It's not me. It's... yeah, it's me. Shit.

I wrote this a few months ago- and never posted it- but it's all still true- so I am going to go ahead and post it anyway. :0)

Well, I know it has been an insanely long time since I've posted, and maybe, just maybe, I think I've come up with the reason why. Originally, I saw this blog as kind of my journal- When i first started it last year, I used it as a way to talk about my life- poorness, dating, dudes, despair, you name it- the general malaise possibly that is your 20's. Here in LA. Being an East Coaster. Ya know... You've read it, you know!!

So. I figured out why I haven't felt compelled to post. And it's so obvious, hellooo? Right? I have somehow, not really sure how... but somehow...found myself in a relationship. Like. A REAL ONE. Haha, ladies and gentlemen, I seem to have entered- what I would consider to be- my first adult relationship. I certainly have had other relationships, and a super long one (4 years) before this. However, that began was I was 19 and ended when I 23. Then life smacked me real hard in the face. Pretty much as hard as it gets. It ain't an easy thing pursuing your dream, trying to be your better creative self, and keep a roof over your head at the same time in a big, bad, scary city. I digress. Hmm... as I never use actual names in this blog... what shall I call him? Hmph... what would be appropriate? No Drunk Guys or Gay Guys, no. Hm. "Unexpected Guy?" "New Guy?" ...no...I got it: "Movie Guy." Even though the "l" word has been uttered, and yes, I am pretty head over you know what for him, I will refrain from using names like, "Love Guy" or "Sweetie McSweeterson".... I still have my pride. And my wit. ;)

Movie Guy and I have a a bit of a sordid history that I won't hash out here in bloggy land, but I will just say this: After almost 2 years of "kind of but not really" to "bad timing" to "never again" to "maybe he could..." to "uh oh...I'm in love".... we have finally reached that great communication place of, "I like you, let's be together for real and see what happens." And in the 3 years I have lived in Los Angeles, and the three years I have been dating here in Los Angeles... no one has ever gone there with me.

Life in general has become more chaotic I suppose- that hasn't changed- I have moved from 4 different apartments in 5 months,(HA), written a brand new script well out of my general comfort zone of quirky comedy, had and lost jobs..., had my heart close to broken, and then repaired just when I thought there was no hope left. I have become a better communicator in these few years. The main reason I haven't blogged, is because I have been--- gulp--- happy. I have been SO happy. And isn't that a horrible reason to stop blogging? I don't want to just be the kind of blogger that only writes when I feel shitty or have a need to complain. So that ends now.

Between small day trips, endless movies marathons, and my new found love for organic cooking with the boy... it has been a whirlwind 6 months. Also, in this past 6 months, I have had two scripts... get some traction with either production companies or indie producers... we are on the up and up, and it still may take a good few years... but we are on our way to something amazing with "The Lifeboat Sonata" and "Sunny Days Weight Loss"... just a matter of time, and the ball is rolling on both.

In the meantime, with Movie Guy, who also happens to be a writer and incredibly accomplished Director of Photography, I am developing a thriller/suspense film to be shot incredibly low budget. A passion project with immediate friends in the industry... and it's going to be fantastic. My oh my, have I been happy. :0) And that has been a nice change for me. I feel I lost a lot this year. My first car, (I got a new one... a shitty new one, but a new one none the less), my studio apartment, and a few jobs like I said- but those are like water to me- they keep coming- I never worry too much, because no matter what it is that I do money wise, it's never of any importance to me- just something to aid the dream. Just something to get me by. Scraping, but getting by is all I care about. Oh, that and not getting arrested.

So that's me in a nutshell as of late. I now have a whole new set of fun musings now that I find myself OUT of the uneasy world of just dating...into... relationship land... it's exciting and I can't wait to see what unfolds in the near future. I promise to post soon about what life is like once the big question ("are we or aren't we?" ) is over, and the "real" stuff starts coming into the equation. Been awhile, and I am rusty...everything feels so new and foreign...and I am thinking, I am really thinking.... that that is a very good thing. Stay tuned!

Strip Yourself

After having been systematically stripped of everything I thought was dear to me or vital, I think, or I am starting to think, I am on my way to something really, really true. In my life. And true doesn’t mean easy or comfortable, but as human beings, I think we seek truth above all else. Or at least I do. Even when it hurts or burns. I guess, I just want to live truth. Hard as it may be.

