Cheerios angrily and cathartically writing all kinds of poisonous thoughts for fifteen minutes. When she starts her talk about feeling unworthy of her friends and how bad she feels about herself and how she feels like all of her problems are insignificant and thus won't talk about them (which then makes them more-so - and more dangerously - important because they get all muddled up in stuff like this), it hits the little part inside of me that feels the same way and then I make my stuff unimportant so at least one person thinks her stuff is important (instead of having an equal, two-way street of a friendship). And then because I try to understand her and support her, I can't criticize her without her thinking I hate her - which she's pushing me to only through self-fulling prophecy. Because she thinks everyone hates her, I begin to hate her because I can't be honest with her. I don't hate her - I just want her think before she speaks, to want to change herself for the better. But instead, I don't tell her this; I just talk about her behind her back. Just like she does. In my inability to be honest with her, I become exactly what I hate about her.
And I don't know what to do.
Ironically, we were talking about relationships and aggression (two separate topics that accidentally overlapped due to too much material) in my social psych class on Monday, which was really too much. Sometimes, my psychology classes oddly mirror my life. What it did tell me was that I can't stay this way. I can't passively wait for us to finally grow apart or stick by her even if I get hurt. That's what I've been doing; it doesn't work and it feels wrong. I don't know whether it's best to try to actively work through our problems, because that would take time from her and she seems to damn busy to care about that sort of thing. Besides, I don't know if it's worth trying to work through and save. Which basically gives me one option: tell her it's done. She's pushed me too far away and that I'm done unless she steps forward herself. But that's not just something you can spring on someone. It's not like you can just break up with a friend (I dunno - maybe you can; I've never tried it). But I have so few friends these days, I feel reluctant to do so - because if I piss her off, I piss off everyone else who still talks to me from high school, [Львица] and [action is eloquence] and [uber gay] probably being the only exceptions. And [save the panzer]. Because fortunately for him, he has nothing to do with this shit.
So right now I just feel ansty and stressed and crampy because it's nearly finals time and I literally have cramps. Yay. But I know I can't stay this way. I mean, after I talked to [X] yesterday, I felt like a terrible person. She makes me feel bad about myself. And then "I am what I am" came on my iTunes and I started crying, because I couldn't have felt farther from what I am after that conversation. I was glad [Львица] called me to save me from wallowing in self-pity.
But bloody hell - IT'S CHRISTMAS. I shouldn't feeling bad about myself. I shouldn't put up with [X] totally misconstruing her friendships and, through trying to not make anything about her, totally make everything about her. I SHOULDN'T BE FEELING LIKE A PILE OF CRAP AGAIN. I was so happy before I got that message, thinking all about a holiday party (because I've never hosted a holiday party. Ever. In fact, I think I've only hosted six parties in my entire life). I want that carefree happiness back. Am I going to let [X] get me down. Not anymore. No, I shan't! It's Christmas.
I certainly hope that, wherever you are in space in time, that it is not in a little apartment infested by centipedes and mice. Or some place worse. I have decided to write this little post because I feel suddenly struck by a fear of making mistakes that are not worth making - not the good sort. And I would like to try to provide you with a source of some perhaps helpful advice in lieu of the insanity that certainly lies ahead.
First off, I have no idea what you will be doing in general. Hopefully it will not involve being a hobo. Regardless, whatever it is, do it with passion. Don't give in to doing something safe just because you know you can do it. TRY NEW THINGS. The worse that can happen is that you will fail, and we both are plenty familiar with that.
I will never be this cool. But goddamn, I can try.
Of course, I'm going to bring up relationships. If you remember, I'm on the edge between being a full-blown romantic and a nihilistic hermit. So, I'm hoping things are a little more steady on your end. If you're queen of the Ryan Gosling Swagger (à la Crazy Stupid Love), kudos. If things suck, keep a stiff upper lip. Remember what it was like to not understand love, to not even have any experience with it. To wonder why you saw so few relationships work out, why everything seems so simple, until you become part of one. I know I sound down about it all but I'm just showing - you knew more than you thought you did. Don't sweat it; it'll work out. I believe it will.
If by some strike of fate you find yourself in a long-term relationship, don't take it for granted. Just don't. And if by some terrible, incredible miracle you have children, remember not to be too hard on them when they act up. Growing up is tough - it might seem long ago, but I remember it pretty well. It's brilliant and brutal. And whatever your kids do, you probably did once too. Don't blame them too much for their mistakes, economic troubles, mistakes you made. They'll listen... maybe too well.
Wherever you're living, I hope it feels like home. I know when you were younger, you likened yourself to a turtle - adaptable, movable, able to fit in anywhere. Know that I'm glad you had that adaptability but that you shouldn't be afraid to put down roots. No one belongs here more than you.
Fresh off a 21st birthday, I had some crummy feelings in the days shortly before. It got me worried, it got me thinking. I hope you're strong and confident - I hope that I'm establishing that now. I hope you still have a warm fuzzy feeling for sci-fi shows and Broadway plays, and a penchant for shortbread, Earl Grey tea and Nutella. But most of all, I hope you look back at all of this and don't regret a thing.
There's a major issue with being a psych student, especially one who's taken abnormal psychology. There's a tendency called psychology student syndrome, also known as"generalized disorder disorder." It goes basically like this: You learn about a disorder, you suddenly recognized parts of yourself in it. And you totally flip a shit.
