L-word
The last time I was home, I rented the first L Word DVD on a tip from Johanna. It was the last time I was in Santa Barbara, and she and her girlfriend and her friends were telling me about how amazing the show was, and how "it's like, our life!" and I was curious. I was curious.
It's...a lot of things, which explains I suppose that clever little intro graphic where all those words beginning with L come together to form an L. Cute. Clever. The show is clever. It's dramatic and sensual and dangerous. Some of the writing is bad, some of the acting is awful, but a lot of it is really compelling. (A lot of it is just really arousing smut, to be honest, but details details.) Watching it evokes so many things for me. It evokes desires, questions of identity, questions of sexuality. It reminds me of past relationships, of ones I want to have. Questions of art... Spring Break is so nice, especially after the asshole finals weeks of the quarter system. It's nice to have nothing to do and to be able to relax and have entire days composed of two or three activities tops (today: brazilian, lunch with pat, shopping with mom) but by the same token, when there is so much time to do nothing, the brain kicks into overdrive and suddenly I've overanalyzed everything from A to Z, including things that have already been analyzed and overanalyzed and reoveranalyzed, things that I aren't ready to be changed fixed or that I can't change or fix. I feel old, I feel too young, I know everything, I know nothing.
Last night at Pat's with Big Pat, Little Pat, Culjis, The Whore and Dale (the Whore's Boyfriend) we had a lovely dinner and I got drunk off of Bellinis and a very strong Adele's Hard Lemonade and I painted my nails Versace orange. I felt sophmoric and green and I don't I don't I don't know whether I'm too young or tool old, and I don't know if I'm trying too hard or not trying hard enough. I'm an idiot. I tried to cry last night and I couldn't. I made the sounds like I was, my hest cheaved like I was, but nothing came out and I fell asleep. At four thirty am I woke up and stumbled to the kitchen for water. And then this morning I woke up and had a mediocre day. I thank God for mediocrity. But I don't know. who. I. am. I'm nineteen so that's normal right? But how do I get through this and figure it all out? Do I fuck something love something hate something cut something paint something watch a sunset? FUCK. fuck.
Everything's all right.
When the definition of madness is love
It's...a lot of things, which explains I suppose that clever little intro graphic where all those words beginning with L come together to form an L. Cute. Clever. The show is clever. It's dramatic and sensual and dangerous. Some of the writing is bad, some of the acting is awful, but a lot of it is really compelling. (A lot of it is just really arousing smut, to be honest, but details details.) Watching it evokes so many things for me. It evokes desires, questions of identity, questions of sexuality. It reminds me of past relationships, of ones I want to have. Questions of art... Spring Break is so nice, especially after the asshole finals weeks of the quarter system. It's nice to have nothing to do and to be able to relax and have entire days composed of two or three activities tops (today: brazilian, lunch with pat, shopping with mom) but by the same token, when there is so much time to do nothing, the brain kicks into overdrive and suddenly I've overanalyzed everything from A to Z, including things that have already been analyzed and overanalyzed and reoveranalyzed, things that I aren't ready to be changed fixed or that I can't change or fix. I feel old, I feel too young, I know everything, I know nothing.
Last night at Pat's with Big Pat, Little Pat, Culjis, The Whore and Dale (the Whore's Boyfriend) we had a lovely dinner and I got drunk off of Bellinis and a very strong Adele's Hard Lemonade and I painted my nails Versace orange. I felt sophmoric and green and I don't I don't I don't know whether I'm too young or tool old, and I don't know if I'm trying too hard or not trying hard enough. I'm an idiot. I tried to cry last night and I couldn't. I made the sounds like I was, my hest cheaved like I was, but nothing came out and I fell asleep. At four thirty am I woke up and stumbled to the kitchen for water. And then this morning I woke up and had a mediocre day. I thank God for mediocrity. But I don't know. who. I. am. I'm nineteen so that's normal right? But how do I get through this and figure it all out? Do I fuck something love something hate something cut something paint something watch a sunset? FUCK. fuck.
Everything's all right.
When the definition of madness is love