It all started about 2 years ago I suppose. I had just moved out to California from New York City, stuck in a co-dependent, miserable relationship with my then boyfriend. The only way I saw my self coming out here, 3,000 miles away with not much money, was with him. It was my only shot, in my head. So I powered through, knowing that our love for each other had long since expired, and was now something- sour. Angry. Violent. We tried to hold onto it for the sake of just simply staying together because it was cheaper rent when it was split 2 ways, and tried remember the good times that had long since passed. I was 22 and feeling 50. Too much to shoulder, too much to bare, in what was once a very loving relationship, now something quite abusive.

After he went to jail for smashing my head against a concrete wall, giving me a concussion and a very bruised and bloodied face, I still didn’t leave. Never told a soul the real details, and was too ashamed or prideful to come running home to my parents. Although, I likely should have done that. Instead, once he got out after 4 days, my life became a haze for the next few months. Crying apologies followed by doors being slammed, and pushing, shoving and restraining. Anything that wouldn’t leave a visual mark. Court sessions where I begged a judge to drop the charges, the young, white, female assistant DA, shaking her head at me. Judgmental eyes all around of just another one of “those women.” I was frightened of what might happen if I left, what he might do. What I might be subjected to. All alone in a brand new city with no real friends, no real family close. I was stuck and terrified. I found myself saying things to people that I never thought I’d say. “Restraining order revoked,”, “multiple contusions”, “bloody fist”. I didn’t recognize myself. The once strong, opinionated, feisty young woman I was, I couldn’t even stand to look at myself in the mirror without being ashamed of what I’d become. A battered woman.

The slumlord at our drug riddled, roach infested apartment hit his wife, and cursed at her every chance he got, a drunk. So, in a strange twist of irony, I didn’t have an alibi there, where I should have, I had an enabler. I was trapped. Alone, and not acting or auditioning. I wanted to write, but didn’t know how, couldn’t lift a finger, too sad, too tired, too hard. I was afraid mostly of the things that might come out of me if I were to put pen to paper, what I might actually have to face. No one knew. And this was my penance for wanting to come to LA, or so I thought. Should have listened to Dad and gotten my Masters degree, I thought to myself. Too late now.

After 4 more months of agony- pure and total agony- I finally left him. It was impromptu. I still loved him very much, believe it or not. He was all I had ever known, my first real relationship. My first love, and when that get muddled, even they way ours did, to dire circumstances, it’s still incredibly hard to leave, no matter how strong you think you are. Manipulation and con-dependency must not be dismissed, they have incredible power over people and interpersonal relationships gone south. Only those who have been involved in these types of abusive patterns, whether they be physical, sexual, or emotional, or all 3, are the only ones who know what I am talking about. The world wants you to hate your abuser, but it simply is not that easy. However, I knew if I stayed with him, I’d be dead in a year.

I had long since hidden all the kitchen knives in various places around the apartment, so he could never get to them, and if need be, I would systematically know where a weapon would be close by. I knew this was no way to live. But, like in all abusive situations, it becomes all you know. All you know how to do. I moved out that month, after he begged me to stay, offered a marriage proposal, that he’d change, that he’d find a way to be better. Nothing. Gone.

Then came the house that credit built. I used every last cent I had to live in that new studio in North Hollywood, far away from a life I was trying to forget. Bought cute colorful furniture, and started to really love the new aloneness that would later plague me. This ushered in the writing era. Still auditioning here and there, I starting to mainly hone in on writing. Short, heartfilled, gut spilling diary entries at first, then short film scripts. Then features. It was an exorcism of sorts. But there was no way I would have ever come to the conclusion that I was worth any salt as a writer had I not lived alone. That said, I was broker than ever in the 18 months that followed. 18 months, out of a twisted, masochistic, hatefully passionate 4 year love affair, 4 screenplays, a blog, 5 short film scripts, and countless suitors later, and I had nothing to show for it but battle wounds, some hard lessons learned, and what some might call, an artistic awakening of sorts.

I find myself now, temporarily homeless with nothing but a car full of clothes, dvds and literature. Pictures, blankets, and shoes. Words. Words are what I have. Words are what I covet, and I have lost almost everything else.

I loved that studio. The studio I could no longer afford by myself. It represented freedom, and the single life. And a symbol of strength that I “did it.” I relished the new material things that I bought with the money I didn’t have. They were masks for me that I was trying on, trying to be an adult with a couch, an adult with my bookshelf and gloriously large bed. It was all STUFF. Stuff that was only mine, no sharing. No more ashamedness. No more yelling or turmoil with men. Just me, my beautiful stuff, the computer and notebooks I used to write in daily to start to develop my quirky writing style, and the people that I chose to let in my life, only when I wanted, and only at certain times. I was alone, single, and fabulous. I was living my own Sex and the City.