For example, last year I learned about borderline personality disorder and what it consisted of. The definition in the DSM is as follows:
Pervasive pattern of instability
of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity
(5 or more):
Frantic
efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
Pattern
of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships
Alternating
between extremes of idealization and devaluation
Identity
disturbance; unstable sense of self
Impulsivity
in at least 2 self-damaging ways (sex, spending)
I, of course, instantly starting if it could apply to me. Dumb, right? I don't really match the symptoms very well. But when you start looking at them loosely, it gets kind of scary. Have I ever frantically been worried about being abandoned? Well, yeah - that was like half of high school there, wondering why people actually wanted to be friends with me and wondering when they would leave (because, truthfully, I've never had friends that lasted very long. [uber gay] takes the prize - ten years, man. I can hardly believe it). My whole sudden extreme obsessions/crushes on people seemed to fit bullet number 2. Also, I've been known to totally love something, then hate it (Twilight, anyone? But I think that's a special case).
The unstable sense of self... that's the one that worries me. I remember talking about this in AP Psych, about how some people think Marilyn Monroe was borderline because she wanted to be like the characters she portrayed; she wanted to become who she was playing. Some theorize that she didn't have an actual sense of self, so she had to envelope herself in a fictional persona to ground herself in a personality.
This freaked me out as a teenager, mainly because I was changing so much. Who I was as a person changed from year to year (well, it still does in some ways) and nothing felt consistent. Also, it doesn't help that when people ask me to tell them something about myself, I sort of freeze (because the question is so ponderous - where to even begin?) I think I misinterpret this as NOT having a clear personality, when in fact I just have a slightly complex one - and that I'm not good at spontaneously giving personal answers (seriously adding in the new blog description up there took like half an hour tonight. Also, this blog has changed like ten million times... God, don't even start, [L Maga]... don't even start).
I could go on, describing how I've felt the semblance of all the other symptoms at some point in my life. But I'll spare you. But that's the key issue here - these are all things that people may feel at some point. We're all human and have similar experiences, after all. Having a disorder of this nature means these symptoms are experienced in the EXTREME, that totally interrupt your life and may be harmful to yourself and/or others. That's something my professor emphasized on the first day of Abnormal Psych. But it's easy to forget that when your reading your textbook and, suddenly, a description of a disorder sounds exactly like what happened to you last Thursday. It's a slippery, slippery slope. So be nice to psych majors - there's a reason why some of us are a little weird (but do stop freaking out that we're constantly psychoanalyzing you. Don't be silly - we aren't. We're just doing it to ourselves :p).
I was standing
in my room on my birthday, looking out the window and watching it snow,
listening to "Science and Religion" from the movie Angels and Demons
playing on my iPod and I felt like everything had changed. Changed for
the better. I mean, just a few days before, I was feeling a bit down. I
felt like I was a bad friend, unable to connect and comfort when those I care about need me. I felt misunderstood, for about the two hundredth time in my life, and for no obvious reason. I was having that stupid fear again that I'm actually borderline (this needs more explanation than I can provide here. Later, my friends. Later). I was wondering if I actually can understand people or if I'm just some kind of alien being that pretends to understand but really doesn't get it because... well, because I'm an alien.
This is, of course, ridiculous. And not true. Just because I feel misunderstood and cut-off and confused every once in a while does not make me not human. I think that's just a basic part of humanity - to fear that you don't understand. When clearly, it seems I do. [Львица] keeps saying all these wonderfully kind things about me, showing that all my worries are unfounded and baseless. All the well-wishing I received on my birthday made me realize that people do not in fact dislike me or ignore we or not care about me. And that I am a nice person who should be nicer to herself.
For some reason, I've been waking up in the morning feel like anything is possible. I mean, I'm not really that pessimistic - but I'm never this much of an optimist. I feel like all my dreams could come true. I feel like I took the right step, did the right thing, am finally moving in the right direction. Towards what, I don't know. But it all feels like this:
Sitting in O'Donnovans on my birthday, hearing Mumford and Sons and Van Morrison blasted out of the speakers above me made me feel oddly magical. There I was, sitting in an Irish pub on my birthday that was somehow magically a bunch of my favorite songs, like they were doing it on purpose. It was ridiculous, but I felt like I was supposed to be there at that moment, that I was chosen for something, that everything was happening for a reason. It was probably just birthday elation getting to me, but I don't know... I went to the gym to work out today, for the first time since high school, and I felt this odd sort of determination I haven't had in a long time. It's not that I've been totally lackluster about things - I mean, I have been bored with classes and going through mood swings (but that's rather typical for me). What I've been feeling is some part of me awakening that was some dormant, or some new part of me I'm no longer afraid to show. I kind of feel... well, I feel utterly comfortable with myself. And it's a nice change.
So fuck that shit about not feeling good enough, about thinking that there's something wrong with me and that, because I'm different I'm not right, not normal, not human, that because people don't talk to me much and because I have few friends that it means I'm a bad person. Fuck that. None of that is true. There's a difference between helpfully criticizing yourself and being a hazard to your personal well-being. I think I've been too much of the later. But no more - none of that. I know I'm a crazy, moody Scorpio but this time I think this attitude is going to stick around. Maybe 21 is the age where I finally stop being so negative about myself, for once and for all. Maybe, this time, I'll live up to all my talking and actually walk the walk and be what I am.
