The Real Me

today...at least a little bit of her. (apologies...going into rant mode. I'm okay, really, but my head needs emptying and this is perhaps a big reason why Typepad gets my monthly rental fee.) I've been on a Motley Crue kick, bitches...and I think I'm going to see Kix next week. Nothing like a little metal for the holiday season... I cannot find earphones that fit in my ear right... If I could mainline coffee, I would. It's getting ridiculous... Love Outkast... On very little sleep, I am a terrible person...I'm tired of not sleeping... I would quit tomorrow if I could. And move. I would... The thought of Christmas is exhausting me... I've been feeling like I talk too much...but I don't really care... Meeting the guys from Barenaked Ladies was hilarious.... Nashville... I'm in love with Al Green again... If you have any interest in movies with incredibly complicated dialogue, that are on the one hand completely ridiculous and on the other a riot, see Woody Allen's Love and Death. Holy guacamole. I love Diane Keaton. She is a powerhouse. I feel like taking a tour to see all of the beautiful women who are my friends who are scattered across North America... I need a house by a lake or something... I need a studio...and a huge couch, and a backyard, and a porch, and an open door...the greatest houses are gathering places... I have no idea what to do next... I hate bureaucracy. I don't understand it... My professor told me this week that I could be a professional photographer. "I don't say this kind of thing unless there's a reason," he said. "Because I don't have to." It felt really good... I still don't know if it's the right next thing. I've been throwing pasta at the wall for a few years now, and so far, nothing's stuck. I hate it... I feel like the project I'm working on will never be done. I feel like it's a terrible, awful hole of hell that I've fallen down into, and I've done it all wrong, and it will never be right, and people will think I'm completely incompetent...Worse, I will think I'm completely incompetent.... I love when I feel all well-adjusted... I could die happy in a bookstore cafe... How have I missed Greenday all this time? I'm regressing and it's amusing me to no end. I love stupid winter hats... Why do people ask me when I'm going to have kids like it's been a conscious choice not to? If I were Angelina Jolie with a private plane and Brad Pitt to carry the bottle in his hothottiehot back jean pocket, I'd be in Cambodia tomorrow. SHUT UP... Regardless, if physical affection of a certain quality doesn't return to my life soon, I'm going to question the reason why I'm here even MORE than I usually do...Remind self that this is not, however, a reason to make ridiculous choices... I'll be 35 in three weeks. That's sort of unreal, but it's not really bothering me. Someone said "No way! You are NOT!" in reference to my age, today, and that's kind of how I feel about it. This is a very strange time for me. I am oddly isolated in my own mind, alone a good bit of the time, and I'm totally intellectually aware of and okay with this - not emotionally stirred up at all. I just wish it didn't make me so anxious. If I wasn't always going down the list of things I think I SHOULD be doing, I'd be cool. I don't want to read any more Iyanla Van Zant. I don't want to work through any more issues. I don't want to go to therapy. I just want to live. I hate thinking. I think all night long in my sleep. I dream about things in a more cohesive and visually specific manner than I ever have. I don't necessarily like this, because then I'm forced to think about the people I dream about, and sometimes they're people I don't want to think about at all. Sometimes they're people I have little or NO contact with in my daily life, or people who mean very little to me in any way whatsoever, and it disturbs me that I'm dreaming about them. I don't understand why my subconscious is holding onto them, enough to dredge them up when I'm asleep. Dreaming is weird. It freaks me out. I don't like it. I think all day long when I'm at work. I think in the car. I think in the shower. And I don't even know what I'm thinking about or why, most of the time. I mean, I know WHAT I'm thinking about, but it's like a Western omelet - all kinds of crap thrown in there, guaranteed to give you indigestion. My thoughts are all manner of bacon and green peppers and onions and cheese and whatever the hell else they put in those heart attacks on a plate, all held together in a cranium of...eggs and butter? My head is a Western omelet. That's genius. I've lost my fucking mind. (The real me is also very profane, which I tend to censor on these pages, but I'm not sure why. If you know me in person, you know I swear like a sailor with my friends, although I hold it in nicely when I have to be all professional and whatnot. Swearing at work = not so good.) I think that about does it for now.