After losing my apartment, and everything in it that I couldn’t carry out to my car, I decided that I truly was living a lie. A fakeness had set in, and it was time to remove it. I had long since had my cable/internet turned off before I lost the apartment, and had gotten used to not watching my marathons of SVU and Grey’s Anatomy. I has gotten used to not having internet everyday, and if I wanted it, having to trek to the library to get it. My phone bill had been a late, and then my phone was sporadically turned off and then on again a few times, which was also, what I considered to be turbulent and unfair. But what it really was, was the universe telling me, YELLING at me that A) I could no longer afford my 1,000$ a month apartment that I had come to love so very dearly as a symbol of my strength and triumph, and B) I had become so attached to these… these THINGS- having television to fall asleep to, to the same tired, played out Cop/Lawyer plot, a phone to jab away at for no reason sometimes, calling people when I should be looking for more work, or writing my masterpiece. The couch that I had come to hate, pretty to look at, but uncomfortable and course, the queen sized bed that was too big for me. Too big for one person, with my gorgeous dark, deep purple bedding, a cruel reminder that I spent most nights alone, by choice, in this seemingly ever expanding, vast apartment that was starting to swallow me whole. It wasn’t that I yearned to have someone to sleep with- I did- I had people, I just- since the long, arduous, and scarring break-up 18 months, almost 2 years ago- I just can’t really sleep with people. I can screw them, that’s no problem, I just can’t sleep soundly next to person for some reason. So, I don’t. I equate that to my own intimacy issues that I have apparently now developed since this said break-up with the abusive man. An issue, I am only realizing now that I have. Now that I have moved out of this once dreamed of, this once loved, then hated apartment of mine. Now that it’s gone, and with it, all my furniture, lamps, tables- kitchenware- you name it, one might think I’d be devastated. Hurt, done for, ready to give up. But the thing is- I have never been more relieved.

I have a chance- a clean slate if you will, a chance one rarely ever gets in a lifetime to be FREE. To rid myself of everything material that I don’t immediately need to survive, and start something a little more- truthful, a little more real. After the abusive man, who I thought took so much from me, I fought with myself, I still fight with myself to retrieve it somehow. And the thing is, on the path to doing so, I padded my life- with things- nice things, new clothes, new haircut, new bed, new couch. New life, great life. Untruthful life. Padding. Excess. I did the same thing with men afterward too, to some degree. It’s a very hard thing, trying to fit in, and make everyone believe you are OK, that you are a normal, and happy person, when inside you are screaming from being on fire. What I am saying people, is that look around- even if your shit isn’t that nice- look the fuck around. What do you have? Do you like it? Does it make you feel better about yourself at the end of the day? Does it function in a way that makes your life that much more easy or manageable? Why did you buy it? And do you watch that many episodes of NCIS because you love the characters or because you are numb and need a reason to escape the thoughts, the sometimes scary, but very real thoughts you think at night, when you’re all alone?

Once stripped of everything I thought I needed to survive, I realized that I need close to nothing, in actuality. I move in a week to a new apartment, with roommates, so in a far more affordable situation. I look forward to it with my new sense of how I am looking at the world. When I say I lost everything these past few years, it wasn’t a lie. I lost the man I loved in the worst way one might lose one- a death of a soul, not a person, but the death of who you thought someone was, the betrayal of who you thought YOU were with that person, the life I could have had with him, the life I almost had with him- near perfection, had he not hit. Had he had the capacity to channel his anger through exercise or journals. However, that’s not how it happened, and that is OK. It’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me- a brutal awakening, but a vital one, and it has made me likely one the savviest, most clever, and most solid people you will ever meet. I have foundations deeper within myself, deeper than you can ever imagine. I lost the material things that held me together after this man was out of my life. The things I thought meant something, something real. They did not. And I now have me. My thoughts. My words, and clothes, books, and films, I so dearly cherish. And that, my friends, is the only thing I need besides a pencil and paper. I am thankful to be alive, thankful to be in Los Angeles, and thankful to now have a roof over my head, and people in my life that support me enough to be able to catch me, to fill in the gaps when needed, and enrich and enlighten my life everyday. I am happy. I am full of passion. I have a thousand ideas. I am alive. I am whole. And I have not a thing.

I'm having a real hard time wrapping my head around this...

