when home is plural. and diversified.

everything seems to be irritating me. and yet somehow i'm not in a constant state of irritation. i'm in a constant state of contentedness about certain things and excitement in looking forward to other situations. maybe it's the staticity (that is a word as of now) of home... some things never change. especially when i see my family this many times in one semester. maybe i haven't been gone long enough this time to appreciate coming back. all the adults in my family seem to be getting older. they sit around and joke just like they always have- it's just slightly more bitter and fatalistic sounding now. and i can see more of the hurt that is so easy to miss and ignore when we're the children. i'm sure growing up seems just as weird to them as it does to me seeing it happen to them. i find myself then in a strange spot- do i have to fill in the spaces they've left? do i have to have the same kinds of relationships? what happens to the differences between us? i know i can forge my own way but we seem to have cut out the shape of our family, so the places where i differ from that tend to get stuffed down when i'm with them. they would love me no matter what. they would just make 'trying-to-understand' faces and then talk among themselves later. they forged their own way when they were younger-- that seems to have led to this new formation we have in front of us to fill. so where does that expect of us?

i guess just follow the trend and set things the way we want them to go. and endure the faces. and then leave again to go back where the other half of you makes sense.

}scattered is i{

i felt so much more... poetic last night when i couldn't get into this account. oh well. something about confusion. i'm confused. but when does that end, huh? never. i'm continuing in a state of passivity because i'm not yet aware of the decision i even have to make. so i keep going.

everything seems to happen in extremes. sometimes (and with some people) i'm always on top of my game and they think i never miss a beat. other times (and people) see me apparently at the worst and wonder how i remember to take my head with me when i leave my apartment for the day. if either of these two groups thought i was normal, maybe i would be more satisfied. no. probably not. but my own extremes of duality and inconsistency drive me crazy.

the end.

i need to go work on those papers i NEVER turned in. because i was throwing my heart and soul into a show that people really seemed to appreciate. *sigh* no one wins.


i heard a really hard story today and it reminded me of scars on your life. that you have for the rest of your life. something that can happen in an instant leaves its mark for eternity. and sometimes you know as soon as you sit down and realize what happened... that you will never again be the way you were before it happened. not that everything now will be horrible, there's just an extra little piece added on to every experience. and an extra little lens you can whip out and look through anytime (or all the time depending on how well you can put it away). those are the true sad moments of life, when you are sitting there understanding the impact something just had on you... and that it won't ever go back to before.

PFC Brenner of My Generation

some things in life are just worth it. like wearing obnoxiously huge sweatpants all day. watching small children sleep. smoking hookah with your parents. planning lunch with an old friend. staying up late because you can. falling asleep next to someone who is smiling at you. eating ice cream before dinner and straight from the carton.

and some things are really hard.

and sometimes there's a very thin line between them.

my brother is in the army. special forces. fort benning i think. he's the last person on earth i ever imagined in the army, and if you know him then you'll understand. but he's there and writing all the miserable bootcamp details in letters to my mum that make her cry. but he'll be home for christmas.
he told me once how close he was to breaking both knees of someone who really really hurt me. it's hard to imagine someone growing up without that kind of a big brother presence. he's far away and he's impulsive and he's poor, but there's a sense of little sister-ship that goes along with motorcycles and broken knees. he's trained me well for this life in which i seem to play everyone's little sister.
on stage and off.

the actor's lament

i started college a hundred years ago.
i graduated high school a million years ago.
and i'm still not old enough to drink it away.

writing my nightmares like some sick punishment
cringing at the thoughts
some things have to keep coming back.

the god of everything still thinks i'm cool.

have you ever had those times where you seem to have no control over your mind? it goes wherever it wants and you can't shake it. maybe it's worse for actors... we train ourselves to feel more strongly, deeply, and memorably than those who have the privilege of forgetting their memories. we keep them to use later on... to help others or maybe to help ourselves... or maybe just to make a kickass character who really seems to feel. that's not why i have to write down the nightmares i've dreamt. but that's why i have to relive the nightmares i've lived through.