Week 39

     The other day while on set, I peered up into the night sky and felt my breath taken away. There were so many stars in the sky. More than one is used to seeing from smack-dab in the center of one of the most populated cities in the world. Yet there they were, planets and stars all twinkling above me. From where I stood I could make out Venus, Orion's belt, and even Betelgeuse. And that's when it hit me. All of these stars, every one dancing above my head, died millions of years ago. We just can't see it yet. We live life in the past; reliving events that have already transpired. And maybe, just maybe, someone else is out there looking up at an Earth where everything worked out?

     The other day I asked a friend who she would marry if she could only choose between past lovers. She knew right away who it would be and began to explain her reasons. My mind began to race as I realized that if asked the same question, I wouldn't be able to answer. My mind frantically bounced around from one girl to another, unable to permanently land on one. Naturally this led to an over-analyzation session of all my ex's and would be ex's. And then, as if the universe was bored, I inadvertently came across my "big" ex's Facebook page. A drunken night a few months back had led to me unblocking her.  My heart began to race as I scrolled through her page. She still looks the same. My head was transported back to the old times. I realized that I missed her. But then I began to wonder, is it just because I don't see a future with anyone that I now cling to the past? Could we have tried harder? Could things be different? Could I be happy?

     The other day I watched a short film. It felt like I something I could've made. Something I could've written. That is if I could ever manage to write anything. Seems like these days I can't seem to squeeze an ounce of creativity out of myself, no matter how hard I try. I see where other people are constantly creating. Constantly writing. I can't help but wonder what's wrong with me? How can I claim to be a writer and never do any writing? Why is it so difficult for me? Just seems like some things should come easy, especially if it's something you love doing. And if I'm not meant to be writing, what the fuck am I meant for?

     

Week 38

     It won't stop. It keeps coming in waves. And it hurts....

     It started while I was in the shower. It felt like a baseball bat to the head. I hunched over and couldn't force myself to stand back up. The muscles in my face contorted and my vision blurred. Tears started streaming. I was crying. For the first time since I don't know when. I was crying and I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. 

     Lately, I've been trying to keep my head up. Been trying to stay positive and focused toward a hopeful future in one of the most popular cities in the world. But it hasn't been easy. And after yesterday, it's damn near impossible. Everyone keeps trying to tell me to keep my chin up. Just keep at it. God has a plan for you. Fuck am I tired of hearing about God's plan.

     Unlike most things, rejection does not get easier with time. In fact, the more it happens, the more you start to believe in the negative hype. The majority of my 26 years have been filled with rejection, so right now I'm thinking pretty negatively. Thing is, I can't tell if this is just a bad time, or if I'm realizing that I don't belong here.

     Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe i'm just confused, and doubting myself right now. But I can't help wondering what if. I've written this entry over the course of 4 days just incase my mindset changed, but it hasn't. I still don't know that I should be here. I truly am over this freelance bullshit, especially since it seems like everyone just wants to see me as PA. Things were simpler back in St. Louis. Not better, but simpler. Things made more sense to me. I fit in, though I didn't necessarily want to. Out here it seems that everyone can't get enough of telling me I don't belong. I'm lonelier here than I ever was back home. I here from "friends" less and less every day. I eat and drink myself poor. I haven't been able to write, no matter how long I stare the screen. Not a single female in this time zone has taken a second glance at me. I'm wasting away here.

     No one wants to be considered a quitter, especially in matters of the heart. I came here to follow my dreams. To do what I love. Or at least to try. And I'm trying. Have I done all that I could. No. But I already feel beaten. People say that life isn't a race. But the longer I go working in reality and not in scripted, the less likely it is that I ever will. And don't want to go working in reality. I can't stress that enough. I honestly can't.

     But if I did move back, what would I do? Where would I work? What career could I find that would give me enough money and benefits to live and not make me want to blow my brains out at the end of the day? If I ever figure that out, I'll take that as my sign to close the book on this chapter of my life. If I ever figure it out....
   

Anything But...

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
Momma always said I could be anything if I put my mind to it.
I chose to keep my head in the clouds.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I should've become a doctor, or a lawyer.
Or even a janitor who cleans the office of a lawyer of a doctor.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I wanted to be different. I wanted the stars.
I wanted to hit grown men in the head with steel chairs, because that's what dreamers did.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
I wish I had never taken that writing class. Or won that award.
I wish I never had that moment of satisfaction as I changed my major.

