Notes From Random

At the writing of this particular post, I'm sitting at my kitchen table, my back to the window over the sink, with pasta cooking on the stove. It is late, too late really to be writing, but I can't get sleepy and even though I've had wine and a tiring day, I'm active. Mentally speaking.

There are fruit flies floating around the room. I discovered today that there was a banana what had gotten wedged up behind the fruit basket in the kitchen hutch. It was deeply brown and rotted and had provided a lovely nesting ground for someone's potential genetic experiment.

And god help me, there are at least 7 roly polys in the bathtub.

I never promised you that I would be a good housekeeper, though I do try. I lack the follow through, or the daily commitment or perhaps just shame. Perhaps I lack shame enough to scrub things clean, to check off lists, I'd rather be dancing, really.

I'm in a mood. Can you tell? It happens. You won't get hurt, I promise. Or, if you do, I will apologize. 69 Love Scenes ended last night. It ended and with it's ending comes a bit of a crash, even though (masochist that I am) I have two shows I am rehearsing currently. I will miss 69 Love Scenes, even though the characters I played were somewhat pathetic, even though my hardest and most meaningful scene was with a blow up doll, even though I always didn't get the jokes of the script, but still made the audience laugh. I'll miss it because it was scripted and because there was ritual and because it proved to me I could do it after such a lengthy break.

Next up, Dusk. Dusk, has the potential to cause conflict in me. Dusk reminds me that I am not, nor ever have been, a "Bella", reminds me that guilty pleasures such as Twilight are just that; pleasure which are full of guilt and obsession and just the slightest touch of sadness. Longing. Desire for that which seems normal, expected, natural, but is actually destructive and unhealthy.

See, here is the thing. I, like every other girl was brought up to want that which I shouldn't have to want. Only I didn't really want it. Or...more accurately, I couldn't do what it took to get what I wanted. I wasn't passive. I wasn't fragile (or didn't appear to be). I wasn't that which was desired. And if I was, I was desired in a way that was passive on the part of the desirer (if that is a word, which I doubt it is), for I was active and yang and quick and sharp like an arrow.

I never wanted to be Bella except that I did. I couldn't help but want it and the wanting and realizing that I was not what was wanted was terrible, at least back in high school and let's face it....that's where this show, and the book that inspired it, takes me.

I suppose it doesn't make me a bad person for not wanting what I want to not want. I suppose if I wanted it, that too wouldn't mark me one way or the other.

Wanting is what gets you into trouble in the first place, but I can't help myself.

In other news, today was filled with purging things. The children's room had become nearly out of control so a rearrangement was required. Things were moved. Books were redistributed, trash was collected. I don't much like having too many things around. I'm not an aescetic, but I doubt I'll ever hoard. This point in my life is the point during which I suppose I've had the most "stuff". For a very long time I had only enough to fill a small truck. Made the moving around easier. I like to get rid of things. I don't hold very much nostalgia for things (people yes forever, things no). Perhaps a few, and the ones I've kept you can damn well imagine have some pretty deep value to them.

As such, I've been selling my mother's furniture which has been cluttering up my carport and my heart for months now. Funny how I don't really want her dresser or her bookshelves. Don't have room for her china cabinet.

The dresser was taken by a new friend, a lovely actress, soon to move in with her boyfriend, also an actor and painter. As he's had access to the history of my mother, it seemed fitting. Odd, but fitting. I'm glad the dresser will have a new home. I imagine paints and oils in the drawers that held her slips and sweaters. Wine bottles and crudite on the surface that once held my small body as I sat and played in her jewelry box.

The flies are flying and not being co-operative. Earlier I thought, Jules, you're smart...why not rig up a fly-paper trap made of duct tape dabbed with wine. The fruit flies love the vino. Currently, I'm waving them off my glass. But the flies are smarter than this old girl, that's for sure for they assiduously avoid my ridiculous contrivance in lieu of my thrift store glass filled with "end of show" Merlot.

When the flies prove smarter than me, I know it's time to just let them drink. They want things too, desire what seems natural, and though their want of my wine might be destructive and unhealthy, who am I to stop them?

Comments

  1. Lovely. Re the Bella thing: I started to get confused, trying to follow what you want, but don't. Or wanted, but didn't. But even though the details slipped by, I knew exactly what you were talking about.

    Because when we want something, do we ever really want that thing? No. We want the sense of contentment we think it will bring us when we finally have it.

    I wasn't much more of a Bella than you. But though this month's Elle would have us believe otherwise, I doubt that Kristen Stewart is much more content than we. There's always something... until the cycle of wanting stops, right?

    (PS, I want some ice cream.)

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  2. So glad you're writing like your old self again, Jules. I've missed you!

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  3. Lauren, I suppose I always wanted to not feel so inside out about myself. If I wasn't a "bella" (the girl whom guys craved and pursued) didn't that mean one of two things (back in the day) that either a) there was something foolish about all the men around me or that b) there was something inherently not appealing about me.

    I think while I leaned towards b) (cause god knows I'm good at believing myself lacking) even back in high school I was pretty clear that there was a "C" involved and that option was that the system sucked both for men and women. For as much as I was aggressive, assertive and pretty willing to do the pursuing, weren't there also men out there who hated, just hated, having to front and be "the Edward" who'd love nothing more than for a woman to seduce and take them, only because of how standards of masculinity are, they'd never allow themselves to admit that.

    I just wanted to not feel so inside out. And certainly from an acting perspective I'd have loved to play some ingenues instead of thesadclown/bestfriend/evilwitch/clumsysister/leglessboy roles that I played. Character parts are funner that's for damn sure, but after awhile you just want to be pretty, you know?

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  4. Thank you BG. Funny though how my best writing comes out of longing and drink. I must be southern!

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  5. Lauren, which also is to say that I'm good with who I am mostly. I always want ice cream. Or noodles.

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