Filming

It's been a lifelong dream for me to write and shoot a short film during my life.

Practically every summer I tell myself that this is the one. I'll finally start filming. I've even gone so far as to write scripts. So far as to start filming. But inevitably, things come up and I abandon my task.

And yet.

Yet I struggle onwards, going through the same cycle ever summer.

But HA, this... year will be different. I'll complete the film. I'm not even sure what its all about yet, but I'm determined.

And determination is key.

Change and Summer

So... summer's pretty emo-tastic. Not necessarily in a bad way, but its just this solid block of time where one thinks too much about... well everything.

I wrote a bunch of random crap at work today, so I'll copy and paste it from Word.

I am afraid of change. Just like I am afraid of the unknown. Sometimes the two are one and the same, sometimes change is just reverting back to what once w as.

It’s a silly thing, living in fear. But it blocks me from doing a lot of things in life that I ought to.

I don’t fear all change, just… Change. Not the individual stuff, but the inevitability.

But fearing inevitability is difficult when you vow to have no regrets. Sometimes, I feel that living with no regrets is a pipe dream. I guess it comes from the theory that if you live each day, each moment as your last, you’ll never regret anything. But still I try.

[Insert crap that no one can read cause its too personal. Basically stuff about my recent regrets that I can't help]

and now for my emo-tastic poem.

"Falling"

Smashed into a million pieces

Gravity has taken its toll

Seemingly innocent at first

The insanity started with a jump

A leap of faith perhaps

Trying to trust again

But knowing deep down

This was futile from the first

Hands clasped so tight

Reminiscent of skydivers

Wind warping faces

Into clown smiles

Mid-air acrobatics

Flipping, whirling in free fall

Ever aware of altitude

Yet the end is still far off

Checking watches

Checking height

The joy rapidly slowing

As the ground rushes near

Cocksure smiles apiece

Ready to pull the cord

But one chute is not packed right

And one cannot carry two

Drag pulls one up

As the colored chute deploys

The other, a victim

of perishing in free fall

Waking Up

When I wake up in the morning, I am completely myself for fifteen minutes.

That's how long it takes me to roll out of bed, check my email and gather clothes for a shower. Then I look in the bathroom mirror and the illusion is shattered.

After that, I'm just the girl in the mirror, not the person I woke up as.

Maybe some day I'll wake up, roll out of bed, check my email and head to the shower only to look in the mirror and see the person that I wake up as.

but that endeavor could take a lifetime.

Trips

yay for trips to visit friends!!

Woooo!!!

yay for trips to visit awkward friends. :)

The end!

Fundamentals

In an effort to better understand one's self, it is always a good idea to embark first on a journey of introspection.

Introspection is the self-observation and reporting of conscious inner thoughts, desires and sensations. It is a conscious mental and usually purposive process relying on thinking, reasoning, and examining one's own thoughts, feelings, and, in more spiritual cases, one's soul.

The real struggle lies in where the introspection starts.

Sometimes, it starts with a journal. A journal that a 2nd grade teacher asks the class to keep. No one is really sure why they must keep a journal, but who is going to argue with the teacher. Trivial things go into those pages, but the mind of a 7-year old is only so organized.

But the action of pencil to paper is soothing, and emotions are poured out onto the page. Something there just clicks. The ability to watch yourself grow and develop is born. Half a dozen 80-page spirals are bought for school the following year, and one of them never makes it to school. It hides in a desk drawer, consuming inner-most thoughts and emotions. No one can read it, even though it documents things along the lines of playing GI Joes with neighbors.

But the years flutter by and the notebooks become filled with more emotions than thoughts. Documentations of how you feel about schoolmates. First loves. First fights. First... well you know...

All the while, filed away in the bottom of a drawer.

Hitting teenage years, its the only place where one can truly be themselves, without fear of the scorn of peers. A sort of alternate-self is formed. Boundaries are blurred, possibly crossed, and you lose track of what is real. Who are you really? The face you show the world, or the face that is trapped in the pages of a bound floral print book. You certainly can't be both. Or can you? Are you doomed to be one of them at all? Neither are fit to be fully accepted by society.

Humorist by day, deep thinker by night. Perhaps something darker in between. These are the three faces. All are relevant, important to identity. Giving one up would be madness.

Its all a matter of understanding oneself. Its a fundamental part of the way I function. If I lose sight of that, then I lose sight of my path in life. Everyone has a part of themselves that can never be exposed. Its the beauty of human nature.

Everyone must have a part that is locked away. In the mind, on paper, on a hard drive.

Hard copy reminders of who we once were are a good way to document progression. I keep my journals to see how my writing has changes, and how my mind has changed. Things I once valued have changed into almost trivial things. Things I once took for granted are now valued highly.

And some things never change.

But it would be sacrificing a part of me that is not fit to be exposed to say what never changes. Yes, it is things of those nature.

And I keep on plodding along.

[May be subject to future editing]

Winning fights

Winning is all about moving on. On from what, I'm not sure.
or at least that's what they want you to believe.
A different school of thought tells you that winning means utterly dominating your opponent. Forcing them into submission. Pummeling them until they do not get up again.
Maybe its just me, but that sounds a little... harsh.
I suppose it depends on what you are attempting to win.

What's up with the Glock? Its representative of the second school of thought. What best to represent violent closure than a smoking handgun.

I'm not quite sure what I'm attempting to "win" but I know that no amount of pummeling will help.
This isn't Fight Club.

Playing Games

Nobody likes folks who play games with their minds.

Just like God doesn't play dice, neither should Man.

Terry Pratchett sums up the God-Dice phenomena best.

God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of his own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.
Terry Pratchett, "Good Omens"

And it is true.  

If God doesn't do it, then what right do we have?

No right at all.

And yet.  People play games with others every day.  I'm not talking about your Friday night poker games, or Family Game Night.  I'm talking about games where souls are gambled and in an instant you can become nothing.  Or you can become great.

I'm talking about people who play games with other's souls.  Who would have the gall to take from others that which is not theirs to give up.  

When you lose this kind of dangerous game, you are left with nothing.  Left as nothing.  With time you can regain it, but the winner forever holds a piece of you in thrall.

Forever.

Who wants to lose a piece of themselves forever?

Not I.

And so I'll keep myself for myself.   And not play this dangerous game with others.

I don't play dice with my life and my wellness.