I wish I were anything but a dreamer.
Because dreamers never win.
Dreamers never see.
Dreamers can only dream.

I should've been anything but a dreamer.

Week 37

As of this writing it has officially been one week since I last worked, and 6 days since the interview. And since then there have been no phone calls. No emails. No prospects.

Life....

     I've come to realize it's exceptionally hard for me to enjoy things. Even when things are going really well, which is rare, I often can't sit back and enjoy it because I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Unfortunately, it has been my experience that something bad always follows something good. And for some reason the bad has always overshadowed the good to me. Always.

     And it doesn't help that I have Destination Addiction (the preoccupation with the idea that happiness is in the next place, the next job, and with the next partner.) Pretty much since the time I first came out here I've been thinking about moving to Chicago. And New York. And Atlanta. And New Orleans. And, just recently, back home. Somehow I've convinced myself that things will be easier and make more since once I go to this place or that place. Lately, I've been thinking that things would just be so much easier if I move back St. Louis. And that is the most troubling thing of all.

     I have an interview tomorrow. And it's big. Or at least it could be. Last week's was supposed to be big also, and I never heard back from them, even after being promised that I would. So I'm trying not to get too excited about tomorrow. Trying. 

Week 36

I'm not a writer. I'm a blogger; a watcher; a listener; an eater; a drinker; a thinker, and a dreamer......

     I had a dream once that we were together. Or I should say, in the dream, we got together. There was this big moment where I pulled you aside from everyone and you smiled, and I smiled and, without saying a single word, we both nodded feverishly and then embraced. We laid on our stomachs on a nearby couch laughed giddily. There was this satisfying feeling that rushed over me, as if to say "FINALLY!" And then I woke up.

      I remembered that we weren't together. That we have never kissed. That we really had never been that close. You were a crush once upon a time. One shared by most of the guys we worked with. A simple fantasy of a simple boy. So why now? Why this night? Who's to say? It was just a dream.

     I had a dream that I missed the wedding. There I was, back home, and I had to find a way to tell you I wouldn't be able to come to the wedding. I ran into your fiance first, and he was angry. Really angry. I was actually afraid as I watched him walk over and tell you. I ran from the house. That's all I can remember.

     The fear of missing the wedding still plagues me. I hope I'll make it home. I hope I'll be there to see you walk down the aisle. I hope I'll be able to say it was just a dream.

     I was happy. Happy to wake up in the morning. Happy to drive to work and be in a room full of creative individuals all working towards a goal. I was a writer. I had a house, somewhere in America. And you were there. We loved each other. We loved the world. Everything was right, and I hated to close my eyes at night, because it meant I had to spend a few hours away from it all. I've never woken up.

     This isn't a vision that played in my head while my eyes were closed. This is something I see everyday. Something that drives me to keep going. To keep waking up. To keep going to work. I know what it is, and I know what it sounds like. But we all have one. And who's to say it's just a dream?

Week 35

     I debated on whether or not to write this, but then I figured what good would it be keeping it in. So here it is, another post from the heart, full of sadness and despair. And if that's not your thing, then I don't know why you came here in the first place. All I've ever written if what's inside of me. Not to please or pander to anyone else, but to express myself in hopes that it would help. So in that vain, here goes.

I don't know if I can do this.

     I mean, I really don't know that I can keep up this life. Freelancing is...something else. I've been here nearly 8 months, this is the end of my first job, and already I'm burnt on this. Waking up everyday, begging people to hire you, and going home to wait desperately for the phone to ring. What was I thinking getting into this?
   
     Actually, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking I had done it. I had found my true calling. The path that would lead me to a career that would mean happiness for my days to come. Things were simpler then. Dreams were brighter, and the hope of attaining them still felt real. I just wanted to make movies and television. To be a part of the programs that I, myself, found so much joy in watching. That was all I wanted.
   
     And here I sit, in a little pink room, in a little suburb of one of the largest cities in the world, and at any given moment I'm on the verge of complete and total failure. This past week proved to me that I am not ready or equipped to handle the magnitude of adulthood. Not without a proper job, that provides a proper income. This working temporarily and then hoping and waiting for something else to come along just so that I can get by is pointless.

Problem is, I don't know what else I would do.

And so I just keep sitting. hoping for...I don't know....something. And I get that things are just hard right now, and in a week or two I'll be feeling differently about the whole matter. Only, what if I don't? I think the scariest thing about this week, about all of this, is that for the first time since moving here, I wanted to go home. And that is absolutely terrifying.