Another cry of help from my subconscious. Last night, after the birthday celebrating was done, I had an oddly real-feeling dream. I was back in the cafeteria of my junior high, sitting at one of those uncomfortable, round tables that have those circular plastic seats attached (see figure 1) with [uber gay] and [X]. Why it was those two and there, I have no idea. Anyway, there was apparently some convention going on or something, because there were a bunch of people sitting at tables around the room. We were in the center, near the front where the kitchens are, and there was this long table set up that people were hovering around. And there, sitting at the table, was John Barrowman. It seemed he was doing some sort of autograph signing. I was suddenly elated and also terrified. I wanted to meet him, to say hi, but I was so shy and nervous and afraid of to talk to him because I'd never talked to anyone that attractive. So I decided to stay at the table while [uber gay] and [X] gushed and got him to sign something. I felt like an idiot but decided to stay where I was because Barrowman did not seem to happy about [X] and [uber gay]'s gushing and I decided that he must have been rather jet-lagged. Then [X] and [uber gay] returned to the table to continue gushing. Which is funny, because I'm 98% sure that in real life, neither one of them knows who John Barrowman is. So yeah... it's weird on several different levels.
Also, anyone else think it's kind of sad that I can't even talk to a hot guy/ celebrity in my dreams? Stupid subconscious...
If I could do a face plant right now without hitting my face on my keyboard, I would do it.
OH MY GOD. I AM SOOOOOOOO NAIVE.
I'm so naive a guy I just talked to on the phone whom I haven't even meant can tell I know NOTHING about Hollywood. I'm pretty sure I just made the biggest fool of myself in my entire life and even if I have any possibility of retaining any respectability, I doubt he will ever take me seriously because I'm certain he already thinks I am probably part of that 98% who will run back home from Hollywood, crying my eyes out.
Let me explain.
The other day, I went in to talk to my advisor for Cultural Studies, Jules. She recommended that I message two people that have graduated from the U who are now working in L.A. I did so and heard back from one of them pretty quickly. He gave me his phone number and I called him tonight... well, it's tomorrow now. Even though it's only 10:19 pm in California. Stupid...
Anyway, I gave a brief run-down of my life (not very interesting, I admit). I told him that I really want to intern on the Late Late Show. I told him, though I was embarrassed, that when I was little I used to pretend that I have my own talk show. He told me there was nothing embarrassing about having a dream. I suddenly felt better about life.
The idiocy on my part was to come next. He told me how there's this thing called the UTA job list, which lists a bunch of available jobs in Hollywood. Except it's way more epic than that. Which I didn't fully understand until he described it later, after he'd already offered to email to me but then decided that I wasn't "that excited about it." Problem number one. When he did re-explain the UTA job list, it made me feel like a major asswipe for NOT being more excited about it. Because it's basically something only Hollywood executives get. It does get spread around in other ways, obviously, but most people don't see it until two or three weeks until after it's been released, which doesn't help much. So it's a big damn deal... and I failed to comprehend this on first description and was just like, "yeah, that'd be great." That's like saying, "yeah, that'd be great to have the codes to the nuclear football."
In my defense, I am really fucking tired today. But I feel like that excuse stopped being valid the moment I started my freshman year.
So there's that fail. And then as he went on to describe Hollywood and I compared it to Sunset Boulevard, I probably epically failed again. Because this movie probably glamorizes the unglamorous of Hollywood. Which means I just expressed that I'm a total moron. I'm cringing in my chair just thinking about this... I should never, ever converse on the phone, EVER. It always goes badly.
On my part, it did catch me off-guard that he didn't think I knew anything about Hollywood. I do know that it's not glamorous. I know that it's not exactly beautiful. What I didn't know is that it's a disgustingly UGLY place (or so he stated). I know it's competitive. I know I'm more likely to fail than succeed. I know it's all about who you know. What I didn't think about in context to myself is that there are thousands of people, less lucky, less well-off than me, who are going there everyday, working longer than I will, kissing ass as much as they have to get what they want. I know that people are better than me. I know that I have to really fight for what I want. But fight with what? Better at what? How do I keep from becoming Joe Gillis? Am I already Joe Gillis? Did I just talk to Joe Gillis?
I'm beginning not to make sense... this means it's time to shut up and to go to bed. More about this tomorrow... later. Whatever. You know what I mean.
Well, it's been like 16 hours since I wrote this and I am feeling much, much better about the world. I talked to a grad student in the CSCL department who has worked on the set of "I am Legend" and is pretty much amazing. She was much friendlier and far more helpful than the guy from last night was. In fact, when I told her that he said that 98% of the people who go out to L.A. come home crying, she replied, "He sounds like he's gone totally L.A."
My thoughts exactly.
She was really excited that I was interested in working for the Late Late Show and seemed really positive about it. A bit bitter about film school (apparently a lot of frat-boy wanna-bes show up there thinking they're the next Spielberg) but not at all saying it's going to be hell. Yeah, it'll be a lot of hours and it'll be a lot of work, but if I volunteer first to do thing, really get involved, show I care - they'll be no problems. She said most everyone she knows who have done things like that have gotten jobs out it. She also recognized that I want to go out there for WRITING not... whatever Mr. L.A. automatically assumed I wanted... directing? Producing? I couldn't really tell. She says that writing is a very different field than other parts of the entertainment industry there. And she hadn't heard of the UTA list; she said it was probably, "just a job list." Not the be-all, end-all of my existence. So see if I call Mr. L.A. back wanting it... Like I'd call him back anyway.
The problem of the conversation with Mr. L.A. was that he assumed a lot of things about me. Now, I can't say that he looked at my Facebook account - probably not, he seemed like the super-busy, pretty self-interested sort - but he totally made a lot of off-hand comments that may not have necessarily applied. He assumed I was Minnesotan. I am, but I haven't lived here my entire life. And I'm not sheltered and inexperienced, if that's what he was trying to say with that comment. He assumed that I hadn't been through much hardship or ever worked super hard - both valid and invalid. He seemed to think I couldn't see myself making mistakes or totally failing. Um, really? That's everyday of my fucking LIFE, dude. I make mistakes at a rather high rate. And you fail more than you win in Hollywood? Such is life. He automatically figured I didn't know anything about Hollywood and how competitive it is. Maybe he just wanted to gloat a bit about how much work he's put forth and complain about how shitty people treat him there. He said he was doing what he wanted to do... but he didn't exactly sound happy to me. And this coming from the guy who thought I wasn't excited. Hmmm.
I bring up the Joe Gillis mention from Sunset Boulevard again, partly because I can't get the song from the musical out of my head.
Yeah, it's John Barrowman. Shut up, judging voices of the world.
I remember seeing the movie Sunset Boulevard when I was about fourteen or fifteen. It was one of the first classic films I saw and it totally changed my life. I relate to writers - always have, always will. Because I kind of am one. And seeing Joe Gillis, a writer so fundamentally changed by life in Hollywood... well, it stuck with me. And haunted me. And it's been one of my fears, I guess I'm concerned that You think I've sold out/ Dead right I've sold out/ I just keep waiting/ For the right offers will embody all I've become. That I won't care about anything but money. I don't want to be like that. I want to do this because I WANT TO DO THIS. And because I WANT TO DO THIS FOR OTHER PEOPLE. I don't want this becoming all about fame or fortune or my work. I want to do this to make people happy, to entertain them, TO INSPIRE THEM.
Dreamy, yes, but that's how I operate. I'm not supposed to be embarrassed to have a dream, right?
Mr. L.A. told me that if I don't get an internship over the summer, then there will never be any chance of getting into Hollywood. He kept emphasizing that I should look into one, which wasn't helpful. I DO want to get one. I even know WHICH ONE. It's just GETTING it that will be the problem. He told me he only got the internships he did because his brother was working out there and he had connections. It's all about who you know; I knew this. Mr. L.A. told me twenty times that this was the case. This might make it harder for me. But going in, it's a risk I have to take. If I don't get this internship in L.A. - the only one I really want - well, then I won't be working there. Fine. I get it. I'm not so wet behind the ears to think that things are just going to handed over to me, that things are going to be easy, that I'm not going to have to put up a fight for everything. Clearly, Mr. L.A. doesn't understand that I've spent a better part of my life fighting for things in one way or another. I'm not just another empty-headed dreamer. I'm a pensive dreamer who's not afraid to get her hands dirty. But I'm also not afraid to stand up for who I am and resist to the pressure to become something I'm not. So if I don't belong out there, okay. I'll have lived and learned.
Regardless, I am feeling way WAY better than I did this morning. Despite the fact that I told Mr. L.A. I wasn't going to have any second thoughts, I totally did (because when you get the perception that Hollywood is full of people like him, you can understand why I would run the other direction). But I REALLY want to do it. And after talking to the CSCL grad student, I feel like I'm not selling my soul or committing to something I don't want to do (which was for some reason the vibe I was getting from the other guy). It's a risk - but a risk I want to take. And I need to think positively - realistically, but positively. Which means a hell of a lot more of this :D -
Sometimes I don't know why I write this blog. Here lately I've begun to wonder if it's just a waste of time. It's not academic, nobody really wants to hear me talking about my life, how great I think Torchwood is, how I'm obsessed with British culture and Byronic heroes. Sometimes I wonder why I thought this was a good idea in the first place.
This, of course, comes up because I'm terrified that I'm doing things wrong. My whole life, I've worked for I don't know what... and it's terrifying to recognize that. I'm here in school, basically marking time now until I graduate and trying to find things that set me up and make me look distinctive for an internship that I, until recently, have only dreamed about getting. Well, am still dreaming about getting. I can see it in my own reality... it just seems too fantastic. I think of it as the impossible dream for a reason. But I don't know what I'm doing. If things don't work out, what am I left with? Is blogging really every going to pay off? What if I never finish writing any of the countless things I've started? What if I don't get any internships and graduate with no idea of what I want to do in life?
