My my my
Even though 2009 consisted of a film hiatus for me, I still thoroughly enjoyed watching the Academy Awards. It is surprising, yet heartwarming to know that parts of my life can remain consistent, even if I don't realize it.
It was a very good weekend. In fact, I think it may be the best weekend Adam and I have shared since August 8, 2009.
I feel good, team. I'd like to relish this moment.
There are many times during my day that I wish I had more to say. That I wish I could be as smooth-talking as actors seem to be. That I could find the proper words to ascertain my meaning. There are many times during my day when I would give anything to not speak cliche. This is one of those moments.
I wish there were a way to truly share my emotions with those I speak to. If I could just immerse my other dialogue-ist into my brain for a few moments, so that they could truly understand my meaning. So that when I say, "I'm ready to go," people know that I really mean it. That I mean to GO in every sense of the word. And that they know that I fully believe in the verb.
I've been getting a lot of love lately. All of my managers at work have been begging me to stay. All of my close co-workers have expressed their desires to sabotage my plans. My Mowie's group, who, god bless them, is not the most sentimental bunch, has repeatedly told me every week that I cannot leave. I have been begged from every angle of my life to remain here, save one.
Every time someone expresses their desire for me to stay, I reply with the same phrase, "I'm sorry, I just can't. This is my chance."
And so, with begrudged faces, they nod their heads, silently consenting, and I walk away smiling and wondering why it took so long to find a good place in a bad town.
Life is anything but expected. It is terrifying. It is enthralling. There is so much to say, explore, forgive, prepare, love. There is so much to write. And I've been letting that get away from me again.
And so, I sit here at a broken laptop, on an uncomfortable couch, and I imagine moving from a full apartment to a single bedroom, cramming all of my belongings into a smaller space. I imagine desperately trying to decide what posters should go up and where the hell I'm going to put my stereo. I imagine chucking my bed for an air mattress, and I imagine waking up almost every morning next to Adam. And falling asleep next to him almost every night, half an hour after he's hit his REM sleep. And I imagine working at an unconventional desk (my current kitchen table) with a mess of papers and notes around me, and running late for work, and forgetting to pay bills, and it all just sounds so magical.
I am ready to go.
The Countdown begins: 18 days.
It was a very good weekend. In fact, I think it may be the best weekend Adam and I have shared since August 8, 2009.
I feel good, team. I'd like to relish this moment.
There are many times during my day that I wish I had more to say. That I wish I could be as smooth-talking as actors seem to be. That I could find the proper words to ascertain my meaning. There are many times during my day when I would give anything to not speak cliche. This is one of those moments.
I wish there were a way to truly share my emotions with those I speak to. If I could just immerse my other dialogue-ist into my brain for a few moments, so that they could truly understand my meaning. So that when I say, "I'm ready to go," people know that I really mean it. That I mean to GO in every sense of the word. And that they know that I fully believe in the verb.
I've been getting a lot of love lately. All of my managers at work have been begging me to stay. All of my close co-workers have expressed their desires to sabotage my plans. My Mowie's group, who, god bless them, is not the most sentimental bunch, has repeatedly told me every week that I cannot leave. I have been begged from every angle of my life to remain here, save one.
Every time someone expresses their desire for me to stay, I reply with the same phrase, "I'm sorry, I just can't. This is my chance."
And so, with begrudged faces, they nod their heads, silently consenting, and I walk away smiling and wondering why it took so long to find a good place in a bad town.
Life is anything but expected. It is terrifying. It is enthralling. There is so much to say, explore, forgive, prepare, love. There is so much to write. And I've been letting that get away from me again.
And so, I sit here at a broken laptop, on an uncomfortable couch, and I imagine moving from a full apartment to a single bedroom, cramming all of my belongings into a smaller space. I imagine desperately trying to decide what posters should go up and where the hell I'm going to put my stereo. I imagine chucking my bed for an air mattress, and I imagine waking up almost every morning next to Adam. And falling asleep next to him almost every night, half an hour after he's hit his REM sleep. And I imagine working at an unconventional desk (my current kitchen table) with a mess of papers and notes around me, and running late for work, and forgetting to pay bills, and it all just sounds so magical.
I am ready to go.
The Countdown begins: 18 days.