The countdown to 30 begins...~dramatic drumroll~
I am flattered the world thinks of me as a young thing, in appearance. Nearly 30 and thank goodness for genetics.
No, the ageless grey hairs have not graced my head. The line on my eyes are starting to form, ever so slightly, a wrinkle that will, no doubt, ingrain itself into my skin as a permanent reminder that I was once young. My brain doesn't recall what it used to. There was a time I could remember every part of every play or film I was ever in. Now I find the fog of age creeps into my psyche and the doubts gnaw at me ever so slightly.
I imagine I will find this blog online one day and laugh at myself and the utter naivety of it all, and quite possibly the dire and dramatic diatribe.
This morning, the 11th of Jan 2013, I can't find rest. My brain is working too hard. Auditions are coming up and I am spending every free moment thinking to myself, "how can I get in that audition, and once in, how do I secure myself a role so I can quit working for the T&C?" I spent a large portion of today looking for film festivals for a friend. Apparently this post will be alliterative.
Acting is, all consuming. It's all I want, and then a man walks in and I am so easily swayed by the smells, sounds and general S's that I stray. Oddly enough, not this time. No, in the madness I find myself thinking of him often, but not in such a fanatical way as to make me lose focus.
While I see this as a stepping stone leading me down a road to a more mature and exciting relationship with someone I really am quite fond of and have become very close with, many friends with whom I choose to share my excitement find my cynicism and anti-romantic tendency to be a sign of impending doom.
Let me explain. A long time ago, or maybe it was just 2 years I am not sure anymore, I was in love. I have been there alot. In my lifetime I have dated exactly 78 men. That is a lot of getting to know men. Kinda know them well at this point and in general nothing shocks me that they do. Women, to this day, even I will never understand.
Yes. I got all gushy when the last one came through the door. I wanted to see him. He was fun and cute, to me, and I loved him and his family more than anything. Had they called me to sacrifice my life for them I would have with no hesitation. He bought me flowers, bought me dinner. Told me I was perfect and wonderful and good, albeit irresponsible. He was kind. He kissed me goodbye every morning and told me he loved me from the day he first said those words to the day he walked out of my life completely. This became a sign of habit. I no longer trust this person, though I still love him with all I can allow, and therefore do my best to avoid him entirely. This also extends to his children (who will be the only children I have that I ever call mine if I have any say in the matter. No they didn't come out of me but I love them to this day) as well as his mother and step father(who were always so very kind to me).
Why bring up this painful memory? Because it's there and if I hold it in the emotion will be there anyways and, like a cancer, it will fester and rot.
The newest incarnation of a boyfriend is much more like me. Younger than the late 30-early 40 I have been interested in. He is genuine in ways I forgot someone could be, like me. It's great. I will say I am in fact driven mad by the perfection sometimes. Looks go, always smells good, always nice. It's strange and so familiar in that most of the traits I find so grand in him are ones I hold dear myself. His romantic gestures do, however, on occasion with all all the sincerity, cause my brain to momentarily stop working and I honestly think I have a stroke. Things go blue in my vision. I like it but it gets overwhelming and like the honest person I always am I tend to bluntly state he needs to tone it down. It's something I have to get used to.
Like Carrie in the last season of Sex and the City. Aleksandr is offering all these gestures...playing music written for her...reading her poetry...giving her dress from one of her favorite designers. While most women would eat this alive. Carrie is hesitant, not because she doesn't trust him, not because she doesn't adore him, not because she doesn't like it. It's just overwhelming. Sometimes when that certain guy looks into your eyes and says the exact thing you need to say and it is frightening and amazing and wonderful and you like it so much it hurts.
I never wanted to be saved. I always saved myself. While he seems fine and patient with it.. and yes the thought threw me into another stroke... every one else seems to deem it a sign of bad romance. Why does it have to be so though. Can't someone have outgrown romance? Can't someone honestly have had so many bad experiences. Things always start perfect and wonderful. Some day he won't be perfect. Someday it will happen and I reserve judgement for the bad until it gets there, but let it slowly build into wonderful. Let me slowly absorb the great. Because if I dove right in, that wouldn't be me. I can dive...but let me dip my hands in to test the depths first.
