Lost Words #3

Totally how I feel tonight...

Dreams #15, 16

The first:

I'm on a spaceship, but it's not Serenity - it's more of an Enterprisey ship. I'm in a room with several other people who are trying to convince me that I should let them put this freaky gross long white tapeworm thing on my back that will scan me for something, save the ship or the world, etc. After arguing with them back and forth for a long time, I say that I will only do it if Nathan Fillion asks me to and if he does it.

The second:

I read for a part in a movie. There's a screening on the beach - there are about 50-100 of us who read for one of these small parts there, and we have to watch the movie before we find out who got the part. The beach slopes down towards the water, and the folding chairs seem somewhat precarious and set too close to each other. I pick a seat, and the people surrounding me start insulting and swearing at me. When my chair wobbles and I accidentally knock into one of them, the person pushes me. I actually stand up and defend myself and ask them what their problem is. The director comes over and yells at them, but I don't remember iof he kicked them out or not. I move a few rows towards the back with the dorks and ask if I can sit with them. They look around for a minute, trying to figure out how to rearrange their seats to accommodate me, and I sit down next to this skinny kid with long, curly dark hair.

The dream flashes to us sitting in an indoor theater, one of those really old ones that look like an opera house. I'm still sitting in one of the back rows with the same group of guys. I'm talking to the skinny kid about how may auditions he goes to (a lot) and where he lives (Georgetown). We're discussing setting up some sort of schedule so he can come and visit me.

I'm back outside, talking to this woman who is threatening to sue or ruin the guy I'm with, who has been taking pictures of orchids that are across the border in Mexico. I ask her if she will agree not to press charges if I can get him to return the photos and agree not to take them anymore. I go back inside the theater and scramble over the people in the row to talk to him and tell him what's going on.

Then it flashes to what movie is playing - some Rob Zombie horror movie. I'm not looking at the screen, because it's really disgusting. Then we're in this hotel room and it turns out that the movie is real. This middle-aged, rather large woman with thin, scraggly black hair is in her bed - rather, her torso is. She's been chopped in two. Her torso sits upright in the bed, surrounded by blood.

54 Days

In 54 days, I will be 35 years old. One day after that, I will be closer to forty than to thirty. Growing old doesn't bother me. Dying before I've grown old does. That's the biggest fear of all - that I will die before I get my shit together. Before I publish my novel. Before I find my love. Before I have a baby.

You'd think, given that I have fifty-four days left, I would be working on the book right now. I should be working on it non-stop. I should have been working on it non-stop during the many, many months during which I've been out of work.

I hate that I'm not. I hate whatever it is that holds me back. What do I do instead of write? At the moment, I'm rewatching Letters to Juliet. The other night, I drooled over the NY Times real estate section. I plan what to do with my millions before I have them, all the while reminding myself that nothing leads to nothing. That's a song, isn't it? And now I interrupt my post to google the lyrics, since I am incapable of letting those things go.

I wish I were one of those nauseatingly gung-ho people you read about occasionally who make it look so easy. Oh, that dream of mine? You know, climb Mount Everest in my knickers even though I'm blind and deaf and bow-legged and I lost three of my toes before 1,500 feet? Noooooo problem. Piece of cake. Why? Because I'm a doer. I do things. Leap tall buildings with a single, determined bound? Done. Finish a novel? Hell, I'll write TEN.

Excuse me - I think I just vomited a bit in my mouth.

You know me. I have my dreams (two Teds, two Sweets, and a Chuck in the last week or so - nothing solid enough to post, although in one dream I could seriously feel Ted's too-solid tongue when he kissed me), I watch my movies, I collect the words and the love that I find around me, since I have none of my own. Sad, sad story. Cue the violins.

I did look through the book today, though - all fifteen chapters. Too much of it sucks right now, it's depressing. However, I am determined. If nothing else, I will finish the rough draft in 54 days. I will deal with the suck. Chapter one out of the five I have left must be done by Wednesday. Thirteen days a piece for the four left after that.

Maybe I am one of those people after all. Ew.

Lost Words #2

I love this little bit of history I found for a penny - lost words from the night of Kennedy's acceptance speech at the DNC in 1960. Pretty cool, huh?