Wednesday, April 20, 2005
much. about anything.
so, yeah. i don't know.
i find myself not wanting to go to the auditions in the morning. i still get excited when i have a good one, but the prospect of them leaves me sort of cold. mailings, eh. classes, whatever. networking. yawn. if these things are so boring, what exactly am i doing, here?
i was sitting in the backseat of the rental car in new mexico, thinking that the present moment could be happening at any time in the last twenty years. me, in the back, my parents, drives while traveling--i could have been eight or eighteen or it could have been now, on the downward slope to thirty. i read something recently . . . a woman said that we grow up, and then we grow old. my concern is that one of those is fun, and the other is not. i'm hoping i'll reframe before old age sets in.
i still want to go home. home wasn't always so great, either, but i miss something about how i felt inside the life i created. something particular about me that doesn't seem to be true anymore. the monkey thinks a change of venue will help--and no question, it'll be nicer. it wouldn't hurt me to get out of the house and have conversations with people i don't sleep next to, either. and if i think about career-changing graduate programs every day, that's okay. the eight-year-old in the back of the sedan might have wanted to be that, too.
i find myself not wanting to go to the auditions in the morning. i still get excited when i have a good one, but the prospect of them leaves me sort of cold. mailings, eh. classes, whatever. networking. yawn. if these things are so boring, what exactly am i doing, here?
i was sitting in the backseat of the rental car in new mexico, thinking that the present moment could be happening at any time in the last twenty years. me, in the back, my parents, drives while traveling--i could have been eight or eighteen or it could have been now, on the downward slope to thirty. i read something recently . . . a woman said that we grow up, and then we grow old. my concern is that one of those is fun, and the other is not. i'm hoping i'll reframe before old age sets in.
i still want to go home. home wasn't always so great, either, but i miss something about how i felt inside the life i created. something particular about me that doesn't seem to be true anymore. the monkey thinks a change of venue will help--and no question, it'll be nicer. it wouldn't hurt me to get out of the house and have conversations with people i don't sleep next to, either. and if i think about career-changing graduate programs every day, that's okay. the eight-year-old in the back of the sedan might have wanted to be that, too.
