Wednesday, July 13, 2005

There, and there again...and over there too...

And the writing continues. Five pages doesn't seem like a lot, but sometimes it's a hell of a lot. I just finished writing my next assignment for class and I'm worried. I'm not sure if I did what the teacher wanted. There's this whole thing about character cuts, and plot points, and this and that and blah blah blah....I just want to tell a good story. I want to tell something that people would be interested in (I hope). Why is it so hard to take that step back and see it from other people's eyes?

Don't get me wrong. I like what I have although I think it needs work. I just don't know if it's going to meet criteria. And who says it has to? So what if I "fail" this part? Isn't that part of the process? You learn by doing. I'm like that though. I'd rather have someone give me a task, tell me how to do it, and then let me go to make my mistakes. When you fuck up, they generally tell you where you did and what you have to do not to do it again. Then you strive to not do it again.

When I started working at the theatre, I was building sets. I'd done a little construction in my college building sets, but I was sort of scared of certain tools, etc. So, starting out my first year at the theatre I made major blunders. Cutting with a circular saw was not a strong point for me then. But...ten years later when I left the theatre, I could build a set from the design without anyone being there at all. Ok, sometimes I needed a couple of extra hands to help in lifting the really heavy stuff, but I was cutting like a pro, using a sander to round corners, building entire window units by myself. Hell, some of the sets I almost did build by myself completely alone. May not have been easy always, but I could do it and I think I still can. You just get a little rusty at things you haven't done in a while.

I keep coming back to the theatre because it's where I grew the most as a person. From a guy that didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone say Boo, I became a big fish in a very little pond. I'm going to brag a bit but the truth is that I could have just about any part I wanted there. My acting skills improved as did my carpentry. I was allowed to let go of some inhibitions. I was pushed at times. It was a great place for meeting people as well. It was like a family to some degree. That's something I don't feel I ever really had because I don't feel close at all to my blood relationship (in other words, my family).

Isn't it wierd that because you have blood ties to people, you're expected to love them unconditionally? I will admit that I love my mom. She's an ok lady, but she doesn't know me and doesn't want to really get to know the "real" me. I censor a lot of my life around her. I think that she does the same with me. My brothers on the other hand, they just don't try. At least mom calls me from time to time (and bugs me about coming "home"). One brother does send a Christmas present, but hollidays are the only time I hear from him and I usually have to call them. My other brother? Well....who knows. I think he talks with my oldest brother but, he hasn't had the decency to even try and call me to tell me that he and his wife are going to have a baby. So you know what I say to these people? Take a friggin hike. (well not my mom actually)

My friends are my real family. Family should be the people that support and care about you no matter what. They're the ones that allow you to be your worst, and then kick you in the ass later for it when you're feeling better. They are the ones that get on you case when no one else will, and for the most part, in a nice way. And they're the ones that do actually understand when you're crying on their shoulders. God bless my friends. Without them, I'd be lost and miserable.

Wow. Somehow from classwork to deep emotions. I actually never know what I'm going to be writing here when I sit down. I had one thing in mind but this all came out instead. Someone remind me to tell you about my crazy neighbor who thinks that he's a psychic now because he takes random pictures of things, looks at these pictures and sees a random pattern within it that makes a face...and guess what...those are suddenly spirits that he's photographing. I listened to this for over an hour tonight, compete with pictures thank you. And me? I actually do follow paganistic beliefs. If I told him half of what I know, I think the man would run for the hills. Someone remind me to explain all that later? I'm going to bed before I start seeing "spirits" in these placement of these letters!

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