Parasol

So, again, I do not care enough to make a difference. This has been my MO for the past few months. I haven't cared enough to go to the gym, to not smoke (though I haven't for weeks…I only do it when I feel it), to take charge of my life, to not fall into debt, to write my novel, to not procrastinate, to do anything positive or productive. I've been in this funk of wake up at noon, go to class, go to work, go home and sleep. Leave the dirty dishes in the sink until my roomies do them; leave the mess on the table till it's shoved over; leave the laundry on the line till it falls off. Don't check the oil in my car, or take her in for check-ups (way overdue for an oil change). I don't do enough religious stuff, I don't clean my room, I wear dirty clothing or I don't leave the house for lack of motivation to get dressed. I don't always wash my face, I don't trim or clean my nails, I pick at my scabs, and I don't follow sound medical advice, like "Don't mix vodka and painkillers." My liver hates me. I can't save any money for anything, because I keep on spending it on junk food. I don't cook, I don't eat healthily enough. I have nightmares and want to go back to them. I had an exam last week and five quizzes. I didn't do a single one, nor did I give the teacher a heads up that I wouldn't be able to. As far as some of my friends are concerned, I've disappeared off the face of the earth. I didn't reconnect my phone when it was cut off; I don't call people; I don't clean up my messes; I don't do what I say I'll do; I haven't consulted the Tarot in months; and I haven't consulted my pendulum since I found out Kurt is involved. I don't catch up on my reading; I'm in the middle of thirty books at once; I say I'm going to try fanfic but I'll never really do it; my fiction is sliding downhill; I say I'll come into the bookstore but I don't; I go to poetry slams for the money and I'm sick of poets; and I can't even post this entry because my computer is like la la la what internet? I've only ever finished one video game, and since roomie smacked me because I was going to (didn't, mind you) walk in front of the TV when he and two boys were playing Mariokart, I haven't wanted to.

I think I'm coming down with something. It's called apathy. Apathy, or depression, or something. But I'm not even really sad. I'm just….blah. I suppose it is apathy. Right now all I want to do is quit school and work for a bit. I haven't had a real vacation from school since……well, if a vacation is doing just what you want to do, then never. Guatemala doesn't count; I was doing schoolwork while there and that did tarnish the experience. As for access summers with dad…I never get to do what I want to do when I'm with him. I've been in schooling of some sort since I was three years old. Sixteen years later and I'm an embittered teenager who's given up her dreams because they won't help people as much as being a doctor will. Everybody's an actor, everybody's a poet, everybody's doing some creative bullshit. "Hi, I'm writing a novel." The world responds "OH, so am I! What a COINCIDENCE!" Yeah, real fucking coincidence. And I can't say anything except what's supportive, because I'll sound like fucking cocky. I guess it just bothers me that everyone wants to get into everyone else's niche. Like Hilary Duff just fucking splayed and straddled over every single genre known to humans. Musician/actress/writer/whore/whatever. Like when people I know who are totally NOT into languages at all pretend to be all knowledgeable about Latin or Greek, because of the rise of movies that make Latin cool. I'm like, "Can you PARSE, bitch? Can you DECLINE? Can you fucking translate? NO? Then shut up!" Latin was ALWAYS cool. It's a great base for other languages. And people only get into it or use bad Latin to make themselves seem more important and smarter than they are.

And it's not just the forte-thieving that bothers me. I dabble in fortes not my own, sure. It's when people are deluded into thinking they're the next Beethoven or Chopin or the next Anne Bishop. NO. No, you are not. I dabble in music. I suck. I hold no delusions of this. I have no more musical talent. It wasn't nurtured and as such that energy got diverted into writing. But I dabble because I enjoy being able to play classics on the piano and maybe someday I'd like to make my poems into songs. Not because I think I'm a child prodigy, or that music is my calling. It's not, I suck.

You meet people waiting tables in LA and most of them will say, "Oh, I'm an actor." Oh, really? Do you have an agent? Auditions lined up? Headshots? Are you constantly working the acting line? Are you going to auditions—any and all—and callbacks? Are you trying? Or are you just waiting on tables, hoping that talent scout will come in and see you and say, "Yes…yes…this is the next Alan Rickman/Gary Oldman/Emma Thompson/Kate Winslet [insert appropriately good actor's name here]. I must have you for the lead in Tarantino's next film!"? Because if it's the latter, you're not an actor. You're a waiter. And that's all you're going to be unless you take fucking charge of your career. GET AN AGENT. Get some fucking headshots.

And by the way, that shit NEVER happens to the little guy. The only way to become an accomplished actor is to work at it. Don't be deluded by stories of big breaks and being 'in the right place at the right time'. If you wait around for that you'll never get any fucking work.

So what's the point of my being a filmmaker? Whose lives will I change? No one's life. If I were a doctor, I'd be in the business of saving lives every day. And that's what people need. Actually, what people really need is more doctors like me—integrators of natural healing and Western healing. Whatever you got, I can give you the full treatment. And maybe I'll get more respect for being an energy healer.

"I'm a filmmaker." *is met with general disdain; oh god not another independent filmmaker*

"I'm an energy healer." *is met with Get away from me you FREAK*

"I'm a doctor." And a filmmaker and an energy healer, but I won't say that. *is met with awe and reverence.*

What would be more appealing to someone who has spent her entire life being an outcaste in a group of outcastes? I'm the Untouchable the other Untouchables didn't want to play with as kids; I'm the Untouchable the others ignored.

And it's not so much that I choose to be an outcaste. It's more that I choose to be me, and the world doesn't want that. They want a skinny iconoclast; then she can be admired for her weirdness. If you're fat and weird, then you're fucked.