The chill of solitary
I worship keira_knightley.
I’m sitting in a room littered with last nights litany of sins a la my housemates and the smoke of their rolled drugs still seems to linger and pollute the air in this room. The occasional mumble of sleep talk or soft snores drifts down the hall from the three people I share this house with. An Alanis Morrissette album (did I even spell that correctly? Probably not) is on loop, the volume turned low and I can’t really be bothered to get up to turn off the stereo or look for the remote. Besides, it was the only CD I could actually see among all the pizza boxes, beer bottles and old newspapers and magazines in this darkened main room of our house.
The album belongs to one of my housemates, a stunning model by day and a photographers dream in the studio, but a vindictive yet loveable bitch to her friends who smokes a little too much crack.
I haven't really slept much, hence why I’m up at this strange hour, but I still feel relatively calm. The mild violence and frustration of a sleepless night is not plaguing me for once but I’ll talk about the evening I had before my brain becomes completely numb.
The first part of my evening was spent with estella_ at a quiet little Italian restaurant reminiscent of a villa in the middle of Tuscany, made possible with their modest internal décor reflecting the tranquillity of the Tuscan landscape.
After a long week spent working in the façade of Hollywood and admiring the artificial surroundings of Los Angeles, the natural tones of the restaurant were a sight for sore eyes. Terra cotta and ochre colored tiles on the floor, reminiscent of the rich soil of a Tuscan village; soft greens evocative of rolling hills and olive trees used heavily in the water color paintings on the walls; pale blues and yellows of the sky with gold and amber reflecting the sun’s warmth were mirrored in the fabric used on the furniture. The restaurant was adorned with what looked like authentic Italian ceramics and maiolica vases with fresh flowers were placed in the centre of each table. Mediterranean music played softy in the background as we ordered food with names like Risotto Primavera.
Estella and I hadn’t seen one another since January when we got together at another celebrity packed publicity event in Utah. She looked stunning as always. There is an unremarkable beauty to those who are on the big screen or on the glossy pages of fashion magazines, but even without all that lighting and heavy make-up used for the screen, she is amazingly beautiful which I find rare in the shimmering glossiness of Hollywood. We ate, joked and talked about what we had been up to since we last saw one another. There was plenty to catch up on but at least now I no longer feel like she’s a distant friend whom I might have lost once filming ended.
We must have spent a good few hours together but it didn’t feel nearly as long and I felt a reluctance to saying goodbye. Driving back home after dropping her off I reflected back a little on the conversation we’d had and the sadness that I’d glimpsed in her eyes as she had talked about her recent break up. I just hope the emotional bruises of such an awful break up will heal without even more pain infringing on them.
I pulled up in the driveway of the house I share with an aspiring actor, a model and a writer and was thankful for having gotten away from them for one night at least. I love the three of them, we’ve been friends since we met back at college but sometimes, they get on my last nerve.
As I unlocked the door and let myself into the house, I was a little surprised to see the three of them still up, sitting around in a semi-drunken and drugged state. I think this is perhaps the only time I actually enjoy speaking with them these days.
It's the only time they actually say something of interest and halfway amusing.
I watched them as they casually tossed sexual innuendos in each other’s directions and allowed myself to be sucked into their conversation...the details of which I now no longer recall and the interest of which drifted away as each of them got up to leave for their bedrooms to drift off into uncomfortable sleeps.
I can feel my eyes closing now and the music seems to have converged into one indistinguishable sound. Time to call it a night. And look, I made a post longer than two paragraphs.
I’m sitting in a room littered with last nights litany of sins a la my housemates and the smoke of their rolled drugs still seems to linger and pollute the air in this room. The occasional mumble of sleep talk or soft snores drifts down the hall from the three people I share this house with. An Alanis Morrissette album (did I even spell that correctly? Probably not) is on loop, the volume turned low and I can’t really be bothered to get up to turn off the stereo or look for the remote. Besides, it was the only CD I could actually see among all the pizza boxes, beer bottles and old newspapers and magazines in this darkened main room of our house.
The album belongs to one of my housemates, a stunning model by day and a photographers dream in the studio, but a vindictive yet loveable bitch to her friends who smokes a little too much crack.
I haven't really slept much, hence why I’m up at this strange hour, but I still feel relatively calm. The mild violence and frustration of a sleepless night is not plaguing me for once but I’ll talk about the evening I had before my brain becomes completely numb.
The first part of my evening was spent with estella_ at a quiet little Italian restaurant reminiscent of a villa in the middle of Tuscany, made possible with their modest internal décor reflecting the tranquillity of the Tuscan landscape.
After a long week spent working in the façade of Hollywood and admiring the artificial surroundings of Los Angeles, the natural tones of the restaurant were a sight for sore eyes. Terra cotta and ochre colored tiles on the floor, reminiscent of the rich soil of a Tuscan village; soft greens evocative of rolling hills and olive trees used heavily in the water color paintings on the walls; pale blues and yellows of the sky with gold and amber reflecting the sun’s warmth were mirrored in the fabric used on the furniture. The restaurant was adorned with what looked like authentic Italian ceramics and maiolica vases with fresh flowers were placed in the centre of each table. Mediterranean music played softy in the background as we ordered food with names like Risotto Primavera.
Estella and I hadn’t seen one another since January when we got together at another celebrity packed publicity event in Utah. She looked stunning as always. There is an unremarkable beauty to those who are on the big screen or on the glossy pages of fashion magazines, but even without all that lighting and heavy make-up used for the screen, she is amazingly beautiful which I find rare in the shimmering glossiness of Hollywood. We ate, joked and talked about what we had been up to since we last saw one another. There was plenty to catch up on but at least now I no longer feel like she’s a distant friend whom I might have lost once filming ended.
We must have spent a good few hours together but it didn’t feel nearly as long and I felt a reluctance to saying goodbye. Driving back home after dropping her off I reflected back a little on the conversation we’d had and the sadness that I’d glimpsed in her eyes as she had talked about her recent break up. I just hope the emotional bruises of such an awful break up will heal without even more pain infringing on them.
I pulled up in the driveway of the house I share with an aspiring actor, a model and a writer and was thankful for having gotten away from them for one night at least. I love the three of them, we’ve been friends since we met back at college but sometimes, they get on my last nerve.
As I unlocked the door and let myself into the house, I was a little surprised to see the three of them still up, sitting around in a semi-drunken and drugged state. I think this is perhaps the only time I actually enjoy speaking with them these days.
It's the only time they actually say something of interest and halfway amusing.
I watched them as they casually tossed sexual innuendos in each other’s directions and allowed myself to be sucked into their conversation...the details of which I now no longer recall and the interest of which drifted away as each of them got up to leave for their bedrooms to drift off into uncomfortable sleeps.
I can feel my eyes closing now and the music seems to have converged into one indistinguishable sound. Time to call it a night. And look, I made a post longer than two paragraphs.