!!!

My hair is finally past my shoulders. The longest it has been since I was 16. : )

sad city

George Orwell is ruining my life. I just finished "Down and Out in Paris and London" and he had some pretty awful things to say about the restaurant industry. He refers to a chefs work as such:

"He earns his bread in the sweat of his brow, but it
does not follow that he is doing anything useful; he may be only supplying
a luxury which, very often, is not a luxury. "

Years ago I think I had a much more idealistic view of the future; Even when I was a kid my endeavors were limitless: I wanted to save the world, do a little good for mankind. Somewhere down that line I decided that I just wanted to co-exist - and now I feel so disappointed in myself. I love what I do, but is my work really useless? Would my occupation feel unsatisfying? I keep asking myself these questions and feeling so confused. I know it's not because I don't love what I do, it's just that I'm terrified of having to get a real job and grow up. Maybe I just keep thinking "what am I doing with my life?" because I want more.

In happier, less distressing news: I painted this week for the first time in months. Despite my abuse of the talent, it still felt natural. And it felt so good to create.

In Search of a Midnight Kiss

I finally saw this movie. I laughed. I cried. I felt embarrassed by the resemblance of the plot lines to my own little life. I loved the way it was shot, not "Hollywood" at all. I didn't love the ending - but I never do these days; if it's a happy ending I feel envious and cynical and if it's a sad ending I feel angry that the imaginary lives of the characters end so bitterly realistic. I don't think I will ever, ever, ever get married - but if someone were going to propose to me, I guess I'd like to have them do so on a ferris wheel.

My commitment phobia is evidenced by the fact that it takes me 25 minutes to pick out a box of cereal at the grocery store.

Reductions

There is a Burt Reynolds movie marathon on TV. Can I think of a better waste of time? Nope.

"No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee."

Sometimes I am watching myself live; like in a movie. I am objective. I see myself making mistakes; I make them anyway. I feel despondent, and I don't know how to fix it. In this way, I feel like I am living two separate lives. torn. Part of me wants to be alone: undisturbed silence, solitude. That part of me desires to be reclusive. The other part craves human intimacy - in such a way that I feel I am incomplete because I share no part of myself with anyone. When you let people in, I feel like they keep a little part of you - holding a secret like a fingerprint or a lingering memory. These pieces survive us. And because I don't let anyone in, none of me survives apart from myself. That is true loneliness. I'm trying to fix it, I just don't know how to reconcile the pieces of myself to one functioning person.

Orwell

" It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs - and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety "