Sunday, February 17, 2013

Take My Hand

Oh and here's a poem I wrote for Valentine's day sort of and forgot to post. It probably needs some more work and restructuring and more thought and whatnot but here it is anyway.

Honey, take my hand
There’s a world out there
I think you should see
I want you to see it with me
Come see the fine things
Come hear how people sing
Come feel what tomorrow brings

Lady, just follow behind
There’s adventure out there
Places we can be
I want you there with me
Away from the evil things
Away from the sad things
Away from the stressful things
Trust my words because this time they’re true
We can create life and love, just me and you
Let’s sell our clothes and houses and cars
Let’s burn these drugged up streets and bars
Meet me in Paris, meet me in Rome
Wherever we are will be home
We’ll have chocolate and coffee and wine
I will be yours and you will be mine
We’ll lay on sun-warmed beach sand
Our journey awaits, but first, you must take my hand

Movie Mentality

I’ve always felt like I’m in a movie. Somewhere in my childhood my brain realized it couldn’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy and ever since, the two have both existed simultaneously within me. You know when you’re watching a story unfold on the big screen in the theatre you just get sucked in and nothing else matters. Life outside the building doesn’t mean anything because you’re vicariously experiencing someone else’s made-up life. You’re seeing how the characters act and you’re thinking with pride or shame about how much you’re just like them. You find yourself in the story and suddenly you’re just lost.
Whenever I finish a really good movie and I’m walking out of the theatre, I usually feel sad and I don’t want to talk to anyone because the daydream is over and the last two hours weren’t real. I didn’t slay a dragon or catch a serial killer or get the girl. But for those few moments I did and there’s some comfort in that.
People like to sit on their thrones and pass judgement on lowly folks who can’t get their heads out of the clouds. But they can go fuck themselves because life is miserable the way it is. Black and white and concrete and cycling, always cycling. Don’t you ever wish you could make that cycle stop? Even for a few minutes? Even if it meant lighting your psychiatrist’s office chair on fire while she stepped out of the room for a second? I thought about that once or twice. It would really change her day. And mine. For a bit.
I walk around always believing that something fabulous or horrific could happen at any moment and then I’d be right in the middle of a real life movie. Like a building collapses suddenly or zombies chase me (They would catch me because I’m very slow).
I over think everything a lot too. I attribute that to my movie mentality. Like I picture super ideal situations happening and they never do. Maybe I imagine I’ll be really brave or charming or funny and then when the event is over I realize I wasn’t any of that. It’s like I can’t help it because when I sit in anticipation of something happening, these scenarios play over and over. It’s crippling. It makes a lot of things difficult to ever really enjoy. I don’t have a hold of my mind in those situations especially when I’m really sad or anxious. I think that’s why I have trouble sleeping too. I just lay there and think about the future and hopes and fears and everything. Then I either get too excited or depressed to sleep. So it’s Benadryl to the rescue. It puts a dome over my volcanic thoughts so they don’t explode everywhere so much. Then I can sleep.
For awhile I forgot how much I enjoy reading. I still lose myself and find myself in movies, but I do the same in books. I got myself hooked on books again last semester. I’ve been trying to read classics and modern works too. I read Orwell’s 1984 and some Stephen King, and The Old Man and the Sea, and I just finished A Farewell to Arms which made me cry because it was so fucking sad in the end. Here Hemingway takes you on a marvelous journey with Lieutenant Henry and his army buddies and Catherine the English nurse he falls in love with, and brings it all to near perfection. My favorite part of the book is probably where he and Cat escape being arrested and wind up in Switzerland, free and together at last. She is pregnant and they live in the mountains with an amazing view of the valley and the mountains on the other side. They haven’t a care in the world except to be with one another and get ready for the baby’s arrival. Then the baby dies at the hospital and Catherine dies from hemorrhaging and Henry walks back to the hotel alone in the rain. The end. And I didn’t want it to happen, but I knew it had to be that way.
I don’t know why I write any of this shit but it beats the hell out of reading boring stuff for homework. It’s amazing how mentality can change from one day to the next with me. Last week, maybe at the beginning or the week before everything felt so optimistic and here we are today and it’s all gone. Everything is gone. Everything feels lost and pointless and useless and I always sleep too long and waste all my time. But what would I have done with that time anyway? Nothing worth anything most likely. And my time with my therapist is pointless too because he can’t understand anything I really mean because I don’t know how to say it unless I’m typing it out like I am now.
And it feels like there’s too much to figure out and not enough time in a lifetime to manage it. And I just wish I had more plaid shirts so I wouldn’t have to think about what to wear and if it would match. I don’t even know if I’ll post this on my blog or not. It’s pretty scatter brained and I don’t like editing my thoughts very much.I’ll just post it. I’m reading The Catcher in the Rye and I like it so far. I can find myself in the story and that’s what really matters.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Dastardly, Bastardly Butterflies

We have today and tomorrow off of school for winter break. They give us this so that the non-Nebraskan kiddies can go home to their families out of state. For us Lincolnites, it's two extra days to dick around and sleep late. I decided to be responsible and not stay up too late last night, so I've been in  le coffee shop all day long.

I thought I'd get some work done on a short story I've been planning to write for Union's writing contest, and alas I once again face the horrors of a blank page. It's true that there is a certain frightening aspect to having a blank white screen in front of you and knowing what you want to say but being unsure how to say it or where to start.

I've been reading Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King and their writing makes me want to hide in a cave and choke on a stalagmite. As intimidating as another author's writing can be, I know I mustn't become discouraged. Instead, it is an opportunity to plunge into the unknown and see what comes of it. Ideas are easy. Painting them on paper is the problem.

Sometimes when I want to accomplish something but get too nervous about it, I cop out and do something less. Like right now, I could be word-spewing for my short story but instead I'm blogging. It's writing... but not the writing I want. Or if there's a song I want to learn to play, I'll clean my room. Useful... but not what I want to do.

These anxious inhibitions are common especially when I attempt fiction. Stories and creations dance through my mind, but upon reading them later, my stomach churns. It's the uncertainty, the grappling, the hatred for what I see on the page. Oh, such soothing strangulation writing is, dammit.

In other news, I think my geography teacher is stalking me because he came to my secret haven to have lunch and sat right next to me like we were buddies. I wish I didn't have to leave home to successfully get shit done but alas the brain works in mysterious ways.

This coming week I will begin helping Sharon (sp?) Swartz learn how to use her Mac. Evidently I've been recommended as a knowledgable Mac user so we'll see how it goes. Damn, I'm really avoiding this whole fiction writing thing if I'm telling you all about next weeks appointments aren't I?

I shall sign off. Wish me well in writing. My stomach is officially upset.