Well, I suppose it was bound to happen. Though I hate admitting inevitability, I am in fact: stuck. I'm getting frosty, kids.

Many times in my life I feel as though I have been presented with a crossroads. Sometimes it's regarding people- men specifically. Sometimes it's when a career change or job prospect presents itself. These are the main ones, and here is the dilemma I am finding myself at today. I always believed in love. In two people completing each other in such a way that was harmonious and beautiful, and LASTING. I always did. I always thought that there would be a happily ever after, a person out there that would be loyal, true, and honest. Now, don't get me wrong: it's not like I don't now-- not REALLY-- but I will tell you, my confidence in men in general is shrinking.

I am not exactly sure when it happened, but I think it's happened over time- and then when 2010 hit: BAM! My expectations are lowering, and I generally think men are pretty simple creatures, easily swayed, and in general: not truthful. Why the sudden change in my attitude? One might argue it was a slew of incredibly bad, if not laughably bad relationships/dating scenarios. That might be it- but it's not just me I'm talking about. I can't think of one girlfriend I have that hasn't been dissappointed/lied to/ manipulated or duped by her man in the past. I can't. And here is the thing: it goes both ways, I know women can be like that as well, and I can only speak for myself as someone who truly wants to find love and not just play with people: but what happened to the fairytale? What happened to happily ever after that doesn't last for 5 minutes, or 5 years, but forever? Not ending in someone cheating, or cyber cheating, or carrying on with a double life, or what have you? What the hell is going on, and when the hell did I get so cynical? I NEVER used to be this way!

Literally, after Old Guy, Drunk Guy, Gay Guy, Girlfriend Guy, and Difficult Guy... I am really starting to feel nothing. Like I expect nothing from the opposite sex. Isn't that terrible? When a cute guy comes along now, I don't get as excited or loopy as I used to. I have a few prospects, maybe even more than a few: let's say a handful. And out of that handful, some very handsome, very accomplished, driven men. Who seem to really be into me. But in the back of my mind, I feel I know what will happen. A let down. Not now, but eventually. Not a great way to go about things, I know, but if it's happened to you time and time and time again, with even what seem to be the nicest, most loyal and shy of guys... it will throw you off too.

Men have short attention spans, and are easily distracted by a nice ass, rack, or other pretty face. Not that it's all about the sex with them. I had one guy tell me once, a guy I was actually IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH AT THE TIME, say, "I fall in love with a new girl everyday- it's about the variety... men need variety...the nerdy girl, the sexy girl, the artistic girl..."

I was mortified. But I have heard this before from other guys friends and or lovers... or former lovers... that men simply love variety... and need it... and it doesn't matter if they love somebody, and the sex is amazing- and they've been together for say, I don't know-- a few years-- even--even if everything is perfect in that way- they STILL feel the need to what?? Spread their seed??

I know how this comes off. Woman scorned, angry, and disillusioned. BUT. I am just trying to understand. I don't. And being a great "gal pal" to many hetero men- I ..... I wish I didn't know what I know. And even if it's not about the cheating, or the lying or the what have you- it seems to be something else. Is it boredom? The lack of core values? What is it? It could be that I am still hurt by the last several relationships that not only severely let me down, but knocked me on my ass. And now, when a nice guy comes into the picture, I feel like I already have them figured out. Like I know what their M.O. is... and I hate that about myself! I am now afraid, that IF a great guy comes along, and truly wants to be with me: I won't recognize it. I feel like I have turned into Miranda from "Sex and the City." Skeptical and cynical. I really wish I could flip a switch to change this. But I can't...men have been too predictable. Men have let me down. Men don't change. Men have not been good to me.

I know what you're thinking. It's me. It's me. Maybe it is. I won't deny that I have a penchant for finding men that in most people's eyes would consider "bad". I like guys that are a challenge. I'll admit it. I like men who are hard to get. I like deeply artistic, deeply emotional, and deeply sensitive men. And those kinds of men- the ones who are writers, actors, directors, photographers, what have you- the ones with creative spirits- they fall in love fast! They feel all kinds of crazy emotions...and relationships with them... can be... explosive... However--- they fall out of love fast too, and they generally- they need a muse. So when they're done with you- they're done with you, and on to the next deeply artistic, feeling girl. That's how I feel anyway. Not to sound so cold. But... many men have told me that they don't believe in monogamy. That they think it's a physical impossibility. I just think it's gross. Seriously. If you're sleeping with someone, and they're all up in someone else's buisness? Ewww.