These questions really start to bog me down, especially after the event I just experienced. I was supposed to let the roofer into the apartment building to do some maintenance, I couldn't find him anywhere. I couldn't call him back because I didn't have his number and, when I did get his number, it was an hour after I was supposed to meet him and I'd already spent a half an hour walking around the outside of the building looking for him. Apparently he was there for about five minutes and left so it totally wasn't my fault. BUT I WAS PISSED. It made me feel so small, so powerless. This job is already rough sometimes because every once in a while, I get the feeling that people don't believe we can actually do this job because we're women. And then I feel like I just can't do this job because I'm 20 years old and I don't exactly look like a manager. And then I just feel like shit. So basically I was just pissed off about being treated like shit. And suddenly, all the things that had made my day good seemed unimportant and trivial. So what if Jules, my CSCL advisor, said that there's absolutely no reason not to try for the Late Late Show internship? So what if I overcame the bystander affect we were talking about in psych class and didn't assume that someone was going to return the key I found in the bathroom and instead returned said key to a very grateful woman in the writing center? So what if I feel like I'm actually going to have an interesting (if totally embarrassing) Nanowrimo story this year? So what if I totally have a celebrity crush on John Barrowman and dream about working for Craig Ferguson and want to be a famous writer? None of that matters because I suck at my job and no one respects me and no one cares about me and I fail at life. At least that's how I felt until I had a little cry, vented to [Львица] and listened to the title song from the musical "Sunset Boulevard" because it's been stuck in my head all day (again, showtunes invading my mind...)
Clearly, I don't suck at my job, people respect me, people care about me and I don't fail at life. But it's hard to think about and appreciate all the things I've accomplished when so many things I want are just... so lofty. I don't think I'm an egotist, I just think I ask a lot out of life. But when am I asking too much? But I so, so so much want to believe this:
Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I be allowed to dream crazy dreams? Why shouldn't I be allowed to try for something incredible? The real trick to all this is keeping my hopes up without getting to overconfident and then totally destroying and disappointing myself. But why shouldn't I at least dream about interviewing, getting the internship, meeting celebrities, just a little bit? It keeps me motivated. It keeps me positive. It keeps me sane.
Sometimes I feel like I should be doing more than what I am to prepare myself - working at some job half the time or leading some student government position or something. But some of those things aren't who I am. And there is only so much I can do in the time that has been given to me. Which is a frightening, staggering thought on many levels... though it's got a nice Lord of the Rings vibe to it. Yes, I don't have much time left before I graduate, before that deadline for the internship is due, before I have to decided what I'm going to do with my life before I kick the bucket and accept that mortality is a fact of life. Unless you're Jack Harkness, of course. But on that plus side, I shouldn't make myself do things I don't really want to do or give up things that truly matter to me. I'm going to run out and overwork myself and let my grades suffer just to impress someone. I'm not going to get involved with something I don't really care about. I'm not going to give up blogging just because I don't have that many followers or I feel like no one cares what I think or because Blogger will never recommend it to anyone and pretends this page doesn't exist. I don't blog for anyone, exactly - I blog because I can. I blog because I enjoy it. I blog for me.
Because when things get rough, it's nice to know that I have this thing, this creation of mine to fall back on. It's a nice comfort. Not to mention I'm finally happy with how the layout looks.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm to stop blogging for a while and go write the worst romance novel ever written and stop being such a gloomy schmuck. Ridiculous sappy storyline - Go!
This is turning out to be the best Halloween I've had in years.
It isn't going how we were planning - we hoped to go to a club or a party with our fabulous costumes. But there aren't many exciting events on Saturday night that aren't 21+... curse our youthfulness! So [Львица] and I decided to go back to our hometown of Lakeville for the weekend and spend it with our families.
I was somewhat disappointed - just because I built up this whole fairytale idea of having a Halloween extravaganza that I realistically should have known wouldn't happen. Sometimes, being a Romantic totally blows. Especially when you're an obsessive Romantic.
Tangent time - Am I obsessive? Stupid question, coming from the girl who's blogged about Torchwood and John Barrowman more than anything else this past month. It's been on my mind a lot - yes, I've been obsessing about obsessing :P - because of a Facebook conversation I had with X:
Me: I've always had an Scotland obsession. But now it's worse. incredibly worse.
[X]: I can't imagine... especially with your talent for obsession. (You have to admit, you're good at it. ;) )
Of course, I come back with a smile and agree that I'm a pro at obsessing... but am I really THAT obsessive? I am obsessive - it's a Scorpio trait, I'm a pro at ruminating, I tend to blabber on about the same things forever. But am I EXTREMELY obsessive? Like, to the point where I can't tell if [X] means this in a jesting manner or if she's referring to how I obsessed over [No-Mr-Darcy]. And [tedesco]. And a zillion different movies and books and such. Am taking part in a normal human trait? Or going too far? Do people just humor me because they think it's cute that I fixate for one things for extended periods of time? Or are they creeped out?
I worry about this because of how I reacted Thursday night. Admittedly, I just saw Ianto die on Torchwood and was utterly devastated (yet another sign of obsession, right?) but when [Львица]'s plans changed for Halloween, I suddenly a sudden impact with reality. It wasn't [Львица]'s fault or anything; it was just that I suddenly realized that there wasn't anything for us to do, exactly, for under 21s. And that my whole building up for some sort of magical Halloween experience wasn't going to happen. And suddenly this whole spiral of worry that I hadn't been consciously thinking about unfurled. I realized that I'm spending more time thinking about fictional things than real life, that I'm stuck fantasizing about the impossible, that I have totally unrealistic expectations for love and life and shit...
Yeah, it really had nothing to do with the pre-Halloween events. It had more to do with this.
