if only, if only

I wish I were an animal—to be so straightforward that I could greet my sister by tackling her to the ground, solely out of affection; to take naps unashamedly; to run around the neighborhood with no inhibitions, no logical purpose, and no worries. Instead, here I am, sitting methodically and dispassionately at my computer, waiting for my washing machine to buzz. 

Productivity, 

Rationality, 

Efficiency: 

these are the values of our society. 

Vulnerability is weakness. Fun is for the frivolous. We obediently learn how to protect ourselves from showing traces of such things in our lives. These lies unite to form the inflated human ego, which has proven itself to be a volatile creation indeed.

This ego is to some degree responsible for nearly all economic, political, and social failures in our world today.
Why, I wonder, do we feel the need to continually demonstrate our control over nature, animals, and ultimately over one another? Bullying, abuse, theft: these acts wreak of insecurity and unhappiness. Inner issues with outer consequences. As I watch the news, crimes like these don't outrage me anymore. I, like the majority, have become fairly numb to violence and suffering. Instead I now feel a deep sadness, slight guilt even, for the failures of our social institutions.
Our own egocentrism is slowly leading toward the downfall of the human race. So...what are you going to do about it? 

What. am. I. going to. do about it? That's the real question.
In the meantime, I maintain that if reincarnation is true, I'm hoping to return as some really cool animal. 
A cassowarie would be ideal. 

Speedbump

No, I did not get hit by another car.

I am currently suffering from that all-too-common pain-in-the-ass, "writer's block." Oh, how I have grown to hate those two words. Actually, it's not a block so much as a dam. That is, I am not at a loss for words; rather, I have too many. They're all conflicting and intertwining and mushing around inside my head, then on the page. I have not been able to filter them, so there they are, collecting: word vomit in my notebook. Gross.


Starting is easily the most difficult part of any project, and the planning stages always bring the biggest headaches. Considering this is the first time I have attempted any sort of creative writing since high school, I suppose this kind of struggle is to be expected. Countless ideas have been circulating around my noggin for years, and now I have to decide which is most important, then find the words. Well, back to the books!


[In other news: miniature hail-storm in Knoxville today. Also, I burnt the last bag of popcorn, which I'm sure you will agree, is the worst.]

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Samuel Beckett

Stand still; Repeat

I want to write a screenplay so brilliant that it achieves national recognition, sweeps film festivals across the country, and lunges me rapidly into the spotlight as one of the promising young voices of our generation.
I want to direct a play so inspiring and beautiful that it catches every facet of the human experience, moves audience members to change their lives; I want to change peoples' minds about theatre.
I want to move to LA, star in some sell-out TV show, live in a bungalow apartment in West Hollywood, and party like all the hipsters (taking artsy pictures to document our fabulous lives).
I want to surf. And skydive. I want to travel the world.

At the moment, I am in Knoxville, TN, sitting in my pajamas, listening to the radio.
So...how to go from here to there: that is my current dilemma. I guess I'll start by getting out of my pajamas.

But really, as someone with huge dreams, I feel static when I'm home. Not to mention I cannot find a play (after reading about twenty) that I want to produce. Perhaps I have been too passive in  my search for a play (or, arguably, in my artistic career in general). All the libraries and bookstores in the world aren't going to magically present me with the perfect play, one that speaks exactly to my experience of life. So why not write my own? Furthermore, instead of auditioning and waiting to get cast in a play, why not create my own opportunities? 


I have so much to say; perhaps it's time to take that giant leap of faith and start writing...Wish me luck. I'll keep you updated.

Growing up.

Well, ladies and gentleman, I am officially in my twenties.

I expected to feel a certain pressure upon entering this decade of my life. Twenty is a landmark birthday, and I am supposedly entering the "best years" of my life. 
I do feel a certain confidence in where I am, professionally and personally. There is nothing sudden, however, about this change; it has been a long time coming. For the past two years (since the last semester of high school), I have felt the beginnings of adulthood emerging within me. Rather than striving to be like someone else, I have become more and more curious about and content with who I am. 
Many signs affirm this transition:
I no longer read Cosmogirl, or any other magazines which tell me how to be more attractive or get guys or put myself into a category based on a quiz. 
I have abandoned social climbing; I have come to realize, the only ass worth kissing is in the professional realm.
I would rather read a play/book than watch TV.
I enjoy cooking and sometimes even cleaning.
I can actually hold conversations with my professors without feeling totally awkward.


These are just  a few of the miraculous discoveries that my twenties have brought so far (it has been nearly a month). And I must say, I anticipate this decade to be the best one yet.