I'm really, really, really sorry... this is a bitch session at it's best. Maybe it will take meeting that "great" guy. But let me tell you something, I think I know something that the others don't, and I'm going to fill you in on it, so get ready: the real reason I feel this way, and I feel isolated in this, is because I, on more than one occasion, have been the other woman.

It started when I was 13 and my next door neighbor, who was 16 and in highschool, used to ditch his high school g/f to make out with me by the pool. I knew he had a g/f. I knew it was wrong, but I really loved him... he was my first real puppy love- so I let him kiss me, knowing it was wrong. Maybe that's where it all started. I was too young and too shy to say no. So I didn't. But then I felt like hell afterward. Even then. Even when no sex was involved, just young hormones floating around. Then, my senior year, I had lost a bunch of weight, I was the star of the high school musicals, and on my way to NYC to study theater. I was riding high, I looked great, felt great, full of confidence. Same thing. The boy who I was devastatingly in love with, the male lead in our musicals, had a g/f, and I knew I could never have him. They had been together for 4 years, and she even- gulp- slept over at his house! Very adult- they were definitely having sex! I, 18, was NOT. (And didn't until I was 20, ha) But one night, I was helping him with his math homework, pining in our all too platonic relationship, and he reached over and kissed me. And then started feeling my boob. At first I liked it, and then I got scared. "What are you doing?? What about Michelle?? " I said. He told me, " Don't worry, no one has to know. I can't not kiss you. I'm trying not to. But I can't." I should have told him to try harder and shove him off me, but once again, I couldn't. I knew it was wrong. But I simply couldn't say no. I liked him too much. And we were too cute together. In my mind, I definitely thought this meant he was going to dump her, and take me to the senior ball. Alas, that didn't happen. Even though, every week or so, we would get together to make out and such, I would ask him about it, and he would say, "It's not the right time yet." And I would believe him. How about that. In the end, he took Michelle to the prom. I went with my geeky friend Pat, who had large wire rimmed glasses, a comb over (at 18. Yup), and was half my size. In the prom picture, it literally looks like he is my child, not my date. Ahhhh... but, this pattern started very early in my life, and sadly, I let it continue... but here is the secret I was going to share with you all.

Now, at 25, being an actress, and being in, well, some would say, a glamorous city, with a glamorous job, I have seen men do so many despicable things. Traditionally, many people think of actresses as sluts of some kind- prostitutes in a way- anything for the job, right? Well, knowing full well that that is true in some cases, but CERTAINLY not mine, I have been put in several comprising positions with several- shall I say, married or attached men? One I didn't know about. One, well, he made me love him- we courted and then dated for about a year- and then he ripped the rug from underneath me and told me had another woman, and he loved us both. I was shocked, he had done a great job at concealing that- always telling me how much he cared about me, loved me, loved being w/ me, etc. That was a shock. But then, I have worked at tradeshows, been on movie or tv sets, and what have you, and I cannot tell you how many married men, young, old, good looking, or ugly, try to get with the young actresses. And I found this so disturbing. Seeing so many married men... acting like... complete... apes... is just- well, it does something to you.

Some might argue that maybe it's just LA. I would argue that they're right. But that being said-- this is my town. I am an East Coast gal living out here- but this is my home. Where I will be staying indefinitely. And I love artistic men. Maybe that's the problem. Either way, feeling like I have seen more than what I like to admit- probably the way an exotic dancer feels I would imagine... I hate to make that analogy... but I feel like I'm on the other side of this... and it SUCKS!

Sometimes it feels good to vent, eh? I can't say I feel too much better, but I at least got those negative feelings off my chest... I know they will pass. I know it's just a time and a place. But I am ready. I am! I am ready to meet that person that will make me see thing differently. That will make me WANT to see things differently. Or at least give me a reason to. But you men. I tell you. You are really letting us down. Pick up the slack, start bringing a better game...! Because I refuse to settle for you dudes that do this sneaky stuff! ( I am also aware that some changing will have to be done on my part, but I know full well that despite the smack I talk, I would melt into a puddle for a guy that I like. That I could love, that has morals, and is honest and upfront. I would....!) I'm not negative Nancy. I've just become more cautious. I promised to write even when it's not 100% positive, so here it is guys... haha sorry, but I just REALLY needed to get that off my chest! I appreciate it!!

