Twenty-nine. Things of little overall significance.
My afternoon today was swallowed by the Project Runway marathon on Bravo; I blame you, Shannon and Dagmara, but in a good way. The drama! The clothes! Today was lazy, the weather and the tension giving me a little ache on either temple that I've been chasing away with a peppermint-caffeine balm and a refusal to take off my fuzzy slippers. I skid on the wood floors of my little flat, and pretend I'm ice skating -- something I should make sure to do before I leave New York.
Sometimes when you're thwarted from other things you prayed for and wanted, and part of your life is kind of a wreck, you turn back towards other dreams that once would have been just too crazy or ill-timed. I'm not sure why this is, why when you've got to move out of your apartment that you decide to stop in Vegas in the middle of the move and elope with your boyfriend or that you only start to write the novel in the middle of your parents' failing health, but I think that's how it is for me. Maybe it's the urge to act out that old saw of 'one door closes, another opens'; in any case, I've got these college brochures on my nightstand and my word processor open to write and write and write some more. Every longwinded journal post I make is coupled with three times as many pages I never show, both intensely personal and at some remove; it's like I have so much I need to get out that I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I get insecurity attacks when I'm without my Palm or even notepad and rollerball pen.
I still really envy people who got the college experience. I know I'm not the smartest woman ever, prone to diving in and looking as I fall to see if there's still water in the pool. I have to wonder if that would be one of my personality traits if I'd gotten the usual life and career path other people did, and if my mistakes were more conventional. I also know I'm defensive about my lack of a degree and certain kinds of book education, since there are plenty of people willing to remind me of it. Maybe it's not too late to think about changing it, but at this point, I have no idea what I'd do with a degree other than keep it dusted. It's the experience I covet, being able to submerse myself in books, anonymity, and deadlines. Then again, maybe this is just another pool I want to dive into that's not what I think it will be when I splash down.
I did call Shirley MacLaine when all this started to fall out, and then when I got back from New Zealand. There is little bullshit about her -- she has no need for it most of the time -- and so she started out one of our conversations with, "What are you calling me for? You already know what you know, you don't need me to tell you." I did need her, but she was right that what I needed her for wasn't telling me about problems I already know and know what I'm doing about. I needed to laugh, needed to laugh at myself and talk about other things and people, and remember that life isn't quite so narrow as the crisis of the week, no matter how overwhelming any crisis is. I still want to be her when I grow up; I'm not there yet.
TV shows on DVD are a marvel and a miracle. It takes the serial form of television and transforms it into something almost novelistic. I'm addicted to TV boxed sets lately, both recent series and series I loved when I was younger. I should start asking people for more recent TV recommendations lately so that I can remember to buy them when I have the time to devour them in my downtime. I'm also watching classic movies again, this time branching into film noir. Those movies are cynical, a touch depressing, sometimes downright silly, but they have style. And who knows? Right now, I can stand a little cynicism. It's spice to all that sugar.
Namechecking any of your own movies is a signal to end the entry.
Sometimes when you're thwarted from other things you prayed for and wanted, and part of your life is kind of a wreck, you turn back towards other dreams that once would have been just too crazy or ill-timed. I'm not sure why this is, why when you've got to move out of your apartment that you decide to stop in Vegas in the middle of the move and elope with your boyfriend or that you only start to write the novel in the middle of your parents' failing health, but I think that's how it is for me. Maybe it's the urge to act out that old saw of 'one door closes, another opens'; in any case, I've got these college brochures on my nightstand and my word processor open to write and write and write some more. Every longwinded journal post I make is coupled with three times as many pages I never show, both intensely personal and at some remove; it's like I have so much I need to get out that I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I get insecurity attacks when I'm without my Palm or even notepad and rollerball pen.
I still really envy people who got the college experience. I know I'm not the smartest woman ever, prone to diving in and looking as I fall to see if there's still water in the pool. I have to wonder if that would be one of my personality traits if I'd gotten the usual life and career path other people did, and if my mistakes were more conventional. I also know I'm defensive about my lack of a degree and certain kinds of book education, since there are plenty of people willing to remind me of it. Maybe it's not too late to think about changing it, but at this point, I have no idea what I'd do with a degree other than keep it dusted. It's the experience I covet, being able to submerse myself in books, anonymity, and deadlines. Then again, maybe this is just another pool I want to dive into that's not what I think it will be when I splash down.
I did call Shirley MacLaine when all this started to fall out, and then when I got back from New Zealand. There is little bullshit about her -- she has no need for it most of the time -- and so she started out one of our conversations with, "What are you calling me for? You already know what you know, you don't need me to tell you." I did need her, but she was right that what I needed her for wasn't telling me about problems I already know and know what I'm doing about. I needed to laugh, needed to laugh at myself and talk about other things and people, and remember that life isn't quite so narrow as the crisis of the week, no matter how overwhelming any crisis is. I still want to be her when I grow up; I'm not there yet.
TV shows on DVD are a marvel and a miracle. It takes the serial form of television and transforms it into something almost novelistic. I'm addicted to TV boxed sets lately, both recent series and series I loved when I was younger. I should start asking people for more recent TV recommendations lately so that I can remember to buy them when I have the time to devour them in my downtime. I'm also watching classic movies again, this time branching into film noir. Those movies are cynical, a touch depressing, sometimes downright silly, but they have style. And who knows? Right now, I can stand a little cynicism. It's spice to all that sugar.
Namechecking any of your own movies is a signal to end the entry.