Basic Space

Open air.

Going out of town for July 4th. An illicit adventure with an illicit acquaintance to shady parts of a big loud city space. The most basic space I know is the space between us. I'm excited to run away. I may not come back.

I want to get out, friends. I want to flee the city and this life that I am oh-so-unsatisfied with.

My life:

I nanny three days a week. A twelve year old girl who loves the Twilight movies, anything Justin Bieber, and absolutely nothing else. This girl doesn't like to read and she doesn't write or really seem to think all that much. I know, SHOCK!, right? But that is ALL i did as a twelve year old girl. So I'm not entirely sure how to relate to her. And I'm there for her more as a role model than an actual "babysitter." She can pretty much take care of herself, her parents are just worried about her getting into trouble with some kids she's been hanging out with. So I sit around and watch Disney Chanel and get paid $8 an hour to be a "role model" to this kid.

With this money I paid for bartending school. A totally non-legit "school" that (I hope) is going to be a fun time, that is going to (I hope) find me a job, and give me something to do with my life. The guy who runs it is kind of sleazy, but at the same time I feel as though I'll be comfortable with him. Which is cool, because I know very little about mixing drinks and it's nice to feel like I can say "What's grenadine?" and not feel like a major idiot. I signed up yesterday, received flashcards and a packet, and was told to bring my flashcards every time I come in. There's sixtyish drinks I have to memorize, from whiskey and water to sex on the beach to martinis and daiquiris... daunting tasks, right?

That's the most exciting thing I'm doing with my life. I am one boring ass 18 year old. And I kind of love it.

I'm tired of being interesting. I'm tired of falling in love and breaking hearts and having my heart broken. Tired of thinking about how people's brains work, about characters and scripts and relationships. I just want to think about my 4th of July trip, how to make a Screaming Orgasm (shot of vodka, 3/4 shot kahlua, 1/2 shot amaretto, 1/2 shot Bailey's and hazelnuts. A regular Orgasm has sweet cream instead of Bailey's), and what is going to happen to the Fishers. I'm always afraid that I'm a boring person. But the thought of having a boring life is kind of appealing to me now.

Today my loverly lover cut my hair all off. And that's barely an exaggeration.

I've had shorter hair than this a couple times but not for a few years. I love having super short hair, I love love love it. Sometimes.

I'm starting to feel like short hair suited who I used to be much more than who I am now. And I don't honestly know how I feel about that. I want to be that spunky girl with glasses and the shy smile again... but... I think I've been her all along... I just got distracted by wanting to have sex and fall in love and grow up (or maybe avoid growing up). I think now that I feel more or less grown, I can re assess that girl I used to be. Use the spunky shyness but polish it off with the maturity and sex appeal I may or may not have grown into in the past year or two.

You can be a bartender with short hair, right?

I love my house and I love my roommate and I love my city. But right now I have this feeling like nothing's going to work out like I thought it would a month ago. At the end of summer I don't know where I'll be. Here or there?

Not so basic space.

I wish it was just you and me... all the in between's driving me crazy.

Cute outfit yesterday. Forgot shoes I suppose. It happens.

Stayed in bed today. Busy week ahead of me. Work and bartending school Mon-Wednes, shopping and Eclipse with my roomie's buds Thurs, and probably leaving for the weekend Friday. Maybe Saturday. We'll see. Either way I don't have as much time as I'd like... but then I don't think anyone does. Or they have to much. Dissatisfaction, the American Way.

I wonder if anyone will get it if I just need a change of space. I've always wanted to run away and now I'm afraid I won't have the guts.

We'll see.

I'll decide when I get back.

We'll see.

People Say That You'll Die Faster Than Without Water

Things are awfully new right now.

Well, pretty much just the house.

But that's a big enough thing to make everything else feel new.

I lived in the same house since I was two years old. Well, sans last summer, but that was such an odd situation and I had 8 roommates who were all significantly older than me. I was taken care of. Now it's just me and my lovely galpal roomie. We pay the electricity every month and food et cetera. Still cheaper then paying rent, but we have cats to feed (Slice and Toast) and doors and windows to lock. Responsibilities.

I'm being trained into the living on my own thing. I really appreciate it.

In other news, I am typing from my very own MacBook :) Graduation present along with the iPod Touch it came with. Which is just dandy as the screen is broken on my old one.

I'm also really loving the lack of theater in my life. I kind of want to be a lazy kid for a while, pretend I don't know what I want to do with my life like most of the other teenagers I know. I want to play Shadow of the Colossus and read 100 Bullets. Live off Six Feet Under and comic books. It's been too damn long since I've had this much time for myself, and I want to milk it as much as I possibly can.

It's good... all this newness.

I'm saving up for a tattoo. A dot dot dot ellipses on my hip. Because the spaces between things are just as important as the things themselves, and we say more in our pauses than our words could ever dream to communicate. Should be cheap. Three black dots.

Also MN School of Bartending. $300 for a few days of training, and placement in a job. Thinking of doing it with a pal-o-mine. Because how freaking cool would I be as a bartender? Nanny by day, bartender by night.