"Eternal Sunshine of the Lovesick Mind" A diary entry

Maybe it was the haunting music of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" that I just watched. Maybe it was the fact that I was home, with my mother to take care of me, that I retreated back into the very childlike, and vulnerable state that I was in. I had not been taking very good care of myself. Not in the body, head, or heart. It had been a whirlwind year, and it was just about time to wake up from my winter's rest and snap back into the startling and exhilarating reality that had become my life. Why wasn't I more excited? Why couldn't I shake the melancholy? As a writer, I tend to live in that glorious unknown... the delicious world of what I have, what I want, and what I will never have... the cracks and crevices of happiness... what could have been, what never was... and that place where I know I will be someday. I live in that place most of the time... most artists do. It breeds good work, and generally, I can't shake it. But I don't mind spending time there, I've become rather comfortable with it.
In the past, I couldn't watch "Eternal..." not after the breakup... the bad, brutal and deeply depressing breakup. That movie speaks to this generation's group of lovers in a way that many other movies have not succeeded in. Somehow, everyone knows exactly what it's like to be the Joel or the Clementine in the relationship. I was the Clementine in case you were wondering. I'm always the Clementine. Or at least that's what people think I am. Heart on my sleeve, painfully honest, a little crazy, loud, and unable to hide what I am feeling in a any given moment. Now when I watch the movie, which truly is one of my favorites of all time... I feel nothing...I have long sense gotten over my 1st Joel. I have. But that was not what was on my mind. Not this time, on this particular snowed in, below zero, blustery Syracuse day.
What was bothering me- nagging me really, like a cut cuticle bleeding, needing attention, I couldn't exactly put my finger on. My Joel- the Joel that eventually went away... he was the only real relationship I had ever had. Everyone after my Joel was not... well... Joel. They were Tom, Dick , or Harry. And it was really starting to grate on me. On my confidence, on my whole head. I, like Clementine, had become a really kooky girl, a fun girl, a girl who was different from the others in the way I dressed, talked and held myself. Maybe it was the East coast in me. Maybe it was the exterior I put up in an effort to protect myself. But none the less, after my Joel, I had absolutely no problem getting other potential Joels to notice me. To ask me out. To want me. To even fall in love with me. The problem was- the ones that loved me- I didn't love back- not even a little. I could be married with 1.5 kids and a freakin Labrador, I thought to myself. What a scary thought. But none of these other potential Joels were the right ones.
On the flip side... I had much rather taken a liking to men... to Joels that I guess weren't really Joels at all... men who took me for granted... left me... treated me with disrespect, and discarded me until the next time they were feeling lonely. It took me awhile to realize that I was doing the exact same thing with them. For a full year- a year of searching for connections, losing them, and then finding them again-- I had failed to really find someone that I could spend more than a few hours with. I had succeeded in making my life compartmentalized. And I didn't like it.
In this blog, I always try to give you answers, reasons WHY, or WHY NOT. I like to come up with solutions and put a positive spin on just about anything... however, sometimes, especially now... why do we NEED answers? Why do women, particularly Clementine women, search for the reason in everything? Do we need closure? Why does there have to be a reason? Can't things just be? Must we always take a lesson? What is it? I will hold no punches back: I don't know.
I don't know why I haven't found my Joel-- my REAL Joel yet... I don't know why I only want people I know I can't have, and I love the wrong people, and I inconvenience, complicate, and screw my life up the way I do with love. But I DO know that I have love. I have a strong love that grows everyday. And someday, maybe tomorrow, or maybe next month... or next year... I will be able to share that with somebody. But until then, I am an actor with a great device and ability to share my feelings with others through art. I am a writer who can write out these schemes and dreams into something coherent and beautiful. And I am a blogger that can further confuse my readers with the first blog I will post that doesn't have an answer.... in fact it has a big question mark on top of it. And, for the first post of the new year, I think that's rather OK.
One of the things I am constantly working on is admitting that I don't know everything, and being alright with that. I find enlightenment in the questions...not the answers, more and more. So keep asking them. Watch "Eternal Sunshine..." See how you interpret it now... we can't go back. We can't fight to save something that is already gone. We can't leave clues in our ex lover's subconsciousness for them to remember how special we really were. However, we CAN continue to write. We can continue to build this love... for ourselves... within ourselves... within others who love us... and we can continue to express it. I said I wouldn't give you my take on a answer in this blog. So I will leave you with this. Create your own love. Create your own self worth. Want people, don't need them. And this year- in 2010- evaluate more. Make a mix tape. Write a journal. Ask questions. Don't take no for an answer. Spotty... crazy... and disjointed...(but full of compassion, hope, and maybe a little wisdom...) Kathryne Isabelle :0)