May 22nd, 2006
|12:00 am - I think I can finally say...|
Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen, for my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. You have no power over me.
I love my life.
May 7th, 2006
|02:35 am - NOTICE!!|
WE'RE UPDATING ALL OF THE OLD TRADITIONS, NOT ABANDONING THEM. "ALL THIS IS COMFORT."
|02:11 am - To name a few...|
My life is theater and downtown and bustle right now:
"Enjoying the woods, girls?"
Total and utter cogency at all times.
A love that I want to be realized.
Kickball in the sun.
Lion King weepiness.
Not the sandwich line, but we were close...
Singing impromtu opera to get friends out of the shower.
"But I like wearing underwear."
"Part of their world" and "Into the Woods" in the women's dressing room.
Pre-tower statue SEXercise.
First names that it's impossible to say; old crushes die so hard.
Five year old props resurfacing.
Lovely cake with fruit and flowers.
A new sort of best-friendship starting.
Eighties rocker wigs.
Summer plans... to last the rest of our lives.
12 hour rehearsals.
Mejana's, Sitwell's, Starbuck's, Sunshine, Walgreen's, and so much more, filled with so much deep conversation.
Midnight smoothies and monologues.
TITTIES! BIRD FLU! TITTIES! BIRD FLU!
"The glory and the freshness of a dream."
"It's a small world after all."
Friends, strappy silver shoes, dreams.
Female twins and brothers... with breasts.
First professional review, first bad review. Hurrah, in all seriousness.
Zip Zap Zop champion!
RICHMOND! (With a pop in your voice and a fist thrust.)
Back to the days of pleasantly, near aimlessly wandering P-Ridge in the car, if only for an afternoon.
A shared grief.
"I'm not wasting your time, am I darling?"
"Of we go to the chopping block, here to get our heads chopped off: CHOP BLUH."
Smoking jacket robes and the loudest laughter I've ever heard over comic books.
Pride, sun, cosmpolitan chaotic joy, coincidence, hugs, honesty, visceral(ity?), anticipation, actualization.
I'm so busy, I don't even have time to be regretful. If it makes sense, I think that I have become.
April 14th, 2006
|01:34 am - In my head it has a tune...|
Let's see if somehow while I rave like a lunatic
I can create something mildly poetic.
So much thought, so much feeling can only end in tears...
The way it started.
In a past life he said were were Romeo and Juliet
And we found eachother here, but just to be friends,
And while we agree that in a perfect world we'd be in love
Something holds us back (it's my love for another).
And still I wonder, would Romeo and Juliet have lasted very long?
If we can't count on anything being forever,
Then how can we start so many relationships, make so many memories,
When we know we'll just end splintered and confused.
I look at my parents and wonder how they do it...
So carelessly mention their lost loves and friends without regret...
At least they have eachother.
But I do it too without thought fairly regularly...
Second grade best friends, eighth grade identities.
I forget those years were just as formative, those friendships just as deep.
But while my capacity for love grows my honesty diminishes.
I try never to disengage, but sometimes the hurt's too fucking huge.
I want to hold on, but I don't have enough hands,
And sometimes I climb and step on my past.
So many casts and so many late nights,
So many Rachies and so many Mikes.
So many tears shed, so much laughter dispersed.
But these fears remain unheard.
Tell me I'm emo or call me a worry-wort;
Maybe its my fear of change that makes me so appreciative.
I'm sensitive, dramatic, and never just ok,
Always some exaggeration.
My life is filled with this joyful reverie:
Unrestrained emotion, spontaneous orgasms are accessories.
I'm just another violent person yearning for peace,
Singing songs of regret and heartfelt hypocrisy,
Wanting community as I scream for democracy.
I make promses I won't keep, and I do it knowingly.
Anticipation's the real promise, the excited uncertainty.
But still I secretly aspire for infinity.
Is what's true premeditated or a split second decision?
Go in for the kiss or avoid recognition?
Follow the rules or follow your heart?
Find home together or find it apart?
And sometimes it is a self imposed need
To neglect assertion or quickly concede.
Sometimes with bitches, one must be Queen B.
A harmonious group can still disagree.
But among disagreement, it gets harder to see
That we're in this together.
That life, no matter how we pretend
Is a giant one for all.
But still it seems so fleeting.
Can I save it all?
Just for an endless tonight?
April 13th, 2006
February 16th, 2006
|04:46 pm - I don't know how to say it...|
I want something. I want something so deep, so all- encompassing, that I can't begin to fathom it.
Yesterday, I was sick, and so was Livie. And I woke up to "The Tango Maureen" blaring in Liv's room, and the first sound to leave my lips was singing. I love days like that. Days when my voice is raspy and throaty and even more tuneless, dripping with sleep. And Livie and I listened and talked and sang along, every single song. And I cried. "You're making yourself cry," Livie said, but the truth was, I was trying not to, something I rarely make myself do. But I couldn't help it. I curled up on the wood floor beside the blaring boom box in a fetal position and shook with supressed sobbing.
I don't know what it is about RENT. I have so many crazy convoluted feelings surrounding it about which I can hardly comprehend cogently, far less begin to express them. Part of is that I admire them. I admire the characters for their visceral and artistic and accepting and authentic and cultured lifestyles, and, despite the drugs and the disease, part of me wants that deeply truly. Part of it must be in the legacy of this obsessive thing I've always had, where I choose something I love- Alanna, LOTR, Monty Python, The Beatles, whatever, and I want them all to be friends, forever, to fulfill these deep fears I have of loss and lonliness, to somehow fill this calculus-honed concept of infinity. Part is that they're genuinly powerful actors and singers, and have incredible chemistry, which actually proves to me even further why theater and performance art can be monumental and earth-shaking.