Hell yes, please.

Also read Tavi.

What an odd post.

The Imminent Future and Not So Distant Past

That's right folks, I graduate high school ON MONDAY!!

Today I went to South, got my Senior Checklist all signed and turned in, and grabbed me a cap and gown. It was the last time I'll be in that building in a very long time. Right now, at this moment, I feel incredibly surreal.

I recently found out that I won't be getting a job through Step-Up which is a major stresser... and I got some other quite personal bad news that, though I would not classify as a "stresser", is also stressing me out. I have never felt so at a crossroads; never missed the past quite as much as I do at this moment. I just looked through some photos from a few years ago, photos for my "Emma Through The Ages" graduation board, photos from the first year I did Fringe. From the best time of my life.

Acadia was the greatest experience of my life. Fringe '07 was the happiest time of my life.

I can't decide if I'm sad about that or not. You know, it's not as if I haven't been happy since then, I just haven't been so very carefree. I was still me, still sad brooding little Emma, quiet and shy and incredibly silly... I think I just had more fun. Now I feel like I don't have enough time to have fun. Silly, childish fun, like the fun you have when you're running through the streets downtown in the pouring rain, SCREAMING your favorite song at the top of your lungs. Fun like coming home, putting all your clothes in the dryer, putting on a boy's pajamas, and falling asleep by the fireplace.

That is my favorite memory.

I miss those boys.


This is it. I wrote this a while ago.
Called it "Inspired by Condensation." I'm pretty sure it was inspired by something else.
"Laughing so hard our eyes are littered with tears and we're rolling down the stairs in Boy #2's pajamas and blankets and blankets and more blankets. We can hear the rain still dripping outside and our clothes still stuffed into his dryer, rising and falling with a 'thump... thump.' We are happier than we could ever be in our own clothes, connected now through Boy #2's pajamas. Something is holding us together almost painfully, so strong that if we were to be torn apart right now we just might break. Our friendship is made stronger by those clothes we share, Boy #2's clothes. Boy #1 has the camera now and I stand at the top of the stairs and watch them play, the beautiful boys. My hair still sopping wet and I am the only one to whom this matters, those boys with their short hair simply don't care. But I don't want to get anyone or anything in his house wet. His house is clean. Sterile. Nothing like Boy #2 but perfect for moments like this. Our clumsy uncleanliness and pure childish happiness contrast with the bright and shiny nature of his home only to make us feel more alive.
We haven't been friends for that long. And we're oh-so-close. When you've danced in the rain, sung in the rain, ran through streets in the rain with someone, you're bonded. It's an odd experience I hope every teenager has had and it means too much to put into words. The rain brings freedom, and being freed together is something you can never relive, never experience again in quite the same way.
We fall asleep by the fire and then a year passes."

It was about twice as long but I wander from that memory and go into memories of fog and snow, sad, more contemplative memories. But, that's how strongly I felt about them, about those boys and about that time of my life.

I felt free.

I miss that.

Walking across the stage next week will be an incredibly non-freeing experience. I see very little freedom about graduation, friends, I know I should see more but all I see is responsibility.

I just want the Trilogy again. To be a kid. To have adventures and laugh and... I dunno. That was before all the drama started happening, before my life turned into a teen soap opera. I miss that time.

Nostalgia, I guess.

Severe nostalgia.

Anyone know where I can get a good time machine?

Or how to rob a bank?

These are the necessities of my life, folks.

Have a good night.

Fears

It's been a while and I think I got a lot to say so I'ma do two lil' ones.

I used to write for me and only me. The prospect of people consuming my words was just too graphic to handle. Like eating meat it seems savage to me now. I picture people’s eyes scanning my words, analyzing the flavor as the rough metaphors scrape down their throats and they swallow with difficulty. They digest my words with acidic complaints. Bad puns, they say, horrible word use and awful structure. They grimace at the flavor and walk away disgusted.
Maybe I’m just afraid of being bad.
I grew up being told that I’m talented.
And never believing it.
I’m afraid of my family and my friends being wrong. Afraid I’m a horrible actress and a worse writer. Afraid that my beautiful old grandmother only said the things she said because she’s a grandmother and that’s what they do.
But I like to write.
I do.
I want to write my story about the girl who ran away. The one who ran to Brazil and closed her eyes and woke up transported. I want to write about time and pain and the beauty of this world I love so much. I want to write something beautiful and original. I want to show people the truth and beauty of this world. The leaves in the trees.
But I think that everyone wants that.
I want to create.
Wonderful performances that bring audiences to tears and scripts or stories that make people think and smile and remember why they like their lives. The leaves in the trees.
I don’t know.
Maybe I’ll just study optometry.
It’s important. Being responsible for how people see the world, making sure they see what they are meant to see. The first thing people who get glasses notice is always the leaves in the trees. I want to show them the leaves in the trees.
I guess I can do that.
Either way.
We’ll see.
We’ll see.