No, the ageless grey hairs have not graced my head. The line on my eyes are starting to form, ever so slightly, a wrinkle that will, no doubt, ingrain itself into my skin as a permanent reminder that I was once young. My brain doesn't recall what it used to. There was a time I could remember every part of every play or film I was ever in. Now I find the fog of age creeps into my psyche and the doubts gnaw at me ever so slightly.
I imagine I will find this blog online one day and laugh at myself and the utter naivety of it all, and quite possibly the dire and dramatic diatribe.
This morning, the 11th of Jan 2013, I can't find rest. My brain is working too hard. Auditions are coming up and I am spending every free moment thinking to myself, "how can I get in that audition, and once in, how do I secure myself a role so I can quit working for the T&C?" I spent a large portion of today looking for film festivals for a friend. Apparently this post will be alliterative.
Acting is, all consuming. It's all I want, and then a man walks in and I am so easily swayed by the smells, sounds and general S's that I stray. Oddly enough, not this time. No, in the madness I find myself thinking of him often, but not in such a fanatical way as to make me lose focus.
While I see this as a stepping stone leading me down a road to a more mature and exciting relationship with someone I really am quite fond of and have become very close with, many friends with whom I choose to share my excitement find my cynicism and anti-romantic tendency to be a sign of impending doom.
Let me explain. A long time ago, or maybe it was just 2 years I am not sure anymore, I was in love. I have been there alot. In my lifetime I have dated exactly 78 men. That is a lot of getting to know men. Kinda know them well at this point and in general nothing shocks me that they do. Women, to this day, even I will never understand.
Yes. I got all gushy when the last one came through the door. I wanted to see him. He was fun and cute, to me, and I loved him and his family more than anything. Had they called me to sacrifice my life for them I would have with no hesitation. He bought me flowers, bought me dinner. Told me I was perfect and wonderful and good, albeit irresponsible. He was kind. He kissed me goodbye every morning and told me he loved me from the day he first said those words to the day he walked out of my life completely. This became a sign of habit. I no longer trust this person, though I still love him with all I can allow, and therefore do my best to avoid him entirely. This also extends to his children (who will be the only children I have that I ever call mine if I have any say in the matter. No they didn't come out of me but I love them to this day) as well as his mother and step father(who were always so very kind to me).
Why bring up this painful memory? Because it's there and if I hold it in the emotion will be there anyways and, like a cancer, it will fester and rot.
The newest incarnation of a boyfriend is much more like me. Younger than the late 30-early 40 I have been interested in. He is genuine in ways I forgot someone could be, like me. It's great. I will say I am in fact driven mad by the perfection sometimes. Looks go, always smells good, always nice. It's strange and so familiar in that most of the traits I find so grand in him are ones I hold dear myself. His romantic gestures do, however, on occasion with all all the sincerity, cause my brain to momentarily stop working and I honestly think I have a stroke. Things go blue in my vision. I like it but it gets overwhelming and like the honest person I always am I tend to bluntly state he needs to tone it down. It's something I have to get used to.
Like Carrie in the last season of Sex and the City. Aleksandr is offering all these gestures...playing music written for her...reading her poetry...giving her dress from one of her favorite designers. While most women would eat this alive. Carrie is hesitant, not because she doesn't trust him, not because she doesn't adore him, not because she doesn't like it. It's just overwhelming. Sometimes when that certain guy looks into your eyes and says the exact thing you need to say and it is frightening and amazing and wonderful and you like it so much it hurts.
I never wanted to be saved. I always saved myself. While he seems fine and patient with it.. and yes the thought threw me into another stroke... every one else seems to deem it a sign of bad romance. Why does it have to be so though. Can't someone have outgrown romance? Can't someone honestly have had so many bad experiences. Things always start perfect and wonderful. Some day he won't be perfect. Someday it will happen and I reserve judgement for the bad until it gets there, but let it slowly build into wonderful. Let me slowly absorb the great. Because if I dove right in, that wouldn't be me. I can dive...but let me dip my hands in to test the depths first.
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