In my cultural studies class on Thursday, we were talking again about Monsieur Lefebvre's ideas of culture and his harsh critique of Surrealism. Our professor had been lecturing at us how there is a distinct difference between the wondrous and unexpected in real life and what Surrealists/ literary modernists are involved in - the magical, marvelous and bizarre. Our professor argues that the bizarre prevents us from seeing the wondrous in real life, that it does anything but look the harsh realities of everyday life in the face and instead paints it garish colors and injects it with a life it doesn't have.
There's some truth in this. I mean, some things completely obscure reality and can be dangerous, in high amounts. But I feel like many things labeled surrealist or modernist don't ignore reality - maybe they just don't want to deal with it ALL THE TIME. Maybe sometimes, a small escape isn't so bad. Not ALL the time, clearly. But can you blame me or anyone else for want to run to sci-fi or shopping or chick flicks or going out with the guys when life gets shitty? Sometimes we need to forget, for just a short period, about the parts of our lives that suck so we can see the wonderfulness of our everyday lives. I overestimate the ability for people to see the amazing-ness of everyday life, but I believe that people do see it. But sometimes you need the escape first. Of course, I'm being a total bourgeois here, but I REALLY don't want to discuss that at the moment. So I'm being an inappropriate cultural studies student here. But I'm not really trying to be a cultural studies student. So don't judge me.
Anyway, that's exactly what I did - escaped. I stopped worrying about whether or not my using Torchwood as a way to escape the monotony of this semester is ruining my perception of reality for five minutes and... used a different way of escaping. [Львица] and I went to the Mall of America on Friday afternoon for some retail therapy (yes, yes, as a cultural studies student I KNOW this is a sign of the power of consumer culture. But sometimes it really works, at least for the short term. Which, of course, is the drawback). I bought two incredibly cute dresses, one little black dress and a fantastic sequined phenomenon. Shown here:
Yes, I admit the sequined one is would not typically be my choice. But after seeing La Cage - and I need a party dress - and I love the colors - AND I LOOK FANTASTIC IN IT. Which was mind-blowing to me, she who usually looks terrible in tight tiny dresses. So win. Epic win :D
I traipsed around Friday and Saturday in my "costume" which was my totally ridiculous way of having a Halloween costume without buying anything. Thus I was Gwen Cooper from Torchwood, since I have a similar black leather jacket and pencil jeans. And boots - lots of boots. A costume and my favorite TV show combined. Win-win. [Львица] and I carved pumpkins on Saturday morning which was FABULOUS. Talk about noticing the magic of everyday. There was something truly amazing about cutting into those fresh, fragrant gourds and scooping out the seeds to roast and coat with cinnamon-sugar or salt. Especially cutting into the one I carved, a funny, wild-shaped one that had the oddest, oblong seeds and an aroma more like butternut squash than pumpkin. Our carvings turned out really well. [Львица]'s birdcage was incredible and my goofy face didn't fair too badly either :)
Our pumpkins :)
And that evening I went out to dinner to Kieran's Irish pub with my parents. It's one of my favorite restaurants and was wonderfully decorated with Halloween decorations. I got a good night's sleep at home, watched a spooky movie with my parents and got to nibble on Halloween candy (I forgot how much I actually like Almond Joys, by the way).
So, nothing fancy. Just everyday. But magical none the less. Maybe my cultural studies prof has a point after all. But I don't carve pumpkins everyday... how can I really call it that? OMG, why do I keep doing this to myself? I don't need to keep theorizing my life - that's what got me into this problem to begin with. IT'S MY LIFE. What happens, happens. Whether everyday, wondrous or bizarre. And I need to stop criticizing how I feel all the time - otherwise I truly will loose grip on reality.
Tomorrow's Halloween - another school day, a dress rehearsal for my band concert. Nothing super exciting. But who knows - I still think there is something magical about this holiday, whether anything extraordinary happens or not. It doesn't need to. It just... feels magical, no matter what.
As you might have seen from the previous post, the nighttime has not been so kind to me recently. At least where sleeping is involved. This has been a common event for the past few weeks. Of if not kind, at least rather strange.
I was lying in bed the other night, feeling crappy about school, feeling crappy about my social life, feeling crappy about everything in general, for no good reason. Then out of nowhere, a flashback occurred. (Yes, those generally only happen in movies. But they are happening more and more frequently in my life. What the hell does that mean?)
It was from this summer, in July after I had gotten back from Scotland. I was back on the edge of the lake on the lake property we have in Indiana (it sounds regal and expensive but I can promise you it's not. It belonged to my grandparents; it's not like we have a cabin on the lake... which makes us stand out from many Minnesotans, who do. I think we're actually the only people in the entire state who travel south to stay on the water). I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, watching my cousins cruise around in their speedboat and enjoying a tasty beverage with my parents. It was a bright, warm, sunny PERFECT day, before the absurd Hoosier humidity set in.
I realize that this very well might have been the happiest moment of my entire summer. Perhaps the entire year so far. It's weird to think in that moment, I was truly, totally happy. I was on a post-Scotland high, the stress of the class being over and the memories of my adventure still potent. It was before the difficult issues with my relatives came up. It was before I realized that [No-Mr-Darcy] was never going to text me. It was before I realized that this year was just going to be another school year. It was still when I had sheer, unadulterated joy and hope.
