don’t die in me

September 29, 2008

I came up with this great idea for a screenplay, and I feel its something I need to work out for the next year or so. I also think I need a writing partner – someone who is funnier than me – cause I can write natural dialogue like it’s my job, but writing intentionally funny things is like stapling jello to the wall.

I suppose this is my next project. maybe. for the most part i’ve given up screenwriting. everything about it just screams “horrible future.” Such an uncertainty is held in that profession – I mean, freelancing can’t be much better – but declaring that I’m “a writer” just drives me bonkers. (No offense, Josh.) I am not a writer. Not at all. I am under-read. Under-practiced. Under-educated. God. I am pathetic in terms of a writer. I do it because it feels right. Therapeutic. I am not good at reading aloud what I write, or sharing with someone something I’ve written – I understand that’s part of being a writer – but damnit, there are times I really hate it. Maybe it’s been all the workshop classes I’ve been forced to take. Damn you, college.

I realized earlier that I am desperate. Moreso than I thought I was. I was watching Dexter season 1 this morning – for my adaptation project –
*SPOILERS AHEAD. SKIP THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHATS UP SORTOF*
and I was thinking about the part where Rudy is talking to Deb when he’s got her in the cabin of the boat and he says something along the lines of “You were just desperate to be loved.” And it hit me really hard that maybe I was kind of like that right now. I am closing a lot of chapters in my life at once: the breakup, graduation, Partizan, etc.
*OKAY YOU CAN READ NOW*
There is a lot of change, and instinctively I’m looking for a constant: unconditional love. I’m looking for something that is going to remain the control as everything shifts and moves. It’s impossible to find someone that will tolerate that – knowing that my life is changing, and theirs is hypothetically not changing with mine. Nobody is moving to New York with me. The next few months are essentially on my own, trying to make this change stick and assess the chaos.

God. What a mindblowing moment this is. What a moment.

I want more than ever in this moment to be held and feel safe. I’ve been setting up the illusion that it’s what’s been happening, but in reality, I’ve been lying to myself. A lot. False hope is what it is. If this is how I’m going to live my life, I think it’s the first time I really have to develop a wall… a thicker skin. A more masculine perspective on an already over-feminized subject. I need to stop being the “typical 20-something girl” and get a grip. I know this isn’t me, but I’m bored. And what else is there to do?

I am small town trying to manage a big life. And it’s the first time nobody is here, jumping in front of the train, to correct me. It would be nice to be saved, but I think I really have to do it this time. Who’s with me?

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