Disconnect/Discontent

I want to live all the lives I want to live, all at the same time. Why can't that be fair?

I want to be passionate and content. Why do they have to fight against each other so much?

I want my partner and I to have our own lives but I want someone in my life.

I want to say everything and hear everything all at once. I hate how much I want that and how impossible it is.

I want success and I want freedom.

I want to be better at love.

I want gut-wrenching, tear-bringing passion and I want warm, soothing love.

I want to live this life like it's my only one while believing I have had lives before and hoping there are more to come.

Knocked on the ground and looking up

In my first High School English class I decided I AM A WRITER. It came easily, I enjoyed it, I thought I was good at it. I read books like some people drink water, I can easily put my thoughts onto paper and in reality, writing made me feel good. It is instant gratification. You have some thoughts, you write them down for a little while and then...viola! You instantly have a product. It's invigorating.

In my first college film studies class I decided that I KNOW MOVIES. I watch them enough and I enjoy analyzing them. I loved taking apart a movie scene by scene, character by character and viewing the insides. I loved sitting in the library, or my basement or my room and reading about Jung's archetypal figures and how the chacaters in the Batman movies represent those figures. Then reading about how each Batman movie is a reflection of society at that time. How Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes is in part an answer to the Nuclear "Beaver Cleaver" Family.

From this I decided that I wanted to write screenplays. I wrote stories, poems, analyzed films. I can write a screenplay then, right?

4 years later and 5 unfinished "screenplays" I have a not so rude awakening. I don't know how to write a screenplay. Not at all. NOT EVEN CLOSE. So now here I am humbly reading screen writing 101 and feeling like I know NOTHING. I'm a little embarrassed and allot excited. I am writing more than I have written in a long time, I am learning a new technique and in the process I am learning about myself. As cheesy as that sounds it is true. That is what has always been so invigorating to me about writing. When I write I force myself to not only examine the world around me but truly examine my own thoughts and feelings. This is something I don't do on a regular basis but when the pen hits the paper thoughts, feelings, emotions I have not acknowledged flood out.

This fall marks a new beginning, a fresh start in my world of writing. Wish me luck.

Train Part 2

Yes its overly romantic, but how often does our generation get to enjoy the glory of the Sound slowly tiding by as you sip a whisky ginger and snack on some pretzels. We are often blinded to the glory and simplicity of our surroundings by the height of a plane and the ants below.

Seattle was lovely…well, hilly. We are spoiled in Portland with our flat streets and more bike routes than most people know what to do with. I enjoyed the walking though. In reality, it wasn’t so far off from the Portland downtown I am used to. One corner you have buttoned up banks and business suites, another filled with strolling hipsters and stagnant starbucks, or you get the faceless homeless and the anxious missions. As in Portland, you only have to walk a handful of blocks to experience it all.

I find peace on the train. The rockiness makes anyone look like they could be drunk, so I don’t feel bad ordering my third vodka ginger…within the hour. I am writing. Isn’t that how it works?

The sun is still out at 7:30pm. About 12 hours since I boarded the train on my way.

I could be looking at the rolling hills of Tuscany with the way I am feeling right now.Everything feels beautiful. Everything feels new.

It is strange how though I have never ridden a train, the sound, motion, and aesthetic of it is as comforting as the sound of cars on a busy s.e. street at 2 am. It is urban, it is natural. I feel at home.

Train Part 1

Waiting to cross another hilled Seattle block I hear from the young couple beside me “I don’t know why. I don’t feel comfortable. It’s different without the car here. It seems like we are so much further from home.”

She’s right. With immediate access to a vehicle the trip from Portland to Seattle seems so much closer.

The precise reason I took the train.

Waking up at 6:30am to do anything is a laughable if not impossible task for me. I have made my family almost miss a flight to Europe, missed final exams, work…you name it. But maybe it was resisting the temptation to go out the night before or the excitement of getting on the west coast train for the first time that made me get up, get dressed, pour my water bottle of mimosa and head to Oregon City to get on a train at 7 FUCKING AM.

Oregon City may be a mere 18 minutes from SE Portland, but don’t be fooled. It is another land, another era. My Google maps app kept telling me I was only .7miles away this way or .35 miles away that way. Even the freaking gas station agent (who by the way wasn’t even sure the train in Oregon City still ran. GREAT) was petty sure it was only a quarter mile, then to the left. 20 MINUTES LATER…I finally find the station and run as fast as I can, to the amusement of the people waiting, to try to get to the platform in time…for the train to be a half hour late.

All said and done, I found a comfy single seat in the dinning car, plugged the ol’ laptop in, got a screwdriver and some breakfast, and made myself at home.

I have to say, there was nothing more peaceful and beautiful that morning than “passing through” my own city a half hour later. It was funny to feel like I truly was coming through a new city on the way to my exotic destination. That was the whole point of taking the train. I wanted to feel out of my element. I wanted to feel like I was really traveling. Not taking the same old 2 ½ hour trip from Portland to Seattle, but really getting away. It worked. It was amazing.

Stupid Hangover

Birthday party fun with beautiful friends led to a painful morning. Had to go to the grocery store and decided to get it out of the way first thing so I could spend the rest of the day coddling myself on the couch. I wore my sunglasses the entire time in the store…so what. It’s bright in there. It is remarkable what you will buy when you are hung-over and how much time you will spend in the store even thought it is the last place you want to be.

Watching The Hangover seemed like a good move. Watching people who are feeling worse than me sounded perfect. Nope, I still think I beat them in the feeling like shit category. At least they are famous…and just acting. I was a bit annoyed by how lovely everything just came together in the end. So you have this HORRIBLE 2 day fiasco and you come home to your respective lives and see how great you have it, or could have it. Freakin’ fabulous. Right. Maybe it was just MY hangover, but screw that crap.

My next day went something like this: work on my day off, get my ass kicked at happy hour, new shoes destroy feet, boss acts like a dick, huge headache ensues, get cut from work, nope…still have to keep working, continue 3 more hours of fake smiles, do everyone’s’ job for them, go into hallway to avoid crying or yelling and to rest feet, I act like a dick, get cut from work, immediately leave, cry a little in car ride home, crawl into bed, cat pees on bed.

AARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!

After about an hour of sulking in a sheet less bed, my man comes home, crawls into bed, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my cheek. Suddenly I realized how no matter how shitty my night was and how up and down my relationship can be, I was so grateful that I had an incredible person to share my nights with. Good or bad.

OK Hangover, you were only MOSTLY full of shit. But still totally hilarious.

"Why do they call them roofies? They should be call floories. Or rapies."