Not to say I have no joy or hope now. I do; it's just far more muted than it was then. But for some reason, when this memory flashed back through my mind, I felt less numb, less pissed off, just generally HAPPIER. Maybe because it was the last bit of relaxation I got before real stress started setting back in. Stress from going back to school. Stress from friend issues. Stress from my family - not my parents, but my extended family. There was inner peace I had that I just haven't acquired since then. The closest I get is when I remember this day. What the hell is that about?
Not to say I've been totally utterly miserable the last few months - I of course haven't. I have had some fabulous days. Going out and trying new things with [Львица]. Going to Radio K. Meeting up with my parents. Talking to one of my professors from last year about how awesome Scotland is. Writing on this blog. But still, at the end of the day, when I get ready for bed, this lingering, dull ache that appears in my gut. And I just wish I could get it to go away. It's putting me in a blue funk and ruining my positive outlook on things. It's like I feel homesick... but for what, I have no idea. I've never been homesick for Indiana. I don't want to go back there. But I feel like it's representing something in my mind. Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard about this.
Okay, maybe I do miss Indiana a bit. Or maybe this song always makes me tear up with a weird element of Hoosier pride (by the way, this is not Indiana's state song - which is "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away." It's mentioned, but "Back Home Again in Indiana" is actually just more popular than the actual state song). But I still think this is a cover for something deeper. Besides, this song made me feel homesick even when I lived in Indiana. 'Tis the nature of the song.
Whatever is bothering me, it's more than [No-Mr-Darcy]. It's more than school. It's more than [X]. It's more than work. I hope it's not just a 20-something's ennui with being single, being strange, and being studious. I've complained about these things until I'm blue in the face. It's something else. Like tonight... out of nowhere, I suddenly had the urge to cry. Well, not out of nowhere - there must be some reason. I just don't know what it is yet.
Maybe it's time I try something else. Maybe it's time to talk about things I've been mostly silent about thus far - Indiana, my family, glimpses of the past. Why not start tomorrow? It seems like a good time. After all, tomorrow a huge family event is occurring. One that just might change everything.
You probably know this by now. Perhaps there is some essence of "dreamerism" that pervades my writing. Or because I write about the possibility of Nicholas Cage being a vampire without really addressing the point that vampires PROBABLY AREN'T REAL.
I'm also a Scorpio. I think being a dreamer is just a side effect.
Um... maybe we feign interest because we're daydreaming?
Anyway, point is, I have ridiculous hopes and expectations. Many of which I am my rational side and my dreamy side are constantly fighting over. And things get complicated.
I actually started blogging last summer (the summer before sophomore year) because I decided I wanted to try to get an internship on the Late Late Show. And I thought blogging would be a good way to build my resume. Except that blog kind of died out when school started up again AND I HAD TO BLOG FOR CLASS. It made me a better blogger (I hope) but it also kept me from doing personal writing for a while. And then I had the idea that I wanted to go for grad school for Cultural Studies.
And then I surrounded myself with grad students in a lecture about Hegel and realized that GRAD SCHOOL WOULD KILL ME. So I spent the rest of the year trying not to die (never take 18 credits that involve two night classes - EVER) - and I created this blog. Which is now being used for various nefarious purposes.
And then, after seeing Craig Ferguson live, I realized that I AM TOTALLY STUPID. I stopped thinking about the internship only because no one seemed to think it was possible, that no one seemed to believe I was able to do it (*cough, [X],* *cough, [novel killer]*). Would I like to work in television? I think so. Would I like to work for the funniest comedian in existence? Hell yes!
Do I have the right major for this sort of thing? Who cares! After dropping in at Radio K (which is as close to working for television as I'm going to get around here; not the same but the same general idea at least) I learned that half the volunteers are at least CSCL minors and I already ran into a few fellow psych majors. Do I have enough job experience? Well, thanks to this little run with the apartment, maybe so. Do I have any idea what L.A. is like? Fuck no.
Which is probably going to be my biggest problem.
I'm not the sort of person who ever dreamed of going to L.A. or running of to make it big in Hollywood. My yearning for fame always came from book writing. And music. And acting in the theater. Those sort of ridiculous things. Not Hollywood.
So it's strange for me, to say the least, to actually want to go to Hollywood now. Although it's not really the location - it's the show. It's so rare for me to find something that I really, really intensely like. I might be passionate, but only regarding a few selected things. Like 19th Regency romance novels. Stories involving life at sea. Scotland. Complicated psychological dramas that often involve sci-fi/fantasy themes. Things that I keep bringing up again and again and again... I mean, I like many things. But there are only a few certain things that I REALLY REALLY LIKE. Thus it probably is for most people.
Anyway, my long-winded point is, I am sometimes incredibly picky. Especially regarding humor. The fact that I can watch Craig Ferguson and that he always makes me laugh seem to be a sign that he is, at least, a demi-god.
Seriously, I love humor, it's like my favorite genre of... life - but I am SO PICKY. I'm one of those people who can sit in a theater and watch a comedic film and not laugh at anything (exactly how I felt when I saw Bridesmaids. But I'm wondering if that had to do with extenuating circumstances). I have watched George Lopez and David Letterman and not even smiled. Generally, I like Monty Python, but The Life of Brian just made me uncomfortable. Maybe because I was watching it with [hahahaha SHUT UP].