But mostly, I think, it's the love. Their friendship and love touches me so much I can't explain it. And while I yearn for that, yearn for it heart and soul, I've realized that I have it. Why am I trying to keep their loves alive, which are fictional, although of course highly significant in our parallel realities, when I've let some wonderful people go, and I'm going through dry spells with some of the people I consider my forever friends? Forever friends... It's a phrase I've always used in my head, and so far, I'm not sure if I've ever achieved it. I've tried writing poems and stories to express it, to define it, to recognize it, to pay homage to it, but never once have I succeeded. I know that I can make friends and be happy and that's okay. How can I keep you all and recognize you? It's selfish and obsessive and sometimes downright weird (shower-curtain ring days, perhaps?), but how can I save some of these friendships and let them be forever? Or is forever not important? Is only now important? Is only the recognition that everything you've taught me and awakened in me and let me feel will last forever, is that what's important? I don't know. I've tried for more than ten years to figure it out, or even articulate it in some way beyond these broken words and musings. Or maybe defining it is not that important at all, maybe I'm trying to cognitize and define and limit and categorize something that's heart, pure and simple. But I know I should try to be more like Angel, and do, as Maureen says she did: say how lucky I am that we are all friends.
I am so lucky that we are all friends.
"Give in to love, or live in fear."
February 13th, 2006
This will be interesting to accompany our self concept talks in TTS. I think I have to give my counselors adjectives to describe me tomorrow.
January 27th, 2006
|03:53 pm - We are the Music Makers...|
We had a party seventh bell today, a party for Esther.
We all sat around on the ground eating brownies, cookies, chips, pretzels, soda, ice cream. Esther was wearing a paper crown, and was jumped on periodically throughout the afternoon. Molly was a little hysterical and so hyper. Josh, Paul, and Laura had a hard core series of ice cream eating contests, all of which we watched, cheering and yelling. Laura, Rach, Jessi and I sprawled all over the place making hideous faces for Sal and her camera. Mr. C was cleaning up a lot, but also laughing a lot. Everyone wanted pictures with Esther, and their was literally a hug line for her that began just before the bell rang.
Esther, I love you. I really do. I know that we haven't hung out or had lots of inside jokes or shared classes and stories. But you would always make me feel better as we left behind math class in favor of orchestra. And you would always give me the kindest smile if I happened to be looking your way while we played or if we crossed paths in the violin room. As strange as this may seem to say, you are a part of me. And more importantly, you're a part of us. So please know how much I care, even though I don't know how to express it. Enjoy yourself, and please, bring back a million crazy stories that you can share with chamber orchestra on some day right before graduation, when none of the seniors are playing, and the rest of us are preparing Pomp and Circumstance, and the whole classroom is randomly exploding into laughter.
We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
December 28th, 2005
December 26th, 2005
|01:25 am - Life is a Game and True Love is a Trophy|
I just got off the phone after a four hour conversation with Conor. I was lying on the guest bed in my attic, sprawled out with a comforter and chocolate covered sunflower seeds. Conor was pacing a hotel in Florida, walking barefoot with his sweatpants rolled under his feet like socks. It was amazing how the distance didn't matter.
We made our secret pacts, and complained and commiserated about relationships. We talked about our fears of growing up, about our future plans... college and jobs and marriage and kids. We talked about the things we have a thousand times: my weight, our days, what we were eating, what movies we'd seen or books we'd read, his hookups, our fears.
"The night I turned 18, I sat by the window waiting for Peter Pan," someone once told me, "but he didn't come." I was the first person awake on Christmas morning today. I woke up, all by myself, at seven on the nose, the time it's allowed to wake everyone else up in my family. I was too embarrassed to wake everyone. I squelched (I have no idea if that's a word) my excitement about Santa, and went back to sleep. Conor and I talked a lot about growing up and about wasted time tonight. While we did, I flipped through an old notebook. In its pages was documented the first time I dated Conor. I read funny passages as they came: the miraculous and magical evening at Skyline, first kisses, first dates. And then I found our breakup, on the swings at the pool. And what I'd recorded of our conversation following was so relevant I could have written it yesterday. After four years, I'd forgotten in some ways how important that pool life was to me, but as I read, I knew the twelve year old girl who'd written it. I felt her inside of me just as the melancholy and sentimental writing that is still so characteristic of my style suggests. What we had said that summer day was a slightly more optimistic prelude to what we said tonight, on Christmas years later. And I was struck by how much more carefree, spontaneous, and honest we were then, but how much the same we've remained in spite of everything.
And I think Conor and I recognized something in a way far deeper than ever before: We are so lucky. I spend so much time complaining, but my life is so utterly beautiful, precious, and blessed. I have gifts far deeper than the unbelievably lovely presents I received for Christmas- I have friendship, love, health, wealth, joy, intelligence, everything.
And this time, this life, is not meant to be wasted. No more wishing I were somewhere else, wishing I were with someone else, wishing I were doing something else. I need to spend so much more of my time in pursuits that truly matter to me, and hopefully thereby perpetuating love and helping to improve the world. I know what I want and I will work up the courage to find it- not in selfishness, but to honor all of my priceless gifts instead of wasting them. And I will commit myself to creating goodness, to being a source of positivity and beauty.
I know that it's just the same revelation over and over again, but this time it hit me so hard it hurt. Thank you, Conor, for the most genuine and lovely reflection on the past several year, and 2005 in particular, that I can imagine. Holiday cheers to old friends, truth, beauty, freedom, and love above all things. Happy Boxing Day.