Subject lines are so two years ago -
I have endeavored reading Z's old journals from years past tonight, and I think to myself: goodness, I would love to do that, chronicle all of those days past to be able to back and look at them like she is now. Those words are so, so eloquent, unlike words I wrote three years ago in this very journal. The truth of the matter is, I do all of that archiving to a point, with those little notes I leave between pages of my school notes; it is all I can do to keep the memories flowing and keep up my attention to a higher level of learning at the same time. But you should narrate more, M, set up the scenes that you know you could. These beautiful pictures you could find the words for now to recount the past, they'll be gone before you know it. Put them down while you can. It won't be immediate, so you'll have to keep up self-discipline: this is a reward that will shine its most beautiful colors in time.
My most loved medium now is a pastel blue legal pad. The legal pad spoke to me one night at auditions for Theatre Fest, envoked a memory of senior year where I did something that I loved that looked like this. When I directed (or assistant directed - my memory remembers directing, though one would remember that wrong accidentally, would she not?) The Best Christmas Pageant Ever (after playing a part in it in my freshman year, who knew it better?). I remember that yellow legal pad I used to take notes on auditions, like Professor D's associates were using that night, and taking notes through every straight-through rehearsal. This is a week after I've been to Le Chat Noir, and it dawns on me, I'm awe-struck and surprised like someone's been keeping this a secret from me for years. I love theatre. I really and earnestly do. As a desire, it claims my senses with almost little notice - as dance does now, though that will be the basis for many memories to come. (It is something I have been unable to touch and explore with words yet.) I'm in the audition room, in the audience of The Goat or A Night on Broadway or King Lear and I want to be backstage, I want to be in costume, I want ears cuffed by the head-aching feeling of wearing a headset. At the same time, I feel it is a little selfish and unwarranted of me to take up someone else's stomping grounds, like I am chasing the ghost of Eliot's passions, though I feel I am being honest when I say they are entirely of my own desire. I can't say if the desire for the stage would have come back without him (that is hard to say to associate with a theatre major who I have good memory of trying to turn my forever-conceptualized screenplay into a stage play among other similar biases), but the dance is probably something that would have never found frutation, despite it being listed on my to-do list for almost a year. I have found niche enough that that is a distressing thought; I'll quote Sil on the matter when he said "it would've been a sad thought to have [your talent] go on not just wasted, but undiscovered." C'est vrai. I shall veer subtly back to topic.
That night I saw the legal pad there in Washington Hall, I was reminded who else I had seen using a legal pad. Dr. L. Dr. L is a good counselor, at least from what I know of counselors, and what I remember of therapy years and years back. Even if the woman is overwhelmingly obese and waddles when she walks to close the door behind me, I respect her so much for the things she can do with a L.P.C. license. She is gifted in analyzing the one person I have trouble with: myself. Dr. L's legal pad is white, though, and she never writes notes on the back of the page, the short awkward side you don't have as much room to write on, but she has drawn me two pictures on the back side before. One was a circle, and we divided up my time. My pie is a lot of school. That's not entirely true. The other was a graph of how people remove themselves from romantic relationships. She drew a diagonal line sloping upwards and said that wasn't as normative, drawing a squiggly line up and down through the diagonal one, as one with ups and downs was. Granted, it feels very awkward sometimes writing about being a squiggly line, as normal as she says such a state is. I have to cancel an appointment I have with her tomorrow, and I feel a bit guilty with the things on my mind, like a sinner staying home from the weekly confession with her priest.
What I mean is, I am an artist and a scientist, too, and I will also use a legal pad. Those around me who haven't seen it will see it sooner or later. It will be multi-purpose, unlike the sketchbook, which was poetry and veiled prose. Depending on what goes there, I may give it up to other eyes if insisted upon, but chances are most will not understand it (I hardly can) and it will be notes to myself for later memory or to come here for translation.
But the hour grows late and it is unfit for me to remain characteristically long-winded for much longer. I have much to say about many characters, though I will keep it listed in my mind for now and tactfully attach these things as this narration continues.
My most loved medium now is a pastel blue legal pad. The legal pad spoke to me one night at auditions for Theatre Fest, envoked a memory of senior year where I did something that I loved that looked like this. When I directed (or assistant directed - my memory remembers directing, though one would remember that wrong accidentally, would she not?) The Best Christmas Pageant Ever (after playing a part in it in my freshman year, who knew it better?). I remember that yellow legal pad I used to take notes on auditions, like Professor D's associates were using that night, and taking notes through every straight-through rehearsal. This is a week after I've been to Le Chat Noir, and it dawns on me, I'm awe-struck and surprised like someone's been keeping this a secret from me for years. I love theatre. I really and earnestly do. As a desire, it claims my senses with almost little notice - as dance does now, though that will be the basis for many memories to come. (It is something I have been unable to touch and explore with words yet.) I'm in the audition room, in the audience of The Goat or A Night on Broadway or King Lear and I want to be backstage, I want to be in costume, I want ears cuffed by the head-aching feeling of wearing a headset. At the same time, I feel it is a little selfish and unwarranted of me to take up someone else's stomping grounds, like I am chasing the ghost of Eliot's passions, though I feel I am being honest when I say they are entirely of my own desire. I can't say if the desire for the stage would have come back without him (that is hard to say to associate with a theatre major who I have good memory of trying to turn my forever-conceptualized screenplay into a stage play among other similar biases), but the dance is probably something that would have never found frutation, despite it being listed on my to-do list for almost a year. I have found niche enough that that is a distressing thought; I'll quote Sil on the matter when he said "it would've been a sad thought to have [your talent] go on not just wasted, but undiscovered." C'est vrai. I shall veer subtly back to topic.
That night I saw the legal pad there in Washington Hall, I was reminded who else I had seen using a legal pad. Dr. L. Dr. L is a good counselor, at least from what I know of counselors, and what I remember of therapy years and years back. Even if the woman is overwhelmingly obese and waddles when she walks to close the door behind me, I respect her so much for the things she can do with a L.P.C. license. She is gifted in analyzing the one person I have trouble with: myself. Dr. L's legal pad is white, though, and she never writes notes on the back of the page, the short awkward side you don't have as much room to write on, but she has drawn me two pictures on the back side before. One was a circle, and we divided up my time. My pie is a lot of school. That's not entirely true. The other was a graph of how people remove themselves from romantic relationships. She drew a diagonal line sloping upwards and said that wasn't as normative, drawing a squiggly line up and down through the diagonal one, as one with ups and downs was. Granted, it feels very awkward sometimes writing about being a squiggly line, as normal as she says such a state is. I have to cancel an appointment I have with her tomorrow, and I feel a bit guilty with the things on my mind, like a sinner staying home from the weekly confession with her priest.
What I mean is, I am an artist and a scientist, too, and I will also use a legal pad. Those around me who haven't seen it will see it sooner or later. It will be multi-purpose, unlike the sketchbook, which was poetry and veiled prose. Depending on what goes there, I may give it up to other eyes if insisted upon, but chances are most will not understand it (I hardly can) and it will be notes to myself for later memory or to come here for translation.
But the hour grows late and it is unfit for me to remain characteristically long-winded for much longer. I have much to say about many characters, though I will keep it listed in my mind for now and tactfully attach these things as this narration continues.