So it makes me really happy that the Late Late Show is something I: A) find funny, B) can relate to, C) is the most un-L.A. thing in L.A. and D) something I feel like I could be a part of. Thus, the impossible dream.
A little Broadway, a little Sinatra - FOR THE WIN.
Of course, there are some difficulties with this whole crazy plan:
1) The intership would have to happen next summer. Or I would have to decide to add an extra year of school - thus a five year degree. Which means more money spent on college.
2) I would have to make sure the U actually will allow me to get credit for this internship. Otherwise I can't do it.
3) I would have to have AN AMAZING RESUME AND NOT FUCKING GET NERVOUS AND MAKE MYSELF LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.
4) I would probably have to learn how to drive, since transportation around L.A. sucks.
5) I would have to figure out where the hell I'd be staying in a town I've never been to.
Oh, yeah, and this....
6) I WOULD ACTUALLY HAVE TO GET THE BLOODY INTERNSHIP IN THE FIRST PLACE.
The requirements seem pretty loose; they don't make any mention of needing any previous experience in TV. But I have no idea what I'm competing against. Maybe all TV interns just want to go to the Daily Show or the Colbert Report and so it won't be as competitive as it could be. But then I think about all the kids who are majoring in communications - and all the ones who aren't - that would totally love to do this. AND I FEEL TOTALLY FUCKED.
But I am not giving up. NOT THIS TIME. I'm going to go for it. It's what I want to do - the only thing I really want to do, other than write and blog and watch movies and British TV shows and talk about hipster music. So what if it's a big mistake? I've got a lot more to make (thank you, Gossip Grows on Trees, for that awesome line. For that, I shall introduce you to Radio K).
I know you don't read this blog, but if you by chance you do, let's just come clean here and now. You called me last night with the intentions of talking to me about some issues I won't discuss here (you asked me not to mention it to anyone; I'm trying not to but easier said than done, you must know). The only problem is: I caused those issues. I did. You SAID the things you don't remember saying, and I told the parties involved that you said them. Why? Because I thought you meant it. You seemed serious. But now you don't even recall saying it, ever, to anyone. Are you really that flippant about what you say about your friends? Are the conversations we had together really that forgettable?
I don't know why you call me to discuss these sorts of things. I really don't. Do you expect me to tell you that you're wrong, that you don't sound like a bitch sometimes and that people always misjudge you? I can't let you play the victim; I don't want to pity you. You put me in the middle of something that shouldn't have sides and it's very difficult for me to deal with. You expect me to agree with you on everything, but I don't. I never did. I don't know what you want from me. I DIDN'T cause these problems. And if you know that I told someone something that you didn't want repeated, how was I supposed to know it was secretive if you don't remember saying it in the first place? If you're trying to subliminally cause me to feel guilty, I refuse to. Yes, I do have a tremendous ability to blame myself for things I didn't do - don't use it against me.
This isn't even a problem with the people whom you've had issues with. This isn't because of [Львица] or [mind ninja] or even [the artist] or [shortage of perfect breasts]. This is because of you. I don't mean this as blame; I mean this because you're insecure with yourself, you're worried anytime anyone says something bad about you, you can't seem to understand that the things you say HURT people. I know that - I'm hurting you right now. But whenever anyone calls you out on something, you never stand by it. You never defend what you say. You just give in and get upset. Maybe you should explain WHY you think the things you do. Because if you can at least defend your ideas, people will be less likely to hold it against you; they'll see that they disagree. But when you just give in, you make yourself feel worse, you make them feel worse and you cause more misunderstanding. I've done it in the past, I KNOW how this plays out. That's why I'm trying to be honest with you now, even if it's only starting here, in a place you don't know exists. I have to be cruel to be kind.
Here is the sad, unfortunate, brutal truths of the world: people are going to dislike you. People are going to see the world differently than you and you may not like what they see. People are going to say hurtful things about you. Especially if you say things that can be taken badly first. Words can be beautiful and dangerous tools - we should know; we're writers.
I cannot help you any more than that. I don't know how to tell you that things have changed between us, that we aren't as close as we used to be, that I'm not the same person that I was four years ago. I don't know how to do this without pushing you away. It'd be easier if we'd both excepted the changes and just moved on. But if told you the truth, you'd just cling to the present, to all the great and terrible things I've said. It's an issue with time and opinion we've got here, but I have to make myself clear: I believe what I believe. If we disagree, we disagree. And we're going to have to accept that maybe our differences set us apart now. Maybe it's time to go.
This doesn't mean I think you are a bad person, or that I don't like you or that I don't in some way still consider you a friend. It just means that I don't know you anymore. I'm not really sure you know yourself. The girl I went to high school with would never have been called the things people said about her. So the fact that people are makes me doubt you as much as you seem to doubt people's recollections of events. I can't defend you if I don't know you. And I won't defend you anymore. I'm busy trying to defend myself from other events that have erupted in my life. You need to learn STRENGTH, dear [X]. It isn't easy, it isn't pleasant, but it's the only way. If you can't believe in yourself, what can you possibly believe?
I can't tell you how to do this, [X], anymore than I can tell you how to resolve the weirdness we're now facing. I've stated my opinion enough here. And now, it's time to hear yours. We're going to disagree, but it's the only way we can possibly find understanding, the only way to get through to each other.
But I can't make that decision. It's up to you now.
