So I am sitting in the middle of buzz coffee, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, trying to create words that will fit in someone else's mouth. This whole speechwriting thing is tough, but gratifying at the same time. It's like wearing sexy underwear underneath really plain clothes -- only you know what's underneath that diplomatic exterior. Thankfully it is three thousand times better than lesson planning.
It's been two days since I parted ways with 4, and I think the people around me are expecting the breakdown any day now. I just don't feel it coming. A part of me feels sad and distracted, and maybe even a little lonely, because it was nice to have someone in that position. The other part of me however, feels an incredible sense of liberation. I mean, for the love of miniature ponies, does anyone realize how little alone time you get when you are in a relationship? I had the whole day yesterday to myself. I read for two hours, took a nap, worked out, cooked a kickass tofu stirfry, and joined a few friends at Bang for a crazy night of dancing. Would it have been nice to lay on the beach with 4, or to have brought him on the secret adventure I had planned? Yep, prolly. Was I OK without him, without anyone? Yep, absolutely. Doing things alone in this society is frowned upon. You are a loser if you go to dinner by yourself. You are ridiculous if you go to a movie alone. But I LOVE going to the movies alone. I LOVE getting lost in this city, without having to worry about disappointing the person in the passenger seat. I LOVE trying new restaurants from my LA guidebook. I LOVE being able to go to the club with my friendiolies when I want to, and dancing to my heart's content. Was 4 prohibiting me from doing these things? No, but I did have to explain myself a lot more. And I am not sure why I felt the obligation to do that. We should have kept things cold, emotionless. Why did I spend energy getting emotionally involved?
I know why -- because I am a writer. Or at least, I think I am a writer. I'm not even sure I am that, mostly because I do not have the well-known 'writer's insomnia,' and the rest because I think everyone's writing is better than mine. (Especially Stacedawg and JayJayNaNaNa, my fellow journalists -- y'all could kick my ass in a write-off any day.)
After watching Little Women and closely analyzing the "Jo" character in the movie, I realize that writers NEED to live tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate lives. Actually, a writer might live a boring life, but do things to make it seem tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate. Her character was constantly emotionally charged. She felt guilt enough to squeeze out tears, rage enough to pummel her sister, and failure enough to crumple her to the floor.
So, it got me to thinking. Why DID I put all that emotion into 4? What was it about him that set off that thing? Why are my feelings of guilt so intense that I cannot even throw a piece of plastic on the ground? Why is it that I get so angry when I get angry? Is this the plight of the writer? Are they doomed to feel everything tenfold, because they have to figure out a way to put all those intangibles into words?
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2 comments:
I find that the common thread in a lot of writers is the want of that type of emotion, if not necessarily containing those kinds of emotions. But without them how do we know we're alive? Stimulate those nerve endings, feel your heart beat, be an emotional mess...it all makes for better material for the enivitable book called "Life."
Amy. You are a writer. Accept it. Don't deny your calling.
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