(no subject)
Oh, things. Things and time. Plenty of the first, I suppose, though often the ones I don't need, and never enough of the latter.
I went to the movies tonight. A week-early (public) sneak screening of Whip It, complete with free t-shirt. I asked my roller derby-playing friend A. to come with me; I've never forgiven myself fully for not joining when the local league formed, for being too scared, too shy, and now it's all boot camps and tryouts and I know I cannot do that. That is why I don't play sports. We laughed and giggled at a few moments but it is rather amazing how much they managed to Hollywoodize what is, in my experience of it, such a non-Hollywood thing. All the main characters are skinny little things, shiny and pretty; all the plot points were there, ding ding ding, spelled out from the word go. A few pieces of dialogue were utterly priceless, but mostly it was fluff, if fluff starring Ellen Page, whom I adore unreasonably. A. was disappointed in the film's level of violence, and pointed out that the behavior of two of the main characters would've gotten them chucked from the team. I understand her frustration: This thing that she was part of bringing about here, on the local level, is being messily portrayed, and the world is going to think it's something else. I hate when that happens.
We went to my favorite local restaurant for snacks and drinks after, and I realized just how long it's been since I saw her. Since I saw a lot of people. Months and months ago I sat in another friend's living room, where we sipped what turned out to be horrific wine and debated whether we ought to go somewhere else to chat. I see certain people because of regularly scheduled mass entertainment that we all enjoy (which is to say, football and Dollhouse). I make a point of seeing G. & K. in Portland whenever possible because it has been a focus of mine for ages now to really make time to see friends in Portland, not just to do things.
But at home, I've been a hermit. I've given myself time-consuming hobbies and become practiced at failing to do everything that needs to be done at work while I'm at work, therefore taking up my time later. I stay up too late and sleep in and wonder if I'm hiding in the quiet hours.
It's all part of something else. A cycle, and one that needs breaking. I was pasting old ticket stubs into a notebook and, to remember when things happened, paging through LiveJournal posts from late 2007.
It's the same story, or at least most of it is. Things, and time, and other things, and small failures.
I'm telling myself that at least now I'm looking at it out of the corner of my eyes, like gearing up to face it head-on. There are funky truths in the shadows and I'm not sure what I'll do when the light hits them. Some of them have to do with happiness and unhappiness and others have to do with purpose and intent and change. Change. Always change. I have to make it for myself. Not as drastic as I've done before - I'm not running away to Australia again, thought it does sound wonderful - but something. There are steps and things and thoughts and I process this kind of thing far longer than anyone ought, but the stirrings are becoming a bit more turbulent and the Zelda games are calling, and that's always a sign I'm really doing something in the wrong direction.
I went to the movies tonight. A week-early (public) sneak screening of Whip It, complete with free t-shirt. I asked my roller derby-playing friend A. to come with me; I've never forgiven myself fully for not joining when the local league formed, for being too scared, too shy, and now it's all boot camps and tryouts and I know I cannot do that. That is why I don't play sports. We laughed and giggled at a few moments but it is rather amazing how much they managed to Hollywoodize what is, in my experience of it, such a non-Hollywood thing. All the main characters are skinny little things, shiny and pretty; all the plot points were there, ding ding ding, spelled out from the word go. A few pieces of dialogue were utterly priceless, but mostly it was fluff, if fluff starring Ellen Page, whom I adore unreasonably. A. was disappointed in the film's level of violence, and pointed out that the behavior of two of the main characters would've gotten them chucked from the team. I understand her frustration: This thing that she was part of bringing about here, on the local level, is being messily portrayed, and the world is going to think it's something else. I hate when that happens.
We went to my favorite local restaurant for snacks and drinks after, and I realized just how long it's been since I saw her. Since I saw a lot of people. Months and months ago I sat in another friend's living room, where we sipped what turned out to be horrific wine and debated whether we ought to go somewhere else to chat. I see certain people because of regularly scheduled mass entertainment that we all enjoy (which is to say, football and Dollhouse). I make a point of seeing G. & K. in Portland whenever possible because it has been a focus of mine for ages now to really make time to see friends in Portland, not just to do things.
But at home, I've been a hermit. I've given myself time-consuming hobbies and become practiced at failing to do everything that needs to be done at work while I'm at work, therefore taking up my time later. I stay up too late and sleep in and wonder if I'm hiding in the quiet hours.
It's all part of something else. A cycle, and one that needs breaking. I was pasting old ticket stubs into a notebook and, to remember when things happened, paging through LiveJournal posts from late 2007.
It's the same story, or at least most of it is. Things, and time, and other things, and small failures.
I'm telling myself that at least now I'm looking at it out of the corner of my eyes, like gearing up to face it head-on. There are funky truths in the shadows and I'm not sure what I'll do when the light hits them. Some of them have to do with happiness and unhappiness and others have to do with purpose and intent and change. Change. Always change. I have to make it for myself. Not as drastic as I've done before - I'm not running away to Australia again, thought it does sound wonderful - but something. There are steps and things and thoughts and I process this kind of thing far longer than anyone ought, but the stirrings are becoming a bit more turbulent and the Zelda games are calling, and that's always a sign I'm really doing something in the wrong direction.